Team Quantum

by Impossible Numbers

Rating: everyone
Tags: Twinkleshine, Sweetie Belle, Twilight Sparkle, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Colgate, Alternate Universe, Fluttershy, Science Fiction, Comedy
Length: 51198

Twilight Sparkle is in charge of a team of the most brilliant unicorn minds (plus Fluttershy) of her generation. She just wants their multiverse experiments to go off without a hitch, but hitches are plentiful in this deranged city.

Poor Twilight Sparkle: pride and joy of the University of Eohippus, she is in charge of a team of the most brilliant unicorn minds (plus Fluttershy) of her generation. So it's a shame they're also at least six kinds of deranged and ten kinds of embarrassing.

There's Twinkleshine, whose girly-girl demeanour masks an ambitious monster. There's Moondancer, who's about as social as an oyster, and Lemon Hearts, who's about as charming too. There's Lyra Heartstrings, whose research barely qualifies as sense, never mind as science. And then there's Sweetie Belle, who should totally be in school but who'd much rather hone her skills as the world's worst personal assistant secretary fangirl... thingy.

However, this is merely the start of Twilight's problems. In the midst of mad science and a city overstocked with adventure, she'll confront MIA mages, enigmatic infernos, freaky furniture, political plots, hush-hush histories, and worst of all... the fact that she is destined to solve everything.

Oh, and Trixie's in there somewhere.

It's totally gonna go wrong.

Published 2018-12-11 16:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2018-12-28 12:03:14 UTC

The Chosen One Is Never Good At Mornings

Full daybreak.

Twilight Sparkle, Postdoctoral Researcher on the Esteemed Unicornian Scholarship Fund, Head of the newly coined Equiverse Committee, and arguably the greatest faculty member the University of Eohippus ever had… added what she cheerfully called “life” and “personality” to her bed chamber.

That is, she put the Smarty Pants doll on the bed. She arranged the books on the shelf, cramming where the quantity of books outclassed the quantity of space on said shelves. She – rather daringly – left a corner of the bed unmade.

Job done, she went down the spiral staircase.

Timing it, she hit the bottom step at the exact moment her precise mind counted five minutes, twenty four seconds, and one third of a second remaining. Not bad for eighteen storeys, though she’d long since learned to pace herself. This wasn’t a race so much as another chance to meet an interesting number.

Yep. It was one of those days.

All the same, she slowed to an amble across the courtyard. The University of Eohippus had given her the biggest tower because of her connections, not because she liked getting out of breath before breakfast. Moreover, she’d made them install motion detectors and safety nets in case of accidents: tripping, for example. It had saved her neck at least thrice so far.

“Good morning, Trixie!” she said to the bench, right on schedule. And right on schedule, Trixie folded up her magazine in a fluster and scurried after her, cape and pointed hat threatening to billow behind her.

“What’s so good about it?” she said in her nasal whine.

One of those moods, huh? Politely, Twilight said, “You seem to be in good health, if you don’t mind my saying so. Uh…” What was the correct terminology? Ah, got it. “Fellow frat member?”

“First of all, no one calls anyone ‘fellow frat member’. Did you read that out of a book?”

“N-No.” Twilight made a mental note to stop researching student slang through the ages.

“Second of all, the morning is not ‘good’ until Trixie has enjoyed her pep-me-up. When Trixie’s good, the morning is good.”

“Oh, uh, good.” Remembering last night’s talk, she added, “And, you’ll be pleased to know, I thought about what you said, and I think I know what the problem is.”

“Do tell.”

“The problem is… that I haven’t quite organized my time properly. All I have to do is schedule in another session later this week for what I like to call ‘Recharge’ time.”

“What on earth is ‘Recharge’ time?”

“Well, you know. Leisure time. I had a think, and what I suspect is that calling it ‘leisure’ is misleading and unproductive. Recast it as a contribution to mental acuity, however, by granting enough psychological space for information processing on a sub-conscious level, and I’m pretty sure that –”

“What a shock,” muttered Trixie. “Even when she’s fighting to add leisure time to her schedule, she can’t call it ‘leisure time’.”

“I’m not a workaholic.” Twilight felt her cheeks burning.

“You are, however,” said Trixie with bite in her words, “Head of the Equiverse Committee. Take it from your old friend Trixie; a Head does not do all the work herself. She does a little thing called ‘delegation’.”

“It’s my responsibility. I ought to do it myself.”

“Or she does her own thing without regard for the expertise of her old friend Trixie. There’s always that standby.”

Twilight’s insides screamed with frustration. She knew Trixie was right. She could feel down to her gut that Trixie was right. But when she actually thought about dumping all that work on her friends, as though she herself was shirking… That stopped her.

They walked across to the great hall, within which many murmuring students had gathered. Old college dons gathered at the highest tables. Among the rest of this… well, this gathering… it was easy to spot the undergraduates from the postgraduates; the former tended to read over their bowls, the latter tended to laugh and shout and throw things at each other.

Avoiding any possible glances or stares, she hurried her way over to her usual spot at the end of one of the long tables. Most of all, she hoped not to catch the eye of anyone on the highest tables. The dons had Views about ponies like her mixing with the regular students.

Opposite, Trixie threw her cape back before she sat down. Then she clapped her hooves together smartly. At once, servants materialized all around her.

“Full Equestrian, if you please,” she said. “You know how I like it.”

“At once, Miss Trixie.” They vanished.

“‘Miss Trixie’.” She shivered with glee. “Hoo hoo hoo! I’ll never grow tired of that.”

Twilight silently levitated toast along the table, carefully hiding it behind pitchers and sauce bowls so no one would notice. Casual telekinesis was about as ostentatious as she wanted to get, and even that seemed a bit much.

Opposite, Trixie rolled her eyes. “You’re in the University of Eohippus, and you’re eating toast? Again?”

“The Equiverse project might go wrong at any moment.” Twilight sneaked a knob of butter along to spread on her toast. “I don’t want a big meal. It’ll just get cold if I have to hurry away.”

That was a reason. And her parents wanted her to watch her diet; that was another. She liked toast; that was a third reason. What they were not, in fact, was the reason.

The reason, she silently knew, was that she had a lot of catching down to do. Catching down was right. A Head of the Equiverse Committee, with so many connections, and a tower of her own… Not to forget she was one of the rarest of beasts, a pony on the Esteemed Unicornian Scholarship Fund, which was so hard to get into that they marked successful entrants on the official university timeline.

And she sat opposite a unicorn whose only claim to fame – disregarding her own list of claims – was to have spent her lifesavings on a failing university course.

Every time the universe kept shouting at Twilight that she was special, her stomach lurched and her heart beat faster and her lungs couldn’t breathe deeply enough. After all, the universe didn’t shout at many other ponies. If it shouted at Trixie, it was most likely because it was heckling. So Twilight never shouted. She spoke softly. She snuck quietly around the place. She shoved other ponies to the fore, because if she didn’t make sure there was enough specialness to go around, the universe sure as sugar wouldn’t. Someone had to set the balance.

Trixie winced as a rolled-up ball of paper bounced off the back of her head. Someone shouted out a score.

“Barbarians,” she muttered, removing her pointy hat safely.

“Sorry,” said Twilight. She didn’t think.

“Why? It’s not yourfault.” Trixie levitated the ball and threw it back as hard as she could. A laughing student yelped on impact.

Twilight wished she had a book with her. The toast had gone lukewarm today. It wasn’t distraction enough.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed three unicorns walk past, just behind Trixie. She looked up, and instant recognition jolted her to life. Trixie had insisted last night…

“Lyra!” Twilight tripped and stumbled while she tried to both shout and avoid public attention. “Twinkleshine! Minuette! Wait up, wait up! I need to talk to you! Wait!”

She caught them at the grand entrance, framed between the bright lights of a cloudless sky and the subdued old stone of the interior. At first, she was sure they’d smiled at the sight of her blundering over to them, but then they looked carefully blank. Twinkleshine and Minuette looked up at the painted scowls on the walls as though taking a course in Advanced Art Appreciation.

“Oh! Twi!” said Lyra, a chuckle strangling itself on her voice. “It’s you!”

Twilight skidded to a halt in front of them. She was aware of the weight of her intrusion on their minds; a moment ago, she’d sworn they’d been talking and laughing freely amongst themselves. Clearly, she still had some catching down to do.

Her mouth hung open, willing to speak words it suddenly couldn’t find. What was she supposed to talk about?

“Uh…” she said.

What are their hobbies again? Trixie always said it’s important to know your audience. So… Lyra’s into… music. And Minuette’s into… Uh…

“I… was… thinking…” she said to buy herself more thinking time. Lyra’s eyes darted about as though looking for her cue in Twilight’s own.

Hopelessly, Twilight glanced behind. Trixie received a tall glass and sucked from the straw with eyes closed in delight. One opened briefly to allow her to spy on Twilight’s progress.

Remember yesterday’s talk. “I was thinking, maybe we could hang out sometime?”

Panic ran across Lyra’s face. “Oh, uh, it’s cool… that… you want to help us get ahead, Twi, really it is, it’s just, uh, we, uh…”

“Think,” whispered Twinkleshine as though not daring to speak louder.

“Think, yes, that we’re already quite far enough ahead, and, uh –”

Twilight beamed with understanding. “Oh, not for studying. I mean for leisure time. I’ve given you so much, and –” she chuckled, hoping it’d help “– now I think it’s your turn to give me so much.”

After several seconds of watching them blush, she got the impression those had been the wrong words.

Minuette was the first to manage a smile without straining. “That’s a neat idea, Twilight.”

Sighs of relief broke out among the other two.

“Oh, yeah. Leisure time. Exactly what I was thinking!” said Lyra desperately.

“Me too,” said Twinkleshine.

“OK, sure.” Lyra cleared her throat. “What did you want to do?”

Think of something other than “library”. Think of something other than “library”. Think of something other than –

Twilight shrugged. “I’m not sure. How about you three? What do you like to do for fun?”

“I like –” Twinkleshine clamped her mouth shut as though determined not to reveal state secrets.

“Me? I don’t mind,” said Minuette in what she evidently hoped was a helpful way.

“What don’t we like to do for fun?” said Lyra.

Stalemate.

“S-Sorry,” murmured Twinkleshine. “I-I can’t think of anything right now. If anything comes up, ma’am, we’ll let you know.”

In the silence, Twilight could feel the world icing up around her. She suddenly was no better than an animal trapped in a freezer. Her mind even slowed to a slushy crawl.

“Ma’am”, thought Twilight. She called me “ma’am”. Only senior faculty are called “ma’am”.

“Well,” she said, backing away, “if anything comes up, at least you know I’m interested.”

“We’ll let you know.” Lyra tried a wink. If anything, that made it worse. That was too obviously pretending not to have noticed the massive gaping hole opening up between them.

Twilight slunk back to the table. Behind her, she heard whispered comments. She could feel their gazes making sure she was too far away. She thought she heard a tiny, stifled giggle.

She sat down and took a bite out of her toast. It had gone cold.

Through a mouthful, Trixie said, “Better than usual.”

“Thanks, but I thought it was a complete –”

Trixie slurped up the last of the baked beans. “No, I mean this breakfast. You simply must try the tofu bacon. They’ve smoked it properly this time, and let me tell you that it is exquisite.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” said Twilight.

“Oh, those three mares simply throw themselves at my hooves,” said Trixie airily. “Trixie receives their invitations all the time. ‘Trixie, Trixie,’ they say to me, ‘I would be oh so honoured if you were to grace my birthday celebration with your presence.’ Noblesse oblige, as the wise horse says.”

Coldly, Twilight was moved to say, “I meant how you eat so much food.”

But Twilight was an amateur at being cold. When Trixie wanted to be cold – as she suddenly did now – Twilight shivered and longed for a thick fur coat.

“Trixie is a hard-working and exacting unicorn. Nothing less than the finest cuisine shall satisfy her refined palate.”

“I work hard too,” said Twilight. She wished she didn’t sound like such a foal.

“Not that it would’ve mattered.” Amid the chatter, Trixie’s mutterings almost passed unnoticed.

Twilight took another bite out of her toast, but she didn’t have to like it.

Unspoken were the words: But it does matter. Just because I could’ve cruised my way up to where I am now, doesn’t mean I should’ve done so. Just because I didn’t start out in the street like you, doesn’t make my work any less important. I made sure we had the same starting point. If I got anywhere, I earned my way there.

All the same, she didn’t quite believe her own thoughts. That’s why she never used servants, and deliberately skipped meals – even the usual three that her parents had assured her everyone ate – and never wore anything fancy or anything at all, and never ever forgot to write to her parents and tell tales about how homesick she was and how important family was to her. And that’s also why she’d insisted on choosing the members of the Equiverse Committee herself, because if anyone else had done so, they’d have chosen Big Names, not Good Friends.

Of course, it wasn’t all sacrifice. “Dinky Hooves said she loved your show last night,” said Twilight.

“Naturally.” Yet Trixie preened herself when she thought Twilight wasn’t looking.

“You’re going to perform at her birthday party next month?”

“Whyever would you think not? The Great and Powerful Trixie is pleased to perform for the great and the small alike.”

And I bet you never forget your roots. It always pays to give tribute to the fields you started off in.

Popping the last of the crust into her mouth, Twilight rose onto her hooves. She swallowed. “Well, I think that’s about it for me. Time for work.”

“Is it ever time for anything else?” Trixie shovelled fried egg into her mouth.

“Have a good day, Trixie.”

“Trixie most certainly shall.”

And from that, Twilight assumed she’d received a “You too”. Hard to tell with the Great and Powerful Trixie at times.

Is There Intelligent Life Out There? (No).

Twilight had only just shut her bed chamber’s door behind her when she first noticed the beeping.

Instantly, she crossed the room to ferret around under the bed. Thus she drew out the saddlebag-shaped device beeping like crazy. A tiny radar dish on top rotated madly. The monitor on one side flashed on and off in an electronic fit.

Although the Equiverse project was nominally about exploring the nature and physics and cosmology of the multiverse, one of the first things it had discovered, as it happened, was trouble. The multiverse leaked. It had only started as soon as it had been discovered, and had prompted a lot of sarcastic smugness in dozens of editorials across the city, as though every copy editor had seen this exact scenario coming a decade ago and couldn’t believe scientists were that dumb.

To prove otherwise, she’d made this device – strictly speaking, she’d drawn up the blueprints and commissioned it. What it did was bleep whenever a leak happened.

If it was bleeping madly, then there was enough leakage to drop an elephant in the city.

Twilight summoned the rest of her kit at once.

She didn’t bother to check. She simply shot out of the door, all four legs a blur.

Twice, she tumbled and fell into an instantly raised net. Struggling out of each net, she growled. No harm was done, except to time, and at least broken bones could heal.

Halfway across the courtyard, she heard Trixie’s pants draw up alongside.

“I knew this would happen!” yelled Trixie. “As soon as I saw you galloping away, I knew the day was going to start with a bang!”

“I hope not!” yelled Twilight.

“Neither do I! Let’s make this quick, OK!?”

The porters made a half-hearted attempt to block their way, but one of the few perks about being Twilight was a certain tendency for others to assume she knew her business better than they did. Trixie flashed them a grin on their way out.

Across the main street… Twilight weaved among the parked carts and running foals. Down the main boulevard…

“Trixie! Where’s it pointing now!?”

Falling back, Trixie turned her head to check the device strapped to Twilight’s side. “Left. Then right.”

They galloped through back alleys. Buildings around them squatted with quiet baroque dignity, none of them daring to be so uncouth as to rise higher than three storeys. Far behind, Twilight’s tower was an obvious exception.

Just as Twilight’s body started to complain about the strain, she and Trixie rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. By now, the beeping had rapidly risen to a shrieking hum.

Trixie reached across and switched it off. Both of them stood panting and staring.

“My… goodness,” said Trixie.

In midair, a window to another sky was open. Purple and pink blazed under a galaxy of stars. One coin-sized planet glowed like an orange moon among them. Around the leakage, the air of Twilight’s world shimmered and rippled as though someone were strumming the surface of a lake.

Twilight’s breath came back. “They’re getting bigger. I’ve never seen one this size. Imagine what we could learn from –”

“Ahem. Time and place, Twilight?”

“Oh. Right. You’re right. Time and place. Yeah.”

As one, they leaned to the side, looking around the leakage.

“You don’t suppose,” said Trixie carefully, “that one of them came through again? Do you? By any chance?”

“You mean the Pacifiers?”

Trixie gulped.

Twilight shrugged. “I don’t rule them out.”

For that was another thing they were learning fast about the multiverse. It wasn’t entirely unoccupied.

Although that said, it would have been a bit more dignified if they’d been occupied by anything intelligent. So many scientists had hoped to embark on a brave new quest beyond their pale blue dot that they had assumed great wonders beyond their own tiny little world.

Oh, Pacifiers wanted to be intelligent. They probably thought they were dangerous. They certainly would have liked Trixie, if indeed they were capable of anything as intellectual as “liking”.

But after the initial shock had died down…

“You wait here,” said Twilight. “I’ll have a look in that building over there.”

“Which building?”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “The one with the gigantic hole in the side.”

After a moment’s staring, Trixie followed this up with the following brave suggestion: “How about I stay here and guard the leakage? In case any more come through.”

“It’s already shrinking. They never last long. You know that.”

“It’s got to be worth a try.”

Twilight gave up. She knew Trixie had potential inside her for great things. Only sometimes, “knew” seemed the wrong word. “Suspected”, maybe. Or “wanted to believe”.

And Pacifiers weren’t that bad. The city had come to accept they were going to pop up now and then. No one blamed the Equiverse project, at least not publicly.

Twilight stepped around the shimmering, rippling air. Overhead, the window was already shrinking to the point where only a horseshoe could fit through it. From her other saddlebag – the one without the radar dish revolving like crazy on top – she carefully levitated another device.

This one looked at first glance like a blunderbuss. That is, except for the diodes and pipes sticking out of it, of course, and for the long tube connecting the rear to her saddlebags. Another device of her own make – or rather, of her own design and commission.

It was non-lethal. She’d insisted. Admittedly, at the time she hadn’t faced a gigantic hole in the side of a building, but surely the principle was sound.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped through.

On the other side of the wall, the room was an inviting orange. The room, in fact, was a gigantic henhouse.

At least, it looked like one.

The biggest difference – at least, the second biggest difference – was that the rows of nests were bigger than what she might have expected from such a place. Big enough, as it were, for hens the size of ostriches.

The actual biggest difference was the type of hen it stocked. It didn’t.

They were all cockatrices.

Calmly, quietly, without indicating at any point that she was anything but a harmless stray not wanting any trouble, Twilight turned around and focused on her magic. She made sure the glow on her horn was not remotely offensive.

Bits of broken wood and steel rose off the floor and filled up the gaping hole. Soon, it was as if the wall had never been broken at all. Perhaps even now, Trixie was sighing with relief. Anything trying to sneak out would have a harder job of doing so.

Hundreds of eyes, row upon row of evil red eyes, focused on Twilight as she stepped forwards. She held her breath.

“Nice cock-cock-cockatrices,” she whispered under her breath. “Good cock-cock-cockatrices.”

Frenzied clucking broke out here and there.

“Don’t mind me,” she whispered, feeling a drop of sweat wipe down the side of her face. “I’m passing through. There’s a good cock-cock-cockatrice.”

One pair of eyes shone briefly. At once, Twilight looked away. When she glanced back, the glow had dwindled.

She let out a breath.

A more enterprising cockatrice leaped down and barred her way. Twilight stopped moving at once.

The creature narrowed its eyes.

Hoping her memory wouldn’t fail her, Twilight slowly and deliberately lowered herself to a kneel. A cockatrice considered itself the king of beasts. Dealing with one was not entirely dissimilar to dealing with Trixie.

She bowed her head low. Clucking critically, the cockatrice thumped forwards. She felt a peck on her scalp: too gentle to cause pain, but too sharp to get her hopes up.

Finally, a wing batted her across the face and the cockatrice leapt up and out of her path. Every clumsy flap whooshed through the air. Slowly and deliberately, she rose onto her hooves again.

Then she turned and saw the statues.

Pacifiers were not pretty at the best of times. At first glance, and if the viewer were severely concussed, they might look like ponies. At least, they had four obvious legs, hoof-like endings to match, and a broadly pony torso and head.

There the comparison ended. The frontmost legs were actually two pairs, but smashed so tightly together that they looked like one pair of bulky limbs. All of these appendages ended not in traditional pony hooves but in elephantine toes. And what pony, after all, had green, leathery skin, eyes on stalks, and tentacles for ears? Even their mouths looked wrong, having far too much underbite and teeth that were far too sharp. They couldn’t close the jaws at all.

They also wore armour and had laser blasters attached to their cheeks like tusks. No one said Pacifiers looked classy.

In fact, they looked like something out of a cheap sci-fi magazine. It offended scientific sensibility; who in their right mind would want to be known for discovering something that could be found in “Tales of Pulpy Horror! Volume Two”?

These thirteen statues, on the other hoof, looked extremely lifelike.

Twilight stepped carefully around them. Cockatrices demanded respect at the best of times, partly because that was the only way to get the prized eggs just right, but mostly because a cockatrice did not sulk and write stroppy little letters if it didn’t get what it wanted.

Certainly, no Pacifier would be smart enough to know that.

Something hit the ground with a thud. Twilight spun round.

Beyond these rows of cockatrice nests was a large gateway. Beyond the opening, she could see yet more nests. The cockatrice houses belonged to a thriving business. As far as low-skill jobs went, tending them was apparently a pretty good gig, provided you did nothing to get yourself turned into stone. At least it was lucrative, and they had a decent union.

Twilight stepped towards the gateway and cocked an ear. More thuds came through the timber. They were too heavy for a lone cockatrice, and the creatures weren’t usually that badly coordinated.

Gingerly, she stepped through.

A hulking figure was obviously standing on a beam overhead. She could see bits sticking out.

Pacifiers were dumb. This one might be bright enough not to end up as a spontaneous work of art, but this pathetic ambush attempt didn’t speak well of its tactical thinking.

“I know you’re there,” Twilight called out, pretending not to have noticed exactly where it was.

Overhead, the hulking figure froze.

“BRR KIBUB BRR!” it said.

Twilight rubbed her face. No tactical thinking whatsoever.

“Right, since no one else is here… I’d like something clarified, if you don’t mind.”

“WHAAAAAH! WHAAAAAH!”

“You always try and get me,” she said loudly. “Ever since the Equiverse project began. I don’t suppose you could tell me why?”

“WURPUR SCHLUBB BAKAAARP!”

True, they did seem strangely intent on tracking her down. It wasn’t a matter of where they popped up; leakages from the other side of the city usually meant ponies would spot the Pacifiers running straight for the university anyway. All the lucky ones who got that far usually went straight for the tower. Sadly, no one had ever found out what they would do once they caught up with Twilight, because they were so dumb even bystanders could outsmart them, never mind the local peacekeepers.

It had to be said, but she didn’t hold out much hope. “By the authority of the Princess Regent vested in me, I extend to you the hoof of friendship. If you accept, we would be willing to negotiate good terms with your species. I mean you no ill will.”

“BLADDAWADDA PFFT!”

“I hope that means ‘yes, please’.”

The Pacifier leaped.

The manoeuvre was flat-out embarrassing. The creature simply threw itself away from the beam and then dropped down and bounced on its own fat. Around it, the cockatrices squawked and flapped restlessly.

Both lasers glowed.

Contrary to received wisdom, Twilight stood stock still and made herself as obvious a target as possible.

The lasers fired. Brilliant reds splattered the world. Bursts of frenzied heat punched through the woodwork. Shots sliced through nails and reduced them to clouds of fillings. Everything had the intensity and speed of a shotgun crossed with a discotheque and competing against fireworks.

Finally, the barrage fizzled out.

Dead centre of a mass of splinters, burns, smoking bits, and drifting clouds of pulverized sawdust, Twilight remained standing.

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t give that an F.”

And she raised the blunderbuss.

The lasers on either side of the beast’s head charged up again. This was the point of no return; once a Pacifier had got the idea of shooting into its thick head, it never stopped.

Now it was Twilight’s turn to fire.

The inter-continuum charger – thus far concealed within the barrel – now hummed under the immense pressure. The pipe connecting this device to her saddlebag bulged as though swallowing lumps of food the wrong way. Diodes blinked.

Transport between universes had so far been extremely limited, but one thing Twilight had found was that things coming from another universe elsewhere could all too easily be knocked back through. And since Pacifiers were, at best, a nuisance to be studied later, she felt no guilt in preparing a return trip for this one. If anything, it was an act of mercy.

She might have done the job smoothly, if it hadn’t been for the cockatrices.

Squawking, screeching, spitting, and smacking their wings together, the flock burst out on either side like living walls collapsing. The Pacifier yelped with shock and was instantly buried under a mob of feathers and scales. Eyes glowed fiery red –

Twilight slammed her eyelids shut and turned away. Her blunderbuss fell silent. Occasionally, a stray tail or wing clipped her front.

She sensed the excitement had died down, and turned to look.

Another Pacifier statue lay on the ground. Its face – insofar as she could tell from the stalk eyes and underbite – bloomed with surprise. White feathers and… other white things suggested some of the cockatrices had gotten really excited.

“I tried,” she said to the statue. “Don’t say I didn’t try.”

Another mystery left unresolved. She hated that lack of closure. As for the Pacifiers… she wanted to feel sorry for them. She really did. But they were so unerringly, disappointingly, almost offensively dumb.

She magically fixed the ravaged wall behind her. Even their lasers were simply no match for her magical talents. What a waste.

So where did they get their lasers from? she wondered. They don’t seem capable of making the things themselves. That means someone else must be doing their work. Maybe there are intelligent beings out there after all.

She dismissed this at once. Who’d be smart enough to invent lasers, and then dumb enough to give them to Pacifiers?

Nonetheless, today clearly wasn’t her day.

Grateful, she stepped out and back into what passed for normal life. Dully, she noticed the leakage had long since evaporated.

Trixie was waiting right outside and almost bumped into her. “I heard them shooting at you! Are you –!?”

“Disappointed? Absolutely. Now that that’s been squandered, I need to work overtime to make up for the last few minutes I’ve just wasted. Then I’ll have to let the local authorities know so they can send someone to take the statues away. That’s going to waste even more time. And I still have no idea who the Pacifiers are and why they’re so badly trying to shoot me full of lasers if they’re not even smart enough to invent the things! One of them tried to ambush me! I’ve seen buildings pull off better ambushes than that!”

She barely noticed her own legs pumping furiously, or the windows and doors rushing past. Trixie had to canter to keep up with Twilight walking fast.

“Uh…” said Trixie.

“Now I’ve got to see how the project’s getting on, and then there’s the meeting with the Application Committee, and then the Princess Regent wants to see me over the effects this project may have on the city! I promised I’d make it on time! Why doesn’t life fit into a neat schedule!?”

“Twilight, it occurs to me that, um…”

“I just want to be left alone! Why do I have to meet so many ponies who have to be told all these things!? Uh…” Her tirade screeched with the effort of backpedalling. “I mean, I like meeting these ponies. I’ve got nothing against them, I swear. It’s just I’ve got so much work to do. Sorry, Trixie, did you say something?”

Growling, Trixie turned her head away. “Nothing important, I suppose.”

Until they reached the main gates of their college, Twilight said nothing. Only once they were close enough to have to wave their badges at the porters did Twilight dare to speak.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. All that stuff is just work. It’s not a privilege. It’s a responsibility.”

Trixie raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What? But didn’t you imply –?”

“It’s frankly touching that you remembered to honour your parents’ wishes and avoid hurting anyone’s feelings, but the Great and Powerful Trixie is not some baby wanting mommy to coddle her. Or to be ‘told all these things’. Now, assuming you’ve finished detailing your busy social schedule, Trixie has her own responsibilities to attend to.”

Muzzle up in the air, Trixie made for the nearest building.

Utterly confused, Twilight stumbled after her, fending off queries from excited porters eager to hear about her latest adventure. They always did that.

She hated seeing Trixie this way. They’d come from the same town, after all. They’d even been to the same magic kindergarten, and had basically grown up together. If not for the letters from home, Trixie would be her last link to the past.

“Wait!” she called after her. This was not how the morning was going to end.

Trixie cast a “Well, what do you want?” look over her shoulder.

“If Lyra and the others find anything fun to do,” Twilight said in a rush, “I’d like you to come along with me. Us. I mean, with us. My treat? Maybe?”

Trixie hummed and hawed, but more to save face than anything. Long years together had taught Twilight what that meant.

“Maybe Trixie shall accept, and maybe she shan’t,” was the spoken answer. “Depends how she feels nearer the time.”

After translating this to get the real answer, Twilight relaxed. Balance had been restored.

“Thanks,” she said. “And I really am sorry.”

No comment.

They parted company. Twilight Sparkle, Postdoctoral Researcher on the Esteemed Unicornian Scholarship Fund, Head of the newly coined Equiverse Committee, and arguably the greatest faculty member the University of Eohippus ever had… went back to her tower to pick up more of her kit.

Before she departed again, she removed the Smarty Pants doll from her bed, tidied up the corner, and shoved the doll underneath She couldn’t do much about the books, though, but personality and style would have to wait for another day. For when she felt like having any.

The Measure Of Mares

Minuette and Twinkleshine had already set up in the main park of the city. On the distant pathways, joggers jogged, picnickers picnicked, and students stole benches from each other every time one got up to put something in a bin.

What they had set up was…

“You’re sure this isn’t going to fall to pieces?” said Twinkleshine, eyeing up the thing warily. “Or explode?”

“Of course!” Minuette’s voice had a metallic echo from somewhere deep in the mechanism. “It’s absolutely failsafe!”

Twinkleshine took a deep breath. She’d never fault Minuette for her enthusiasm, least of all because the very idea of saying a bad word made her feel faint, but incorrect terminology was a different matter.

“That means it won’t hurt anyone if it does fail,” she said patiently. “What it shouldn’t do is fail in the first place. It should be fail-proof.”

“It is!” Minuette fiddled with something deep in the mechanism. “You’re not looking for an excuse to go back to the drawing board, are you?”

“I like the drawing board. The drawing board is nice and safe. The drawing board won’t get us kicked out of university if we blow something up.”

“Oh, you theoretician you!” said Minuette cheerfully. “Trust me, I’m a natural. Applied chronometrics isn’t that different from applied continuum, uh, metrics, thingy. You know? Hey, we should coin a new term for what we’re doing! We’re pioneers!”

Once more, Twinkleshine looked around as though expecting a tutor to materialize from thin air, frown-first. True, she’d complained that the current university model was stuck indoors all the time, and yes, if they twisted her forelimb – she whimpered at the thought – she would have admitted that she’d suggested, ever so carefully, that they should indeed have a portable model instead. She’d even wiled away a few happy hours calculating and double-calculating the specifics of the machine.

She liked the machine in theory. It was only the machine in practice that made her sweat. Or maybe that was the sun; didn’t they say that white unicorns like her burned more easily in sunlight?

More than ever, she wanted to go back indoors and read books about stars. She’d catalogued quite a few stars in the Zodiac Galaxy, and they were full of interesting things like Cepheid variables and main sequence binaries and X-ray pulsars packing their own delightful personalities and quirks. None of which worried her as much as Minuette smiling near machinery.

Minuette banged her head and drew back; such was her good mood that the only sign of concussion was a slight glassiness about the eyes.

“How about Twilight today, huh?” she said with usual bonhomie – or rather, given both the etymology and the species, “bonchevalie” – “Trying to be all get-out-more.”

“Yes, I wish she didn’t. It’s not natural. I liked her better when she just gave orders.” After a moment’s thought, Twinkleshine added, “Well, OK, no I didn’t, but at least I knew how to deal with her when she just gave orders. All this ‘trying to be outgoing’ stuff creeps me out. When she does it, I mean.”

“I like the new Twily!” Moving around the machine, Minuette ran an eye over the panelling. “But it was a bit weird, yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh huh.”

More joggers cantered past, and these ones glanced their way. Twinkleshine stepped sideways so as to remain hidden behind the device until they passed.

“I do miss the old days, though,” said Minuette, who’d stopped at the user interface. “This used to be so much fun. Everything was fresh and exciting when it was just the four of us.”

Glumly, Twinkleshine nodded. In truth, she’d known all along that anything as big as the Equiverse project wasn’t going to be left to a bunch of students forever. Highly advanced students, maybe, but they hadn’t reached that level at the time. Pride flickered in her chest at the thought. They’d been precocious. That was a word to treasure forever.

But over the years, more undergraduates had peeked through the door or asked the tutors what was going on, and any student could smell a quick and easy credit boost from a mile off. Although most actual project newcomers broke away like poorly engineered parts through sheer pressure, some had caught up with the original team, who had survived by roping in small teams to make one big team.

Alas, somewhere along the way, things had gotten very crowded in the labs…

“Twily’s not the only one acting weird,” said Minuette, drawing up some blueprints and checking them against the interface. “Lyra says she wants to drop out.”

“What!?” Twinkleshine spluttered. “Lyra!? But… why!? She can’t! When!? Where!?”

“Too much pressure. That’s what she told me. Oh, I feel so bad for her! I told her she could talk it out with us, but she says she’s got to do things herself.”

“But why?”

“I dunno. I didn’t like to ask.” Minuette’s eyes widened. “Please don’t tell her I told you. She wanted me to keep it a secret.”

“Oh. Did she?”

“Promise you won’t tell!”

“I promise, I promise. I don’t know why you are telling me, though.”

“You’re my friend. It doesn’t count if I tell you,” said Minuette, fully confident of this traditional response to the secret-keeper’s conundrum.

“Then don’t tell Lemon Hearts. She doesn’t reason like that. Or Moondancer… though I guess Moondancer won’t care either way. Actually, yeah, tell Moondancer. That’s a safe place for a secret, if ever there was one. Or tell –”

Twinkleshine clamped her mouth over the next name that tried to slip through her lips. That one was not a safe place for anything, let alone a secret. That one had views.

A small crowd was gathering on the path nearby. Even over several yards and the trickle of the nearby canal, she heard their murmuring.

“You sure you’re doing that right?” Twinkleshine said suddenly.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m sure the display shouldn’t be orange.”

“That’s OK.”

“No, it’s not. I know what orange means. It’s close to red.”

“But it’s also close to green. Relax. I’ll switch on all the detectors, Little Miss Scaredy Pants –” Minuette giggled “– and then we’ll know for sure whether it’s good news or bad news.”

Twinkleshine’s brain uttered a very rude word, and she had to stifle her own gasp. A pony like her should not know words like those. They were not the words of a good pony. She didn’t like saying them in private, not even when quoting someone. Doing so suggested a lack of moral fibre.

“You’re being very reckless,” she said, risking an impatient stamp of her hoof.

“Twily says that you have to have dangerous physics on your side if you don’t want dangerous physics on the other side.”

Like most things Twilight said – namely when translated through Minuette’s less refined vocabulary – this made Twinkleshine say, “Pardon?”

“I’m sure Twily knows what she’s doing. She is a Postdoctoral Researcher –”

“So are we!”

“– on the Esteemed Unicornian Scholarship Fund,” Minuette recited, and then she beamed as though pleased to have remembered all those long words. “Not just anyone can get that. It’s not like the old days when we spent weeks writing on chalkboards. This is the real stuff.”

Twinkleshine sniffed haughtily. She’d applied for the fund at one point.

“That ‘writing on chalkboards’,” she said in a treble of trembling outrage, “was a series of highly precise cosmological calculations at the cutting edge of fundamental quantum tunnelling and gravitational wave theory! If it wasn’t for my – If it wasn’t for our calculations, you’d never have gotten this far!”

Flapping her front hooves, Minuette turned at once to attend to her. “I know, I know! And I’m really, really grateful. I am. Truly.” Only when Twinkleshine had forced her squeaky fury back down did Minuette add, “But you gotta admit this is where the fun is! Don’t you think it’s exciting?”

The crowd was growing now. News had gotten around over the last few months – accompanied by far more rumours, speculations, and crackpot conspiracies than Twinkleshine was happy with – and they were probably waiting to see if a black hole would pop up and swallow everything. It’d be something to chat about over lunch.

“Shall we?” Minuette waved at the crowd. One or two ponies waved back, but most simply chuckled or whispered amongst themselves.

“We’ll get into trouble,” said Twinkleshine. It was a good line, and she knew it would be proved right sooner or later.

Minuette nudged her gently. “Come on. When this works –”

“If this works.”

“When this works, we’ll be taking another great step for the future of science!”

“Physics and cosmology, to be precise.”

“What could go wrong?”

Twinklehine took a deep breath.

“I don’t mean actually say what could go wrong, silly. Oh, Twinkleshine, you worry too much. This will be the greatest day of our lives!”

At a burst of laughter from the crowd, Twinkleshine winced. “They won’t forget it, at least.”

“That’s the spirit!”

And Minuette reached for the big red shiny button, and pressed it as though picking a latte on a coffee machine. There should have been a bit more decorum, Twinkleshine felt.

The world’s first Lambda Likelihood Locator went “ding”.

“Um,” said Twinkleshine. “Shouldn’t we wait for…?”

Minuette shook her head irritably. Right away, the crowd fell silent; they were probably practising their reports for the main course at lunch. The show was about to begin.

A landing pod of a machine, or so it looked: the Lambda Likelihood Locator trembled and rattled on five metal spindles for legs, each atop a pair of brick-thick wheels. These strained to hold up the quivering sphere, large enough to be co-opted as a carriage if anyone had wanted to sit among so many wires and pipes, and if anyone could be found who was five millimetres thick.

Pulsing like curved strip lights, three doughnut-shaped “ears” projected from the upper half, so perfectly arranged – Twinkleshine allowed herself a flicker of pride – that from overhead they made an exact equilateral triangle. Crowning the whole ensemble was the revolving dish, because any futuristic device worth its weight in gold had to have a revolving dish on top.

Both of them checked the interface. Still orange.

“It’s a shame Rarity isn’t here to see this,” said Twinkleshine. “She has such a lovely eye for detail.”

Now it was Minuette’s turn to frown. “Twinkleshine, you’re a great friend, but Rarity? Really?”

Twinkleshine knew her own face was turning pink; she burned across her cheeks, though that might also have been the sun. “There’s nothing wrong with Rarity.”

“She’s an art student! She shouldn’t even be on this project.”

“Every science project needs an artist.” Twinkleshine wrinkled her muzzle. “We should’ve let her design this. It wouldn’t hurt to make it look less… primitive.”

“It’s sciency!”

“Yes, but sciency in a very primitive way.”

“What?”

“You know, it’s how ponies fifty years ago thought the future would look. Too much steel and too many silly sticking-out bits.”

Minuette’s mouth was a tight line.

More gently, Twinkleshine added, “This is a beautiful moment, though. At least it works.”

Never far from cheeriness, Minuette nodded. “Yep. It does work, doesn’t it?”

“This is a very important step. What do you think we should do next?”

Finally, and thankfully, Minuette lost all tightness in her face and the beaming smile came back. She levitated a camera.

“One for the album?” she said.

“Splendid.” Twinkleshine allowed herself a small giggle. “Let’s call it: Best Friends Taking the Revolution to the City. Make sure you get the crowd in.”

“OK, then! Smile!”

Yet as soon as Twinkleshine sidestepped around her – to get the crowd in – and the camera aimed, a more frantic beeping broke out. They looked at the machine. Pulsing lights pulsed faster. The dish spun more urgently. Worst of all, the orange display had turned red.

Minuette dropped the camera. “All right! Excitement time! It really does work!”

A cold premonition seeped through Twinkleshine’s mind as she watched her friend read the details on the screen. She whimpered.

“Please tell me it’s not –” she began.

“It’s in the park! What luck! If we hurry, we could catch it! See? I told you this was the best bit!”

“Yes. That. Please tell me it’s not that.” Twinkleshine groaned.

While her excitable friend pushed against the mighty machine and a few wheels squeaked, she looked sadly at the crowd. Beyond them, joggers jogged, picnickers picnicked, and students stole benches. Suddenly, she wished she was one of them.

Yes, she thought, please give me the chalkboard any day of the week.

At the top of another tower, the one called Apollo’s Peak, Moondancer talked to a box.

No ordinary box, admittedly: this was a box containing all manner of switches and flashing lights and sizzling circuitry, and the paper pouring out of the slot spoke back using complex messages only she could understand. But her side of the conversation was – apart from the rapid typing she did without thinking – largely non-technical.

“They asked me out! To a party! At this time of year! I put it to you: who in their right mind wants to waste time on all that sort of small talk when the project’s nowhere near completion yet? It’s only me and Twilight who really keep it going. If it was up to the rest of them, we’d be even further behind than the Alpha-Omega team. Then we’d look silly!”

The box did not hum while it worked, because Moondancer wouldn’t have stood for it if it had. She’d built the thing herself, after getting impatient with the technical team for taking too long.

She called it her thinking box.

In fact, computing devices did exist already, though they didn’t attract much attention and were largely playthings for unicorns. According to The Compendium of Odd and Trivial History, one century ago, a mare named Loveless had grown tired of her fellow unicorns constantly making sloppy mathematical errors on paper and had built a machine to do it for them. She’d operated on the principle that mushy brains produced mushy results, so hard brains produced hard results.

Upon completion, the machine had made three mistakes for its first test run. So, Loveless had decided with the kind of unstoppable certainty only a Moondancer could love, the important thing was that it had made those mistakes efficiently.

It made a kind of sense. Somehow, if a pony made a mistake, that was just a sign of ineradicable frailty in pony nature, but if a machine made a mistake, that was just a minor bug that’d be easy to fix.

Right now, Moondancer knew how Loveless must have felt. Machines sometimes went blip, but at least they listened to her instructions. And to her complaining. It was nice to complain to something that wouldn’t make a fuss.

“I don’t think any of them really take it seriously,” she said to the thinking box, which she half-considered naming after Loveless as a sort of tribute. “Oh, Twilight tries, bless her. And I’m sure Twinkleshine does, though…”

She sniffed, which in her opinion summed up the state of Twinkleshine’s affairs better than any litany of flaws could have done.

“But the others just see it as a brand new game.”

The box continued its mysterious operations.

“Don’t get me wrong… Well…”

Guilt stopped her for a moment. Funny: she never felt guilty if her “friends” actually took offence, but merely imagining them do so was another matter. Perhaps, she suspected, ponies were easier to sympathize with at a distance.

Still held at bay by guilt, Moondancer glanced up at the photos on the wall. They were an odd thing to find in a place like this, which was overrun by mechanical devices and books that needed re-shelving. Somewhere under all the dust and paper piles, presumably, was a bed and desk. Only the chair remained unswarmed, because she had to sit on something, and books had proven too inconvenient.

The photos were Minuette’s gifts. At the time, Moondancer had pretended to throw them away. Still, there had to be a corner of her life where they could exist.

“They’re good ponies. I’m sure of it.”

Seconds passed before her staring became uncomfortable, and she returned her gaze to the box.

“But –” she sniffed again “– they don’t take it seriously. Even Twilight’s got it into her head that dragons are involved somehow. And they call her a respected physicist! Talking crank like that!”

Agitated, she adjusted her spectacles and ran a hoof down the front of her jumper. Moondancer always wore a jumper, regardless of how much she sweated during the summer. Thermoregulation was just a tedious distraction.

She opened a drawer, and was pleased to find the notes on Calabi-Yau spaces. All arranged alphabetically, of course, and carefully marked with coloured ink at the top-right corner. Quantum mechanics deserved the special treatment, after all. Once, the subject had been chaotic, and now it was tamed, and would soon be trained to jump through hoops.

Chaos was the enemy.

Outside her door, chaos spread like a disease throughout the world. Ponies were the worst carriers; they actually seemed satisfied with – she shuddered – taking life as it came. They never gave a thought for the purity of accuracy.

They even said things like “take a break” or “relax” or “the work’ll keep”. Relax? Didn’t they realize that a shockingly high 34.76% of the day was often wasted sleeping? She knew; she’d timed herself every night for a month and then run a statistical analysis on the results. Nowadays, she tried to cut it down to 16.67%, and only because the 0% project had ended with her falling off her chair during a lecture. No, she had enough relaxation already.

It wasn’t as if she’d never tried to have fun. For instance, she’d bought that Smarty Pants doll at Twilight’s request. Sure, it was now sitting in the corner and rotting under the dust, but she’d spent money for the cause of frivolity. At least that was something.

In here, in the shadows, she felt safe. The world was unclean. This room was a ward kept spotless.

Finally, the thinking box – Loveless – stopped. The paper lay asleep, its squiggles dormant but waiting for her gaze to conjure mathematical dreams with a glance. She muttered under her breath as she read them.

To her own surprise, she smiled. Her muscles ached through lack of practice, but the broad conditions were met. Delight crept up on her.

“Twilight, you genius,” she murmured. “Perhaps you were onto something after all. OK…”

A few seconds passed while she ferreted around for a pen. Funny: she could buy tons of everything else and never lose it, but pens came and went as though they were sporadically exploring the world beyond and following their own timetable. Twilight had once joked that pens sneaked off to another universe when they thought no one was looking.

Soon, she was scribbling more calculations on a separate piece of paper.

“No,” she muttered. “I thought it was too good to be tr – Wait! If the resonator’s slightly out of sync, then I can fix that. There must be something wrong with the space-time intake valve.”

She ran a few calculations through the thinking box. More paper rolled out.

What she’d seen, even she couldn’t fully understand. Everyone had tried finding a way of travelling through the multiverse, but so far they’d only seen random windows accomplish that, and they were untamed. No one had figured out how to control them. The first pony to do so could change history.

Moondancer wasn’t interested in history.

No, the first pony to control the windows would be the first pony to control the windows. There was no point adding prizes to the event. The event did not serve her; she served it. Now she knew what Twinkleshine meant when she’d talked about her “shuddering before the universe”. Moondancer was shaking with nerves. She’d cracked it! She was sure she’d cracked it! Travel among the worlds!

Oh, there’d be a few minor niggles to clean up. That’d take the best part of two days, but all of that was just the mathematical equivalent of mopping up. What she needed now was a cup of really hot tea, and –

Through the excitement, she saw a red light flashing. On the desk. Her safety alarm.

Someone was in the tower.

Moondancer’s swivel chair squeaked. She faced the door.

Firstly, no one could get into Apollo’s Peak without a key card. Only thirty ponies had the right level of clearance.

Secondly, Moondancer had added her own special twist. Most unicorns knew barely enough magic to perform simple psychokinesis, but she’d learned better spells from Twilight. The only way to trip her safety alarm would be to also get past her magical locks.

The ones leading up to her room.

Heavy footsteps thudded along the passageway outside.

A fist knocked. One. Two.

They knocked harder. Three. Four.

Or were they trying to break in?

Moondancer’s spine was ice. The thought rose to the top of her mind: They broke through the magical locks! Like it was nothing! Even Twilight would’ve struggled!

Now the knocking became a vicious thudding. Whoever was behind the door, they seemed keen to get in. Or to break in.

Silently, from under a heap of open mechanical textbooks, Moondancer levitated a wrench, which just goes to show that even a magical genius can sometimes come up with badly thought-out ideas.

“Who’s there?” she said.

Metal ripped. She saw the door start to buckle.

“I’m warning you!” Shaking, she raised the wrench, wondering far too late if she needed to know the right technique for an effective swing.

The door bent so far it ripped along the middle. Red scales flashed through the gap.

Then the lot tore away from the hinges. Dust bloomed up where it fell.

“No, not my premium grade vault doors! You monster!” Moondancer waved the wrench threateningly at the dust cloud. “You’ll have to pay for that, you know! I still have my copy of the invoice!”

Thuds – clear, heavy, floor-cracking thuds – came closer. A shape shifted among the settling dust.

“You’re not allowed in here! This is a restricted area! I won’t give you another chance – My books! Look what you’ve done to my books!”

Nearby, a pile of reference books toppled. They’d taken hours to organize.

The thought occurred to her that she had more pressing matters than a sudden mess.

She swung the wrench.

A clawed hand grabbed it mid-swipe.

Her mouth opened and closed. She backed away and hit her rump against the desk. Moondancer’s mind raced about for a counterspell. To her horror, none came. But she must have memorized hundreds…

The claws squeezed. Then they opened, letting the crumpled remains of the wrench tinkle on the ground.

By now, the dust had utterly cleared. Outstretched wings loomed over her. Claws stretched towards her face. Oversized teeth grinned at her from a muzzle of blazing red.

Even through the spreading fear, Moondancer’s curiosity leaped out. “A dragon!? You’re a dragon!?”

“No kidding, little pony,” the dragon said in a deep voice. “And there was me thinking you were the smart one.”

Curiosity switched to desperation and ran on. “How’d you get so big!?”

“I work out.” The claws touched her face. His grin cut further across his snout. Both eyes glowed with the fires of delight.

She said, “Are you a different species?”

He paused.

“What?” he said.

“A different species.” Nervously, she adjusted her glasses. “Only the common dragon, Dracosaurus regalis, doesn’t have wings, and their proportions tend to be neotenous, as opposed to your more developed body proportions.”

He drew back slightly. “More developed? Wha?”

“And you don’t have the traditional diamond-tipped tail. I don’t know what the technical term would be for the spikes on yours – possibly a primitive thagomizer – though of course I’m assuming Dracosaurus regalis isn’t polymorphic. It could be you’re a subspecies, or a close enough species within that genus to be ambiguous, but the… uh… the, uh…”

Her gibbering ran down and collapsed under his blinking. He clearly hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about.

Then he remembered himself and stalked forwards again. “Too smart for your own good, aren’t you, little pony?”

She’d bought time. Her supercharged spell welled up and all at once she fired.

It was textbook. It was high-class magic. On anything other than a dragon, it would have worked.

But the monster caught it in the claws of one hand. Instantly, he swiped and shredded the cherry-coloured flames as though smashing a bonfire with his fist. Bits of the room burst into flame. The bang cracked the windows. She yelped and covered her eyes against the flare of light.

“Get back!” she shouted. “I’m warning you!”

“Who’s gonna make me, pony?”

Flames crackled. More book piles toppled onto the ground. Overwhelmed by the heat and by his rising laughter, she raised her hooves, and peeped out in time to see his hand smother her glasses.

“Leave me alone! You’re insane! Don’t you realize I’m trying to revolutionize mmff mmff mmff MMMMMFFFF!”

“Shut up,” was the last she heard him say. “You’re only lucky I need you alive, little pony…”

If Life Is A Teacher, Why Go To School?

Twilight finally reached the dome of the Canterlot College, and she stopped a few yards from the entrance to sigh. Under the glorious sunshine, the dome seemed as bright and as strangely unreal as the pleasure-domes of ancient conquerors. Hidden within was something greater than a sacred river, though. This was the heart of everything. Home of the universe’s secrets.

If she could crack them.

Instantly, she corrected herself: If WE could crack them. The plural was more urgent now. It wasn’t like the old days, when there’d been only her, Moondancer, Twinkleshine, and Minuette fiddling with charts and computers wherever they could get them. Now they had a designated building, a full team of unicorns, and more charts and computers than even she knew what to do with.

Twilight scanned her pass against the entrance lock. There was a click. The sliding doors whirred open as she approached.

At the main desk, Lyra Heartstrings was leaning against the counter and gesturing wildly with the other forelimb, while… Twilight wracked her brains… The other unicorn was sitting right there like the world’s grumpiest receptionist. What was the other one called?

Lyra grinned while she spoke. “And I said, ‘You call me out here just to play the lyre at you? Did you forget I was a physicist? Well, technically a harmonics scientist, but still. Ha! Talk about laugh!’ I played, though. Yeah, ‘cause it’s music, you know I can’t say no to that, but it’s still a shame what they miss out on when they just see me as The Funny Music One.”

“Morning, Lyra!” Twilight nodded at her, and then turned to the other unicorn and realized her tactical error in saying Lyra’s name. “Um,” she added, feeling it was too late. “Morning.”

“Amethyst Star,” muttered the other unicorn.

“Morning, Amethyst Star!” Drat! Wrong way to start! “Um. What’s the news?”

Amethyst contrived to scowl less grumpily and opened her mouth –

“Hold on, I’ve just remembered!” Twilight said in a rush of realization. “Moondancer! Has she reported in yet? I need to talk to her!”

“No,” said Amethyst coolly. “She hasn’t. Last I heard, she was stuck in her room again.”

“That’s right! The window convergence theory of inter-continuum travel! And no one’s heard anything since then?”

“This is Moondancer we’re talking about. What do you think?”

Twilight stared. Vaguely, she wondered what had gotten on her nerves all of a sudden, but then she figured Amethyst was just one of those ponies in a permanent state of pique. It always threw her off, though.

“Right…” she said uncertainly. Amethyst started saying something when Twilight made the decision. “Send someone over to talk to her. I know she works best alone, but I think it’s best we keep her in the loop.”

Amethyst’s scowl deepened. “I was just saying that.”

“Excellent! It’s wonderful to see you’re on top of it.” Twilight offered a smile that stayed offered for an uncomfortable few seconds. “Um. Good. Uh… I understand Twinkleshine and Minuette are testing the window detection device today. What else? Anything else?”

She wasn’t actually ignorant of the schedule. However, she had the distinct impression that it was bad form not to let others chip in.

Lyra stopped leaning and stood to attention. “Ma’am, yes ma’am! Both of them departed at oh eight hundred hours, ma’am! I saw them go, ma’am!”

“Lyra, please. You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am’.”

Vibrating with official pride, Lyra continued, “A junior should always attend to a senior, ma’am! Don’t want to let the side down, ma’am.”

“That’s fine,” said Twilight, rolling her eyes, “but we’re not military. ‘Twilight Sparkle’ will do just fine.”

She groaned; Lyra had winked at her. There was no stopping a mare with a wink like that. Sometimes, she wondered if Lyra had really grown up, or had just gotten bigger while staying exactly the same.

“Got company today, ma’am! Need to show them who the professionals are, ma’am! Overjoyed to be working with you, aaaaaaas always, ma’am!”

“Lyra, I just said –” A memory flicked on. “Wait. Company? Not…”

“From the Natural History Museum, ma’am Twilight Sparkle ma’am!” Lyra leaned forwards and whispered, as though imparting state secrets, “She’s a pegasus, ma’am.”

“What?”

“Yeah, caught me by surprise too. I was expecting an earth pony for this sort of work. Still,” she continued, far more brightly than was apparently possible judging from her already-bright demeanour, “I say it takes all sorts to make a world, and no mistake!”

Behind her, Amethyst grunted. It was impossible to tell whether that grunt meant grudging agreement or disgusted disbelief.

Twilight glanced about, but of the chairs in the lobby, none were occupied. “Where is she?”

“In the waiting room,” Amethyst said.

“But we don’t have a waiting room.”

“Oh, we do. Officially, it’s called the HEMB Private Quarters, but I figured you knew the unofficial name we actually use.”

Twilight scanned her face for any sign of scorn, but Amethyst had gone carefully blank. If they ever had a poker night, then Twilight knew better than to play against a face like that.

“Right,” she said. “Well, I suppose I ought to talk to her.”

“I’ll send her up, ma’am Twilight Sparkle ma’am!” said Lyra.

“Oh, good. I’ll be ready.”

“After all, you are the Head of the Team, ma’am!”

Twilight squirmed under the heat of Lyra’s excited grin. “It’s just a job. That’s all.” She coughed and backed away slightly. “Hopefully, she can help us out too.”

“If you say so,” said Amethyst.

“And Sweetie Belle’s waiting in your office!” Lyra said as though announcing an early birthday present.

Twilight groaned. Of course she was. Long ago, some of the team – she refused to name names, even in her head – had invited their friends round. And one of them – she forced herself not to glance at Lyra – had invited Rarity in, and wherever Rarity went, so Sweetie Belle would follow. Worse, Sweetie Belle was a lot like Lyra in many respects. For one thing, she had the sort of cheery helpfulness that could take an annoying little problem and turn it into a terrifying big one.

Forcing herself not to pinch her own muzzle in despair, Twilight said, “Who let her in this time?”

“She let herself in,” said Amethyst.

“What?”

“Had her own pass.”

“I didn’t authorize that!”

“Really,” said Amethyst.

“I didn’t! I’d have remembered! And I’d have disagreed with it!”

“But she’s no trouble at all,” said Lyra with an economy of truth, albeit an economy going through a recession. “I know she’s not… qualified, or anything, but fair’s fair, she’s enthusiastic! You always say that the heart is as important as the head to a true scientist!”

“Yes, but the emphasis was on ‘the head’.”

“I know you don’t approve of it, but just trust me. I’m good with kids. I can keep her safe in here,” said Lyra.

“You’ve been making passes without my permission!?” said Twilight.

Amethyst opened her mouth to reply –

“Yeah,” said Lyra, and briefly her bright countenance was eclipsed by dark doubt. “Don’t ask me to throw her out again. I like – She likes being around the place. Besides, you also said we needed to get more kids interested in science. Now we’ve got the perfect foal, and you want me to throw her out just like that? I can’t do it.”

There was a crash from upstairs.

No good: Twilight pinched her own muzzle in despair. “Tell me that wasn’t –”

“Sounds like it came from your office,” said Amethyst, so emotionlessly that Twilight could almost hear the syllables twang under the strain.

To Lyra, Twilight added, “We’ll discuss this later. If you’ll excuse me, I’m already running late.”

“Why’s that?” said Amethyst. Concern creased her face for a moment. “Not another window?”

“Pacifiers again. I’m OK,” she said quickly when they both opened their mouths. “There was a mess, though.”

“Where?” said Lyra.

“The cockatrice houses, this time.”

Both of them winced.

“No casualties?” said Amethyst.

“None. Except themselves: you know Pacifiers.”

“No one knows Pacifiers. For all we can tell, we might have been lucky so far.”

“Well, that’s hopefully what’ll get solved today. Excuse me. Sorry to have to hurry, but, you know, late and everything…”

Yet as she went through the next set of sliding doors, Twilight ducked to the side and pressed her back up against the wall. If she hid in a certain alcove and cocked her ear close to the ventilation duct, and if she didn’t mind a little tinny echo, she could hear into the entrance lobby.

It was important to know what the others were thinking. It wasn’t like the old days, when she didn’t realize how she’d come across to them…

She heard Lyra say, “You think she’s OK?”

And then she heard Amethyst say, “I’m sure the Head of the Equiverse project can take care of herself.”

“You don’t have to be so cold all the time.”

“‘Professional’, Lyra. Not ‘cold’.”

A pause. “So… do you think I shouldn’t have given Dinky a pass too?”

Twilight groaned quietly.

“The fact is that it was done.” Paper shuffled, and then Amethyst went on, “By the way, you’re still on for Dinky’s birthday party?”

“Ha! Look who you’re talking to. Just tell me you sent everyone – and I mean everyone – an invitation.”

Another pause. “Sometimes, I wonder if it’d be worth quitting this project.”

“Amethyst! No! Not this again!”

“It’d solve one problem, at least. The glory doesn’t interest me, and there are only so many ways crystallography and geology can feature in this research.”

“You’re important to the project and you know it! You’re… You’re interdisciplined!”

“That’s ‘interdisciplinary’. I’m hardly the only crystal expert in the city, am I? All right, all right, don’t jump up and down like that; you’ll make me giddy. It was only a thought. I mean, there’s always the chance Twilight steps down.”

Twilight’s jaw tightened.

Sullenly, Lyra’s voice responded, “Come on, Ammy. You’re not still sore about that University Challenge thing, are you? You came second. Second’s good. Leave Twilight alone.”

After a while, Amethyst responded, “So how about that weather? Pretty sunny, huh?”

Both Twilight and Lyra growled before the former slipped out and headed upstairs. She’d heard enough. More than enough. Too much.

Anyway, she was already running late.

Upstairs, Twilight approached her office door as an experienced zookeeper might approach a tiger cage. Another heavy crash came from inside, followed by a squeaky little voice saying: “Oopsy. Um. So much for that idea.”

Do it quickly. Do it with the minimum of fuss. And just do it.

Twilight’s horn surged with energy. Gingerly, she twisted the doorknob. Then she threw herself inside.

Her desk was buried under a thick layer of books the size of bricks. Sweetie Belle had tipped the entire shelf over: an impressive feat, considering the shelf was built like a timber fortress. And bolted down.

Sitting on top of the shelf and hunched up tightly was a guilty little filly with curls, the picture of deceptive innocence. Like arsenic powder disguised as sugar.

Twilight rubbed her face irritably. “Sweetie Belle…”

“I only wanted to get to the highest books,” said the squeaky little voice on cue. “Um. There was a book that wasn’t pushed in all the way.”

Count to three, just like Rarity said. One… Two… Three… Nope, still don’t feel better.

“It’s… OK,” Twilight said, and she had to fight to keep the horror out of her voice. “I was meaning to reorganize those books, anyway.”

At least Twilight was better equipped to deal with large-scale messes; a few sizzling spells later, the books and the shelf were back in their rightful places. Twilight glumly noted the smashed mug and cracked pens on the desk.

“S-Sorry,” said Sweetie Belle, who hopped onto the edge of the desk like a cat looking to rest. “I wanted to help.”

Hoo boy, how do I put this? “Can’t they use your help at magic school?”

“The teacher says I’m a special student.”

I’ll bet he does. Instantly feeling the guilt cuff her round the head, Twilight added, “Maybe so, but you shouldn’t neglect your studies like this. The city isn’t as relaxed about education as the country. You can call him by his proper name, you know.”

Sweetie Belle pouted. “He doesn’t care. No one at school cares. It’s so boring.”

“Education is important. By rights, I should call them up and let them know where you are –”

“No!” Sweetie Belle leaped forwards to block her way, as if Twilight were about to crawl over the desk to make that call. “Don’t! I’m not going back!”

“You’ll have to. The holidays have been and gone. I know you like it here –”

“Everyone’s so nice,” moaned Sweetie Belle. “And anyway, it’s… it’s proper magic here. Not like the stuff we learn at school. Look what I can do!”

The tiny horn lit up. Experience forced Twilight to duck; several books shot off the shelves and circled Sweetie Belle’s head. Yet the little face was reddening fast as though on a cooker. The books sagged. Then the lot fell with a clatter and Sweetie Belle released a breath and panted hard.

“I’m… getting better… faster… here,” she said amid all the panting.

Twilight had to concede that this was true; before the visits to the dome had started, Sweetie Belle had barely managed to make an aura glow along her horn. Every time someone had let her in to watch, though, she’d stared at the magic on display as though willing it to come over to her too. And Rarity had said she’d been practising more often at home. But…

“Don’t make me feel like the bad guy,” Twilight said with a sigh. “You know what’ll happen if anyone finds out.”

“You’re Twilight Sparkle,” said Sweetie Belle with a shrug. “Who’s going to stop you?”

Well, no one, thought Twilight treacherously. But they should.

“You can stay this one time,” she said in the end.

“And be your special assistant, right?”

It was uncanny. Any grown-up unicorn who’d asked that would’ve gotten a flat “no”, or at least they would’ve been politely declined. On the other hoof, it seemed monstrous to try the same approach on a foal. Sweetie Belle’s eyes sparkled with dreams.

Helpless, Twilight said, “I… suppose you could… hang around by me… just in case…” Where I can keep an eye on you.

“Okey dokey!”

Sweetie Belle hopped off the desk. Barely had Twilight dared to lean over and see what she was doing when Sweetie Belle hopped back on with a backpack in her mouth, which was promptly placed on the surface and rummaged through.

“I brought my own writing and stationary kit, to make sure. Look, I’ve got two hundred pieces of lined paper, and one of those fancy pen things Rarity says gives it some extra class.”

“Quill,” corrected Twilight, staring in fascinated horror.

“And I got one of those little retractor stepladder thingies, in case you need any books taken off the shelves.”

“Retractable stepladder – Sweetie Belle, what is this?”

“Also, I’ve done some reading, and it turns out there’s this Gooey Decimal System, but I couldn’t find a map. Do you have one somewhere? I searched all your drawers –”

Twilight hurriedly opened and closed each drawer in turn.

“– to see if I could find anything. Do you memorize all the subjects and things? Oh, and maybe one day I could redecorate. Rarity says there’s nothing wrong with making sure a room works, so long as it works. Though I don’t know what she meant by that, but I think it means you could do with having this place redecorated.”

Twilight slammed the last drawer shut. Minimalism had always been fine by her standards. She’d only conceded the potted spider plant in the corner because Minuette had meant well and was best not upset before working on heavy machinery.

Instead, she said, “No, thank you. I’m quite capable of managing myself.”

Deep in Sweetie Belle’s eyes, she saw the sparkling dream quiver with threatened tears. It could have just been her imagination, of course. That said, there was a definite droopiness to the filly’s ears.

Pony ears drooping: now that was usually the first sign of trouble. “But… I suppose you wouldn’t mind seeing me at work?”

The ears rose. “You mean, like… using magic?”

“Actually, I was about to interview a new job applicant.”

“Interview? You do interviews?”

Twilight chewed her lip. “Would you like a seat? Only it’s going to be tricky conducting this interview if… you’re in the way.”

“I won’t get in the way! I promise!”

“I meant physically in the way.”

Crawling backwards, Sweetie Belle dragged the backpack off the table. She disappeared with a thump, and before Twilight could ask if she was all right, her head popped back up again.

“Is there a job I could do?” she said, squeaking louder with hope.

“No, I’m sorry. This is for a biology position.”

Sweetie Belle’s brow wrinkled. “Biology?”

Twilight checked the clock over the door. “Please, I’m running late. Would you sit down and just watch?”

“And maybe ask a few questions too, right?”

Twilight ground her teeth together, torn between the exacting demands of the job and the prospect of Sweetie Belle sniffling because she, Twilight, had Not Been Good With Kids Again. “M-Maybe? Just, uh… follow my lead. Take the spare chair over there.”

Giggling, Sweetie Belle magically dragged the chair across. It would probably have been easier to pick up and carry.

“Why is it a biology post?” she said as she clambered onto the seat.

“Um…” said Twilight.

Twilight’s mind wandered back to the cockatrice house, to the sight of those stalked eyes staring at her with stupid malice, and to the sound of the laser blitz bursting all around her.

Pacifiers were harmless, she’d say that in their favour, but they were a complication. Ponies exploring the nature of the multiverse had focused on the physics and the cosmology of the places, as though they were really just extensions of the same dark, empty, lifeless universe one could easily see through a telescope at night.

When the first Pacifiers had fallen through the windows and into the middle of the grand hall, of course, everyone had been caught off guard. Many had screamed; the laser attacks looked convincing enough. Apart from anything else, the beasts had ruined a perfectly peaceful dinner. Even Twilight had frozen with fear, which was how she’d immediately learned of their pinpoint inaccuracy.

And then she’d tried levitating the laser blasters off them, and half of the beasts had exploded with an embarrassing pop.

If those dullards had been military, they’d have given “friendly fire” a whole new meaning. A crack suicide squad would’ve laughed at them.

That intelligent life might have existed out there: she was prepared to handle that. Unintelligent life was another matter. Regardless, they were technically of scientific value, even if they were pests first and foremost. Pests could still be studied. After all, entomologists spent most of their time figuring out how to save rice crops from weevils, or cotton orchards from leafhoppers.

No one on the team knew enough about animals to handle them. Everyone wondered if there were any more surprises on the way. Unspoken, but trembling behind many spoken voices, was one thought, and only Amethyst downstairs had been bold enough or cold enough to voice it:

There could be worse creatures waiting.

Therefore, they needed to invite a biology expert, in case they ended up as history.

She considered explaining all this to Sweetie Belle, but Twilight had a feeling the interview was going to be tricky enough. And she was still running late as it was.

“Why don’t you watch us and find out?” she said, trying not to sound brusque. Hopefully, that would be invitation enough for Sweetie Belle to keep silent.

Just Shy Of Perfect

Fluttershy hadn’t said a word since she’d walked through the entrance.

This had presented a lot of difficulty at the desk, where the battering ram of Lyra’s excitement and the lock-picking tool of Amethyst’s patience had failed to crack open the door to her thoughts. She’d simply handed over the papers and avoided meeting anyone’s eye, for fear of inflicting psychologically scarring trauma on anyone.

At least Lyra had gotten her a drink while she waited, though Fluttershy hadn’t really wanted one. She’d drunk the hot cocoa anyway, scalding her mouth.

When Twilight had walked into the lobby next door, Fluttershy had alternated between eavesdropping at the door and guiltily hating herself for being so nosy.

And now the jumpy unicorn Lyra – Amethyst didn’t seem interested anymore – hopped into the room and practically sang, “Twilight Sparkle’s waiting for yoooooouuuuuuuuu!”

Fluttershy nodded once to show that she’d heard, and then left at an appreciable pace: not fast enough to offend, but not slow enough to give them a chance to talk to her.

On her way up the stairs, she rehearsed as many answers as she could, and was shocked to find she couldn’t remember a single one. Butterflies swarmed within her stomach as though trying to escape the gastric acid.

She stood outside the door for a few minutes before it occurred to her to knock. After all, she was the newcomer. Maybe there was a protocol to this sort of thing, in which case her hosts should make the first move in case she accidentally shockingly offended them by being impolite.

Dread rushing through her veins, she went in.

Already, it had gone wrong. Twilight was sitting on the opposite side of the desk next to a child. And she was getting up to show respect. Oh, no: now she was smiling to put her at her ease!

“Welcome to Canterlot College,” said Twilight, extending a hoof across the desk. “My name is Twilight Sparkle.”

The door clicked shut behind Fluttershy with a chilling finality. She instinctively avoided eye contact; this was exactly the wrong moment to non-verbally suggest a challenge.

“Fluttershy,” she murmured.

After a while, without relaxing her smile, Twilight lowered her hoof. “Yes, well, nice to meet you.”

“And I’m Sweetie Belle!” piped up the child. “Please take a seat!”

Twilight gave the child a sharp look. That was a bad sign. That suggested Tension In The Ranks. Fluttershy swallowed and sat down.

At once, Sweetie Belle hopped up and crossed her forelimbs on the table. “So, I hear you’re a biologist.”

She really is very small… like a cat. Relief spread through Fluttershy. Cat-sized creatures she could deal with.

“Yes,” she breathed, not daring to speak any louder in case she sounded obnoxious. “I’m good with animals.”

“Ahem,” said Twilight, glaring at Sweetie Belle until the latter sat back. “I must say, from what my sources tell me, you’ve amassed quite a reputation in the field. Biochemistry, evolutionary science, ethology, ecology… and animal husbandry?”

Twilight gave her a faintly worried look.

“Yes,” Fluttershy breathed, feeling like she’d just dropped a few IQ points.

“Forgive me for asking, but what’s animal husbandry?”

Oh no. Not that one. Why did she have to pick that one? Has she never set foot in the quiet countryside?

“It’s…” Fluttershy fidgeted where she sat. “It’s about… farm animals.”

Twilight’s worried look remained. “Well, I guess it’s not important. Pity you didn’t know animal wivery, ahaha, aheh…” The smile died instantly. “Ahem. Anyway, your qualifications are impressive –”

“Ooh, ooh!” Sweetie Belle jumped up and down on her seat, hoof raised in the air. “Miss Fluttershy, how come you’re a pegasus?”

Fluttershy blinked at her, wondering if this was some sort of subtle interview technique. This had never come up in all those workshops she’d attended, though admittedly most of the workshops had been about raising confidence – or in her case, finding any.

“Sorry?” she breathed.

“Only the other unicorns were saying how weird it was how a pegasus would be interested in animals. Normally, it’s earth ponies that do it.”

Deep within her own mind, a little Fluttershy nodded glumly. Whereas interviews were something she couldn’t really prepare for, this issue had come up so often that she’d learned the responses by rote.

“I’ve always liked animals,” she said, now risking in her voice something a little stronger than a breath. “Ever since I was a very little pony, I’ve found them fascinating.”

“Uh huh.” Sweetie Belle leaned forwards. Behind her, a flash of feathers landed on the windowsill, and words rushed into Fluttershy’s head as she stared.

“And I don’t know why me being a pegasus matters,” she continued, but gently. “All I know is that… is that… when I see a small bird sitting outside the window, I just wanna see what it does. How it moves, how it thinks, what kind of song it likes to play, what kind of home it finds comfortable and what kind of food it likes to eat. Where it came from, how it fits in this wonderful world of ours, why it’s the way it is, what it can do and see and feel and touch and many, many, many other senses we can’t even think about. You’ve got an Equestrian Robin outside your window right now! See?”

At once, Sweetie Belle turned around on her seat to look, but Twilight coughed meaningfully. Sadly, the little bird took off as though alarmed by this noise, taking Fluttershy’s rush of words with it.

“Wow,” said Twilight. “You’re a true devotee, I can see that.”

Half-hidden behind a cascade of her own pink mane, Fluttershy inspected the unicorn’s face for any trace of mockery. Nothing obvious. Then she remembered herself and hastily looked away.

“You used to study with us, am I right?” said Twilight.

“Sorry?” breathed Fluttershy.

“I mean at this university? Before? Your file mentioned St Meadow’s College?”

“Oh, I see.” Fluttershy saw nothing for it. They all asked sooner or later. “I do know what the report says, and I want to say I’ve paid my debt to society. I’m a brand new pony.”

Twilight stared at her for far too long.

“You’ve done time?” Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened.

Perhaps I am getting a little… excited. “No, no. I mean the…” Fluttershy swallowed. “Incidents.”

If Twilight had merely been staring before, now she was frozen like a digging machine caught in quicksand. Bits of her twitched with the effort of getting through, but the whole was stuck in some terrible mire of understanding.

“Ah,” she said, voice shaking slightly. “Yes, the… monster incidents.”

Without thought, new words rushed to Fluttershy’s aid. Except these weren’t the gushing waters of before; now they boiled and steamed with volcanic heat.

“They’re not monsters,” she said. “Firstly, ‘monsters’ has never been a good word for any animal. No scientist I’ve ever met would use it. Really, it’s just ponies making bad judgements, just because those animals look big and scary and get angry, which they wouldn’t do if ponies just listened to what I told them and didn’t pull any tails, which I told them not to do. And I’d like to point out that no one ever got hurt or anything like that, except for the poor phoenix, but I never told them to use a fire extinguisher on it when they clearly could have used the fire seed feed I gave them. And I did say I’d paid my debt to society. You won’t get any manticores or cerberus dogs running around the courtyard now. Believe me.”

Hearing a gasp, she looked down and met the sparkly gaze of Sweetie Belle. The filly gawped at her. Part of Fluttershy – possibly a birdlike part native to all pegasi – wanted to preen itself.

“Of course!” said Twilight hurriedly. “Of course. Water under the bridge and all that. Don’t mind me. Just, just…” She coughed again and shuffled her papers. “Well, your qualifications are impeccable, and you clearly have some experience.”

But, thought Fluttershy, coming down from her volcanic high. There’s going to be a “but”. There’s always a “but”.

Oh, maybe she’s too nervous to say it, but I know she’s thinking it. Everyone thinks it. I heard the other ponies at school and at the museum say it.

Twilight’s eyes darted from side to side as though looking for the dreaded “b” word in the air.

Alas, the lava sank further down Fluttershy’s throat, leaving her chilled with a sudden awareness of where she was. There was always the name. She could use the name.

Testing the waters, she broke the silence first. “I’ve also had field experience.”

“Oh?” said Twilight.

Not quietly enough, Sweetie Belle whispered to her, “What’s field experience?”

“Well, Sweetie Belle, it –”

Fluttershy raised a hoof. “May I?”

“Oh.” Twilight shuffled her papers again. “OK. Sure.”

“Field experience,” said Fluttershy, “is where a pony goes out there and watches and learns all about the big wide world. I went to the land of Xenozoica once.”

Sweetie Belle leaned so far forwards that she almost tipped her chair over. “Xenozoica! Wow! Is that the one with the giant monst – I mean, all the really big animals?”

“The largest mammals ever to walk on the planet.” Fluttershy leaned closer too, and for a moment she whispered as though passing on some awe-inspiring secret. “In fact, Xenozoica is the land where all big mammals used to live, long, long ago. Even us ponies. Oh, it’s such a beautiful place! I saw all kinds of strange and fascinating creatures: beavers the size of bears, woolly mammoths and sabre-toothed cats, sloths as big as buildings, and rabbits with horns and claws.”

“Did they try and eat you?” said Sweetie Belle, showing a child’s knack for asking the really important questions.

“Some of them did, bless them, but I had a lot of help from other ponies.”

“Wow. They must be the bravest ponies in the world to set foot in a place like that.”

Fluttershy beamed, but tried to keep it modest for fear of looking too cocky and making anyone hate her. “Oh, they’re committed. I’ve tried to make them better known by writing lots of books about the amazing work they do. I could give you one, if you like.”

“Yes, please! Thank you! And, and maybe I could show it to Rarity! Bet she’d be impressed!”

All too soon, Twilight’s cough broke the spell. Fluttershy’s face and hopes sank.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, hunching up to look as small and non-threatening as possible. “That was rude of me.”

“We generally try not to promote ourselves on the job,” said Twilight. Her tone was inscrutable.

“Yes, Miss Twilight.”

“We work together as a team.”

Knives of shame hovered before Fluttershy’s heart. Never think you’re better than anyone else. “Yes, M-Miss Tw… Yes…”

“Many of the creatures you’ll encounter won’t be known to science.”

And a tiny Fluttershy batted the imaginary knives aside. “I know that,” she murmured to the desk.

“So far we’ve been lucky, but who knows what dangers are waiting for us in another universe?”

This was too much even for Fluttershy’s weak soul; they were fiddling with the fabric of the universe, and the animals were their number one concern? “Is that including or not including the ‘monsters’?”

“I’m sorry?”

Darn it. Why couldn’t I keep my big mouth shut?

“N-Nothing,” she added hastily.

Twilight hung her head briefly before ploughing on. “What we’re doing is right at the cutting edge of modern science. I understand. And sometimes we end up cutting our own hooves. I will say this; we know how to deal with space-time. We’ve got numbers and logic on our side. But biology is something else. If you throw me a rock, I can tell you the rate of gravitational acceleration one should expect, and lots of us can calculate where it’ll land. If you throw me a monster –”

“A big animal,” Sweetie Belle said, frowning at Twilight and beaming at Fluttershy.

“A big animal… then I can’t tell what it is beyond the obvious.”

“I understand,” said Fluttershy.

“We’re not even that experienced with normal animals. I mean, say I were to pick a big lizard or something from… I don’t know… Carbonifera Forest –”

“Technically, there aren’t any in Carbonifera Forest,” said Fluttershy before she could stop herself.

“What?”

“No big lizards.”

“What? I could’ve sworn there were Hylonomus, or something.”

“Oh, those. They’re primitive reptiles. And they’re not that big anyway.”

Twilight frowned. “But –”

“Lizards are a kind of reptile, but-but-but they’re n-not the same thing. Hylonomus is really a primitive reptile. But not… primitive in a… in a bad way… Not really!” Fluttershy threw the words out and hastily closed the hatch. She’d interrupted. Twice! That was going to cause trouble!

“Right…” Twilight coughed. “Anyway, as I was saying: if a strange animal pops up in our universe, we need to know as much about it as possible.”

“I could help!” Sweetie Belle’s hoof shot up again. “Ooh, ooh, I could be a biology assistant!”

Fluttershy smiled, for she knew without a doubt that she had found an ally. “Oh, that’d be very sweet of you –”

“No assistants!” said Twilight urgently. “No assistants. Not one.” She placed both elbows onto the table and met both front hooves before her businesslike pout. “Anyway, now that we’ve cleared that up… I think I’ve seen quite enough. For the time being, I’m putting you on a trial week to see what you can do.”

Uncertain if this was a good thing or a terrible, terrible disaster, Fluttershy bit her lip and nodded once. She had a sinking feeling as though her insides were fighting to burrow their way out and escape.

“You might be called out at any hour of the day. I want you ready and alert at all times, and judging from what we know about the windows so far, you might be needed anywhere in the city. Presumably, with your pegasus wings, that won’t be a problem.”

You don’t meet many pegasi, do you?

Twilight went on. “I don’t want you to feel unwelcome or ostracised. Anyone who gives you a hard time – calls you ‘featherbrain’, for example –”

Fluttershy stopped herself from gasping just in time. To hear such a word from a respected scientist, no less!

“– you report them to me at once, and if I’m not around, to Moondancer.” She stopped to jut her lower jaw for a moment. “Then again… maybe Lyra’s the next best unicorn to tell. Yes, tell Lyra.”

“Oh, OK.” If I ever have the guts to tell anyone a thing after this. This is so humiliating. Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut? Such a fool…

Once more, Twilight made the mistake of trying to put her at her ease with a shaky smile, itself not at ease. “You’ll be working with one of the best teams in the world. Some of them might prove a tad difficult to work with, but I can assure you that – one or two rocky starts aside – we’ve managed to come together as an extremely efficient unit. Everyone here knows what they’re doing. Luckily, we’ve passed the teething stage, so most of the rest of our work involves building upon that groundwork very carefully.”

“Oh. OK. Uh, I’m happy to –”

“As for training, we’re a little stretched at the moment, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity during your first week to learn as you go along. If you have any trouble, come see me. I’ve got files for everything.”

“OK. What about –?”

“Everything.”

Twilight gave her a look that could have been drawn with rulers. Wisely, Fluttershy refrained from further comment. Even Sweetie Belle squirmed on her seat.

Another awful smile threw itself desperately across Twilight’s face. “So, uh… ‘done time’, you say?”

Eventually, Fluttershy nodded. Her tongue and everything in her belly tied itself into knots.

Twilight checked another paper on her desk. She relaxed, almost slumping on her seat.

“I don’t think ‘temporary expulsion’ counts as ‘done time’,” she said cautiously.

“So you didn’t go to prison?” Sweetie Belle grimaced with disappointment.

Still, Fluttershy didn’t dare speak.

“Never mind.” Twilight pushed the paper aside. “Now, I’ve got one or two things to, uh, check up on, but… but-but-but-but-but… in the meantime… I… can… have someone show you around the place? Give you an idea for what we do?” She pressed a buzzer under the desk and then looked past Fluttershy.

“Uh huh,” breathed Fluttershy.

“Don’t worry. For a friendly, easygoing tour of the dome, there’s no pony better than Lyra Heartstrings.”

Behind Fluttershy, the door rebounded off the wall. Hoofsteps thumped over the floorboards.

Twilight gaped. “Where’s Lyra?”

“Not here,” said a voice.

It was not a nice voice. It was husky and dull, punching her brain in the gut before moving on to find something more interesting to do. There was also the tiny, irritating, sloppy chewing sound of someone who’d discovered gum before they’d discovered how to chew with their lips closed.

Fluttershy turned and immediately met the half-lidded gaze of a lemon. Then she leaned away and saw the lemon was the bright yellow face of another unicorn.

Strained, Twilight said, “Fluttershy, meet… Lemon Hearts.”

“Yo,” said Lemon in between chewing.

Fluttershy did not dare turn her face away, but her gaze sought escape. That horrible sound was crunching up her world bite by bite.

“What’s your problem?” said Lemon.

“She’s just a little nervous. Lemon Hearts, meet Fluttershy.”

“Nervous? Why’s she nervous? I ain’t done anything yet.”

Fluttershy coughed, and since it was always awkward to leave a cough to die in midair, she barely managed to whisper, “Hello.”

“Lemon Hearts,” said Twilight. “She is our guest for the week. You know our code of conduct. I expect nothing but a good report from you, especially considering last time.”

“Yeah, yeah, grandma. I got it.” Chew, chew, chew…

“And what are you eating?”

Lemon Hearts stuck her tongue out. Cringing, Fluttershy turned her head away, and caught sight of Sweetie Belle with a look of cherubic innocence on her filly face. Presumably, the filly was taking mental notes for later study. It was a horrible thought.

Then Lemon swallowed. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“Yes,” said Twilight in a voice armed and ready for combat. Fluttershy turned her gaze down to the floor, which was least likely to get her caught in a crossfire, and heard a drawer open and shut before she heard the shuffle of paper. “Last night, I did my customary sweep of the dome to make sure everything was in tip-top shape, Lemon. I was looking around the main simulation room’s supercomputers, Lemon. And do you know what I discovered behind the computer bank, Lemon?”

“No, I don’t,” muttered Lemon. “Twilight. Because I’m not a psychic, Twilight.”

“I found thirteen bottles of cider! Thirteen! Someone must have smuggled them into the building. Again.”

Lemon sniffed. “Last night? Wasn’t that the night when we decided to have a bit of fun and a party, only you didn’t show up?”

“What I did last night is immaterial.”

“Uh huh. A lot of unicorns in the building last night. I expect one of them put those bottles there.”

Twilight sighed. “You know why I don’t allow cider on the premises. The devices contained therein are extremely delicate. A single spillage could destroy months of research.”

“Right, right. So I guess your hatred of all things fun and frivolous had nothing to do with it.”

“I do not hate fun! I just… have my own kind of fun. Anyway, this is not about me. Someone smuggled those bottles in last night –”

“Hold on.” Lemon licked her lips; Fluttershy could hear the slimy, sticky sounds. “Were these bottles full?”

“No. They were empty.”

“Uh huh. So in point of fact, you did not discover thirteen bottles of cider. You merely discovered thirteen bottles of nothing.”

“You know what I mean, Lemon!”

“I sure do.” Fluttershy was disgusted to hear evil delight in Lemon’s voice. “You mean that, if you were to take this evidence to anyone else, they’d have to declare it circumstantial.”

Twilight growled. “Lemon Hearts, please. This is serious!”

“So am I.”

“The work we’re doing here is an international treasure trove of scientific discoveries and artistic revolution. We have to be on our best behaviour at all times. Can you imagine what it’ll be like if the journalists find out we were having parties in the simulation room? And recklessly endangering hardware worth tens of millions of bits?”

“Yes! It’ll be like the world would see we’re actually ponies with personalities, not your mindless slaves!”

At last, the antagonistic tones were followed by silence. Fluttershy’s skin burned with shame, as though she’d started the whole thing off. Which, by being here and getting Lemon called in, she realized she had.

“I’m sorry you had to see this, Fluttershy,” said Twilight.

Fluttershy looked up. Both of the grown-up unicorns were red of face, though they seemed to be returning to their normal hues. Oddly, though, she had the sense that neither of them were really really worked up. Both had the unfocused looks of unicorns far too used to this shouting match for any genuine engagement.

She mentally added: If these two enter a room at once, leave that room at once. Oh dear. This is more horrible than I imagined, and it’s only my first day…

Checking behind her, she saw Sweetie Belle cowering slightly on the chair. Evidently, the poor thing wasn’t used to such commotion either. She resisted the urge to flap over and give the scared filly a much-needed hug.

“The bottles still there?” said Lemon Hearts less smugly than before. “I could clear them out, if you like.”

“No. I’ve already disposed of them. But let everyone know that if I find a single unicorn smuggling more food and drink into restricted areas, I won’t go easy on them.”

“Point taken, ‘your majesty’. Would you like me to curtsy before I go?”

Twilight’s gaze flickered to Fluttershy. “Just… Just help Fluttershy understand what we’re doing here. No complications, OK?”

Not for the first time in her life, Fluttershy wished she could disappear at will. Such was the squirming discomfiture inside her body that she was beyond looking for a mundane way out, and wishing so, so much that she could simply pop out of reality without a second thought, or even a first one. She still had no idea whether she liked Twilight or not.

“OK?” she breathed.

“Attagirl.” Lemon Hearts smirked at her. “Welcome to the loony bin, Flutterby.”

“Fluttershy…” Her voice succumbed entirely to paranoia; she shut her mouth and refused to open it again.

“Sorry. Fluttershy. I’ll remember your name.”

“Bye, Fluttershy!” shrieked Sweetie Belle, and when Fluttershy turned to look, the young filly was waving so energetically she almost toppled out of her chair.

“Looks like you found a friend, Fluttershy,” said Lemon Hearts cheerfully. “That’s good. Everyone should make a friend on their first day.”

Feeling she was being led down to the execution block, or the nacker’s yard, Fluttershy swallowed and eased the door shut behind her.

The monstrous Lemon Hearts flashed another smirk at her. “First pegasus I’ve seen in this building since I started. You know I was here before the first four unicorns even thought about making the Equiverse project?”

Desperate not to get any barbs in her face too soon, Fluttershy shook her head so fast her mane danced. Whatever her feelings about Twilight, she knew immediately what she felt about this Lemon. Why, the mare even smelled sour…

“Not that Princess Tyrant Spoilsport in there would ever admit it. Come on, then. I’ll give you the grand tour. I’m warning you ahead of time, though; when I call this place the loony bin, I’m not being metaphorical.”

And… it was a record; not even lunchtime yet, and already Fluttershy wanted to gallop home and hide under the bed. Miserably, she followed the prattling unicorn, bracing herself for the inevitable slog of ironic goodwill. That was the worst goodwill of all.

Aping Your Betters

On the edge of the lapping water, Minuette laughed and clapped her hooves together. “It works! It really works! This is so awesome!”

Twinkleshine didn’t move.

“I have to admit I was really worried we wouldn’t make it, and when all those joggers blocked the way – oh my gosh! – I thought we were gonna lose it, or the stochastic detection device was off, but no! We DID it! We could… we could… oh, so awesome! We could change the future of window science forever!”

Twinkleshine would have loved to jump for joy, but she could not and would not move.

“I mean, look at it! Look at that window! It’s right over the reservoir, and my baby still picked it up! And-And we can get all kinds of readings in one go. None of this ‘stuck in a lab and hope it works in real life’ stuff. THIS… This, Twinkleshine, is magical!”

Finally, Twinkleshine decided to cut things short. “Minuette?” she whimpered.

“Yeah, bestest best friend a mare could ask for? What’s up?”

Twinkleshine swallowed. “Could-Could you please get this monkey off my head? Please?”

It rummaged through her locks again; she winced at each snagged hair. All around the reservoir, in the plane trees shading them and along the more exposed ridge of the far bank, monkeys leaped and danced and swarmed and did handstands and shrieked at each other. Gathered along the same bank, most of the wandering crowd had sat down and were cheering indiscriminately.

“Awwww,” she heard them say at two monkeys hugging.

“Sorry, Twinkleshine,” said Minuette, cringing. “I’ve tried. Every time I get close, it shows me its big canine teeth.”

Twinkleshine whimpered again.

“Nonono, don’t worry, don’t worry! I think this one likes you. Look, it’s grooming your mane. Monkeys groom their friends.”

Annoyance flashed through Twinkleshine. “How can I look at my mane?”

“Oh. Um… You could… check the reflection! The reservoir’s right there, so you could –”

“I’mnotmoving! Notaninch! OW!” Another hair parted company with her head.

Helpless, her eyes swivelled across the scene. There indeed was the window, shaped like an arch and rippling the air around it; the opposite bank shimmered as though submerged. She wordlessly sought help from the crowd further along, but many of them were gabbling and pointing. Of course, they thought it was a big joke, even as the monkeys clambered over them all and searched for something interesting to eat.

Minuette shrugged and her hooves blurred over the interface. “They must have come through from the other side.”

“What makes you say – OW!” Tears blurred her vision. “That?”

“They’re all wearing helmets. Odd, that. And they’ve got little lights on, look.”

She did; most of the helmet lights spun blue hues around the monkeys as they scampered about or accepted fruits or picked pockets. Under normal circumstances – i.e. those not involving a monkey weighing down her head and now twanging her horn – Twinkleshine might have agreed. But the next twang scattered her thoughts like a shoal of fish.

“Minuette, please…”

“Hold on.” Minuette rushed over to the crowd. At this distance, her words were hard to make out, but she came running back with an apple and levitated it before Twinkleshine’s horn. “Here, monkey, monkey, monkey. Monkey want a treat? Minuette got a treat. Softly, softly, little monkey…”

To her sweet relief, Twinkleshine felt the hands pressing into her neck as the monkey clambered down, and then it pressed into her right shoulder and leapt. The apple was gone and the monkey rushed back to its fellows.

Shivering, she smoothed down the ruined lumps of her mane. First priority after this, she was having three showers and a bath. Minimum.

More monkeys loped over on all fours, promptly leaping onto Minuette’s back and head to search, presumably for more hidden apples. She giggled.

“Aw! They’re so adorable! Why can’t the Pacifiers be this adorable?”

Shaking with hurt dignity, Twinkleshine glared at them and circled around her friend, ready to scurry away at the slightest hint of simian interest. “Minuette, don’t move. I’ll get another fruit.”

“It’s OK – ahahahaha! No don’t walk there! I’m ticklish! Hahahahaha! – I don’t mind.”

“But we’re serious researchers. We’ve just laid the groundwork for the development of fundamental analysis –”

“Aw, look! That one’s stolen some guy’s hat! He looks so funny!”

Twinkleshine hid behind the Lambda Likelihood Locator. “Minuette, be serious! They could be diseased or dirty! We don’t know anything about them! They should be rounded up and sent back!”

The machine pinged. Twinkleshine buried herself in the screen and the paper readout. Anything was better to her profession than watching Minuette make baby faces at one of those flea-ridden things.

Besides, and regardless of the monkeys, her mouth was dry and her limbs itched with the spreading tingle of nerves. Her mind was trying to sneak glances into the future, one filled with voices praising the joint effort of those magnificent mares, Minuette and Twinkleshine…

Numbers swelled to a gigantic size in her sight. Within her own mind, machinery of a far more mysterious and comforting sort slid into life.

“Minuette,” she said, imparting gravitas into every syllable. “Come look at what we’ve found.”

“I can’t move. You’ll have to tell me.”

“Oh, all right.” Twinkleshine’s lips curled for a moment. “Ahem. I’ve just compared the data we’ve gathered from this window so far with the fragmentary stuff we got from the other ones.”

“Ahahahaha! No! NO! I told you AHAHAHAHA I’m ticklish! – What, already? I thought we – ahaha! – agreed we weren’t going to use the old data.”

“Yes, but it’s suggestive at least. I think we’ve found a pattern.”

“A what?”

“A curve. It plots a curve in two dimensions. I-I-I’d need to gather more data for a strong comparison, but I, uh, think we have the makings of a theory. Hold on…”

Screeches broke out along the far bank. Twinkleshine threw herself around the machine so fast she almost toppled, but relaxed again when the monkeys rushed past and rejoined the troupe dancing with excitement. At least now Minuette was right by her side, holding up the rolls of paper.

“They’re spreading out,” said Twinkleshine. “Um…”

“It’s good,” Minuette said, “but too early to say. Hey, look at this one.”

“I know. I saw that reading earlier.”

“Well, look at the window itself, then.”

They did so. Stars sparkled beyond, but other than that – and the fact that it was a window into another universe, of course – nothing remarkable stood out.

“What is it?” said Twinkleshine.

“I think this might be bigger than the others.”

“Based on what? We didn’t get any exact measurements.”

“I dunno. Just a… Just a feeling.” Defiantly sticking out her chest, she added, “It looks bigger.”

“Oh, don’t be such an alarmist. My heart’s still in my mouth as it is.”

They watched the monkeys spreading out over the grass beyond the bank. Distant ponies stood up or stopped on the paths to watch the troupe coming towards them.

“Um,” said Minuette.

“You think we should…?” Twinkleshine elbowed her.

“Round them up? They’re cute and all, but you might have a point.”

Twinkleshine patted what was left of her curls, dreading at any moment to feel something other than the familiar soft pads of her own rich hairs.

“It’s… not our department,” she said.

“But who else will?”

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t sign up for that new biology post.”

“Well, it’s our experiment. It’s kind of our responsibility, isn’t it?”

Twinkleshine shivered. “No, not in the slightest. We just measure the windows. After that, the Royal Guard can handle it. I’m not a zookeeper.”

“Well, neither are they,” said Minuette, frowning in puzzlement.

“Monkeys! And they make us look like jokes!” Twinkleshine turned her nose up and marched back to the machine. “Oh, I’m not going to interfere! I’ve got more important things to do than chase a gaggle of little imps like them.”

Along the paper, lines and squiggles whispered to her. They whispered of secrets only she was privy to. Deep in her chest, a younger Twinkleshine stirred and sniffed the air.

“Minuette?”

“Something interesting?” Minuette hurried over.

A moment’s hesitation. But why not? The thought occurred to her that, sooner or later, Twilight would sit before her and ask if the machine had worked, and the true words would creep up her own throat and leap out to be lost in a shuffle of paperwork and cafeteria discussions and then some lonely spot in the archives. Because someone else would have taken the good points, and then it was only a matter of time before she and Minuette were left behind again.

Plus, the data was so trivial. With it would go the sound of applause and the smell of fresh air and the giddy feeling of someone who was surrounded by admiring eyes…

Twinkleshine licked her lips. “We deserve a promotion for this, don’t we?”

“I’m just happy to be here,” said Minuette.

“To start here, perhaps. Where do we go from here? Skating along the surface, or soaring over mountains? I don’t want to get stuck in place, picking up after everyone else for life, Minuette. This… This…” She patted the paper. “This could be it. This IS it. This is finally, finally it.”

“You think so?”

Twinkleshine hugged the paper to her chest. She felt the hunger invading her thoughts…

“I know so.” Then she relaxed again. “Minuette, don’t tell Twilight.”

“Wha?”

“Don’t tell Twilight.” In a rush of words longing to escape from her chest, Twinkleshine went on. “I don’t want this to be just another Twilight scheme. Why don’t we show the world we can add something too? And you can perform many more wonders when you’ve gone from being a good scientist to being a great one.” Tenderly, she ran a tongue over the word “great”. “A great one,” she repeated lovingly.

Minuette gently patted her on the withers. “You are a great scientist. Of course you are! Why would you think any different?”

Because no one else says that! Only you! “You promise not to tell Twilight?”

The gentle patting stopped. “What? No, of course not!”

Twinkleshine blinked. “You can’t!”

“No! Obviously, we’ve got to tell her sometime. What’s wrong? Twilight’s our friend too.”

“I know that,” said Twinkleshine too quickly. She pawed at the grass.

“I don’t like it when you talk like that. All those secrets and things. You can’t tell me you don’t trust Twilight?”

Alas, she knew she could never tell her friend that. She chewed the inside of her mouth. Busying herself, she levitated notebook and pen.

“Where would I be without you, Minuette?” she said with a sigh.

“With me, or without me, I’m sure you’d still be a great scientist!”

She’s so certain. Shame drowned her. She didn’t dare lie to Minuette. No doubt her friend would absorb it and any later tearful confessions with an unbroken smile and a promise of future nights out, and what had Twinkleshine done to deserve any of that?

Hardening herself, she forced a grin onto her face. “Let’s just keep to the here and now, shall we? And here and now, good friend, I can safely say we stand on the edge of a vast ocean of knowledge NO GIVE ME THAT BACK!”

The monkey jumped onto the machine and waggled her notebook at her. Another snatched her pen and hightailed out of there.

“Return that pen this instant! NO DON’T MESS WITH THE MACHINE! Get off the dish! Minuette! Minuette! Do something!”

“They’re little scamps, aren’t they?” A flash. “One for the album.”

“You’re not helping! No! It’s pulling the pipes! Get off, you! That is NOT a plaything!”

On the open bank, the crowd laughed and broke into applause. More flashes followed. There might not be any world-swallowing black holes, but a monkey flipping through a notebook upside-down was still good material for a lunchtime chat.

Twinkleshine groaned. “Oh, I just know we’re gonna get blamed for this.”

She looked out across the grass. She stared. Slowly, she reached across and nudged Minuette, who gasped and started flashing her camera again.

Most of the monkeys scampered back towards them, howling and shrieking. Not far behind them came a white dot, and from what Twinkleshine could tell, it was making a beeline for them.

Both she and Minuette exchanged glances.

Ponies in the crowd burst out laughing as the troupe poured over the bank, plunged into the waters, paddled across to the window, and clambered back in. Every monkey screamed, having torn themselves away from some demonic nightmare, and they scrabbled and fought to overtake each other. The two unicorns didn’t look away until the last tail vanished among the stars.

“Well… erm…” Minuette’s gaze cast about for words. “At least we know Rarity’s around.”

Opal the cat sat down on the bank. She started licking her paws.

She ignored the watchers, who crowded around her and chatted amongst themselves. From what Twinkleshine could hear, they’d all thought it had been a good show from start to finish. Plenty of the foals tried to pat the cat, but Opal swiftly explained her no-touch policy to them, mostly in the sophisticated language of swipes and hisses.

“Er…” said Twinkleshine.

“Well…” said Minuette.

“That… solves that problem, at least…”

“It sure does.”

No wonder the monkeys had fled; like many cats, Opal was a small, furry creature that not-so-secretly dreamed of being a tiger. Both unicorns had been at the wrong end of a pair of angry claws at one point, and Twinkleshine suspected the tiny demon saw them as meals on hooves. The thought worried her, especially since Opal could smell fear and had an unerring instinct for targeting secret cat-haters.

They glanced at each other again, silently and wordlessly promising each other not to mention any of what they’d just seen. Instead, they turned back to the Lambda Likelihood Locator. At least the fleeing monkey had dropped the notebook, but no sign of the pen lay on the soil.

Minuette tapped the screen. “Lovely. It’s still going.”

“It hasn’t finished?”

“There must be loads of readings going on. We might be here for a little while.”

Whereupon the window suddenly vanished. Final ripples spread out and faded into the blue sky and surrounding trees and settling waters.

The interface stopped. Red turned to orange, which turned to green, which beeped once in a strangely tinny, happy way.

“Ah,” said Twinkleshine. “I guess not.”

“Hopefully, we got enough.” Minuette laughed and wrapped a warming forelimb around Twinkleshine, giving her a gentle shake. “Ha! Look at us! Professors Minuette and Twinkleshine, here we come! HahaHA! They won’t believe this when we get back!”

In the distance, more monkeys shrieked. Blue lights flashed through the treetops. Leaves crashed.

And Opal sauntered over and leaped onto Twinkleshine’s back, then onto her head. Claws raked at the hairs to get more comfortable. Gentle purring and a pressing tiny weight against her head suggested the cat was making a bed. When Opal wanted a bed, the bed was not in a position to argue, unless it wanted to become a scratching post or, worse, the next mouse.

Twinkleshine’s head slumped. More cameras flashed at her.

“N-No,” she whimpered. “They won’t believe any of this, will they?”

“Awwww,” said “Professor” Minuette. “She’s so cuh-yute! One for the album.”

“The best part,” said Lemon Hearts as they descended the steps, “is that we don’t just do one thing here.”

Fluttershy stumbled on a step. They’d passed through a few doors on the way to the inner sanctum, and it was dawning on her that the dome – huge though it was on the surface – had much in common with an iceberg.

Dimly, she remembered the talk she’d had at the museum before coming here. They’d said the place was a melting pot of ideas. They’d said this was an exciting time to live near the dome, which, compared with the dribbling candles of the city, was a firework. Ethereal. Beautiful. And – she now thought – best appreciated from a long way away.

“There’s all kinds of madness going on under this roof,” Lemon Hearts continued. “I’m telling ya, you think calling up a biologist is weird, you ain’t seen what we’ve already got.”

As they turned the corner to descend yet more steps, Fluttershy scurried to keep up. Lemon might speak in an easygoing way, but the way she walked didn’t make the going easy at all. She walked like many ponies cantered.

“What you’re gonna see next,” said Lemon, throwing a smirk over her shoulder, “is gonna be a real treat.”

She seems friendlier now she’s away from Twilight. Maybe friendly enough.

“Very nice,” she tried.

Lemon laughed. “No. Very nutty! Let’s take a look at Exhibit A, shall we?”

With the air of an explorer unveiling their latest caged wonder of the world, Lemon Hearts threw the double doors back and gestured to a window on their right.

“And here,” she said in hushed tones that didn’t match her evil grin, “we have the dedicated Amethystus staricus, truly a magnificent species. Note the dark coloration around her eyes, which indicate a lifetime of not getting enough sleep.”

Fluttershy raised an eyebrow at her, grateful that her own pink mane hid that half of her expression, and peered inside.

It was Amethyst, the unicorn from the desk. She’d donned a visor to protect her face, and her horn glowed. Before her lay… Fluttershy stared, trying to fathom the thing… a giant cannon? No! There! Amid the complex of pipes and hatches and other odd metal bits, the glint of a diamond…

“Laser testing,” said Lemon with a shrug. “Of course, lasers need gemstones, and gemstones are her specialty. This ought to be good.”

Fluttershy cocked her head. Why is she aiming at paper…?

The stretched canvas burst into flame so suddenly she squeaked in shock.

“Yeah,” said Lemon cheerfully. “Turns out you’re not supposed to see red beams shooting out like in the comics. Real lasers don’t give off light sideways so we can see it. Ain’t it disappointing what reality can teach us, eh?”

At which point, Amethyst noticed them, scowled behind her visor, and lit up her horn again. The blinds snapped across the glass, making Fluttershy yelp and jump backwards.

“Aw,” said Lemon. “She is shy, isn’t she? Oh, and take my advice; every time you meet her, give her a great big hug and a soppy kiss. She loves that.”

Cackling, Lemon waved for her to follow. Fluttershy did so, on the basis that the less she dragged this out, the less painful it would be.

That unicorn saw me with Lemon. Oh, now she might think I was laughing at her too. Poor, poor Amethyst! I wish I could tell her I didn’t mean anything.

“Exhibit B, if you look to your right again.” Lemon stopped before another window. Unlike last time, the occupant of this one beamed and waved at them.

Fluttershy didn’t dare respond. She already had a list of faux pas she’d committed, and in her heart she feared the day when someone brought her to account for each and every one of them, because they all had witnesses.

Eventually, and – to Fluttershy’s surprise – all while blushing, Lemon waved back. “Hey…” she said, with much less swagger than before.

Beside the window, the door burst open, making Fluttershy jump.

“Lemon! Fluttershy! Come quick!” Lyra poked her head out. “You gotta hear this!”

“‘Hear’ this?” whispered Fluttershy.

“Oh, of course, Fluttershy: you wouldn’t know. Come in! Come in! I’ll show you!” Lyra’s head disappeared.

Even Lemon’s face creased with worry. “Uh… better go see what she wants.”

This room contained nothing more remarkable than a large screen and a console. Lyra adjusted a microphone on the dashboard.

“Say hello,” she said, bending and stretching her legs in readiness for excited jumping, “to the Tenor.”

Fluttershy peered closely at the screen. Then she glanced at Lyra, who was holding a pose and beaming at her in readiness for the applause.

Both the face and the pose fell. “You know?” said Lyra. “Tenor?”

Shrugging helplessly, Fluttershy turned her gaze to the microphone.

“She is new,” said Lemon.

“Ah, of course.” Lyra coughed. “Um. What you see before you is the, uh, latest and greatest in harmonics science. Yes! We’re always trying to find meaningful patterns in the data we collect, right? Well, this computer – this wonderful computer – can take those patterns and find out if they contain any complex patterns. Pitch and rhythm, consonance and dissonance, all that jazz.”

After a while, Fluttershy shrugged weakly.

“In short!” Lyra flicked a switch without looking. “Tenor finds the music in the multiverse! Behold!”

She screwed up her lips as though working something out.

“Be… hear? Belisten? Beheed?” She shrugged. “Be amazed! This is the sound of the fundamental forces of reality, in all their glory!”

She pressed a button.

About five seconds of screeching, wailing, teeth-grinding, ear-stinging –

“OW!” Fluttershy covered her ears with both wings.

The music stopped; Lyra had hit the button fast. “Ahahahaha… uh… it’s not… quite there yet. I haven’t found the right match between the stats and the sounds. But-But think of the possibilities! We could literally hear the music of the heavens with this thing!”

A few seconds later, Lemon slammed the door and waved Fluttershy on to the next room. Sadly, Fluttershy heard the groan of Lyra even through the glass.

“Poor Lyra,” she whispered.

“Loony bin,” said Lemon over her shoulder. “I said it wasn’t a metaphor. And she’s the queen loony.”

They passed many more windows. Unicorns wrote on blackboards. Unicorns modified large sticks and balls into a plethora of shapes. Unicorns stared at displays and projections and photographs and charts and – she could’ve sworn in one case – a puppet show.

How come we’re not stopping to talk about these?

“And the rest,” said Lemon dismissively; she slowed down to let Fluttershy draw up alongside. “If you ask me, a lot of it’s just glory-hunting. Throw a few Equiverse references onto your term paper, and you get insta-credit. Apparently.” To Fluttershy’s horror, she spat right there, right then, right on the corridor floor. “Bunch of bloodsuckers.”

Fluttershy hummed. Even this felt too dangerous; her chest throbbed with the warnings from her heart.

“So,” said Lemon, as though she hadn’t just proven she would shoot someone’s reputation through the head, “what brings you to this heckhole? The excitement? The sense of awe and wonder? A chance to score with the girls? Oops, sorry. Forget that last one. Not that I ain’t open-minded, but you’d be surprised how often that doesn’t happen around here.”

Please shut up. Fluttershy’s face was a bonfire. No one, she was certain to her bones, should make her feel that way.

“‘Fluttershy’, huh? Odd name for a pegasus.”

The burning flames roared along a new line of thought. “Not really,” said Fluttershy.

“Most of them have names like Cloudkicker and Thunderlane, don’t they?”

“No.”

“Oh… well, I suppose it suits you.”

“Yes. It does.”

Thankfully, Lemon kept silent for a while after that. The crease lines crept back onto her face. Perhaps she’d sensed the heat rushing out under those words.

By now, the corridor was curving round, determined to follow the curvature of the dome above ground. Double doors occasionally surged past on their left, and Fluttershy wondered if they led to more stairs, going further down into the depths of the planet. Her imagination showed her an underground city, hidden beneath the real one. Or maybe there were caves holding monstrous machines, each one as big as the biggest buildings under the sky.

“Not joshing you this time,” said Lemon, for the first time sounding as though she could keep her emotions in check. “Why did you join, if I may ask?”

Fluttershy watched the windows go by. Why wouldn’t I join? Everyone knows about the project –

Gulping, she cut that thought off. Too much like a glory-hunter.

She tried again. Because it’s fascinating. Because new species could be new friends. Because maybe, maybe then, I’ll make new friends who won’t whisper behind my back, or make animal noises when I walk out of the room, or… or tell me I’m “seriously starting to scare them now”. No! I’ve wrapped a cocoon around myself for far too long –

“It’s… new,” she said, and cursed herself for it.

Suspiciously, Lemon smiled sidelong at her. “Yeah. It is, ain’t it? Here, my stop’s coming up. Hold on a sec.”

They paused at the next doorway on their right. Oddly, this one had no windows: not on either side, and not on the door itself. Lemon fumbled with the padlock.

“Wh…?” breathed Fluttershy.

“I know where all the nooks and crannies are in this place,” said Lemon, pausing only to swear at the lock and make Fluttershy wince. “Those other unicorns will tell you they’ve seen things that’d make your jaw drop. Me? I’ve seen things that’d make your brains drop. I got the knowing of the layout, and the keys to every single room in this dome. Best of all, I’m the mare every department needs.”

She turned and winked at Fluttershy. “What am I?”

The padlock clicked. The door swung open. Hardly daring to breathe, Fluttershy peered over the smirking face to see what lay beyond…

One wheel was squeaking when the trolley rolled out. Buckets sloshed. Mops and brooms rattled in the holders.

“Huh?” said Fluttershy.

A cap landed on Lemon Hearts’ curls. “I also do maintenance and security shifts.”

“You’re… a janitor?”

Lemon patted the cap. “No, no, my dear. I’m not a janitor.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I’m the janitor.”

“Ah.”

“Impressed?”

“Uh…”

“This place would fall apart without me, you know.”

“But…”

“And I have to clean up after a party. Though fair’s fair, I usually make the biggest messes.”

“But you… you…”

“It’s not that bad, you know. Janitoring’s a noble and ancient profession. Goes right back to serfdom, it does.”

“But you talked… to Twilight…”

Lemon kicked the door shut. “OK, look, I was a dropout and I needed the dough. You ever scrubbed a toilet for some ungrateful little PhD swot? I gotta get my fun where I can. Anyway, Twilight won’t dare sack me.”

Fluttershy took a deep breath. “You were talking to Twilight. The H-Head of the Equiverse project. And-And y-y-you were rude.”

“Yep!” said Lemon happily.

The enormity of the confession washed over Fluttershy until she staggered where she stood. “Oh my…”

“I notice you’re talking a lot more now. That’s nice, isn’t it?”

Too late, Fluttershy bit her lip. The corridor slowly began to spin around her. She breathed heavily.

“All right, all right! I’ll tell you what.” Hooves gripped her by the shoulders; Lemon’s wide eyes filled her vision. “I’ll show you where you’ll be working and you don’t hurl on the tiles. How’s that sound?”

“Working?” Fluttershy edged backwards, but those hooves had a grip like iron.

“Look, it was a bit much of me, fair enough. Let’s slow down a bit, shall we? Somewhere nice to settle in, and then we’ll go our separate ways. Come on. Follow me. We’ve almost done a full circle anyway.”

Already, Fluttershy’s chest squeezed itself with the effort of going on, while the shocks of the last few minutes battered her brain. Several doors further along, Lemon’s squeaking trolley stopped with another slosh of liquid.

“Home sweet home.” She pushed the door open, but her voice trembled a bit like glass about to slip out of a feeble grip. “Look? See how nice that is? Your very own room, right here in the dome. All for you. Hooray.”

Whether it was the tone of voice or simply her system getting to grips with current events, Fluttershy made her way into the room without the slightest trace of stagger.

Bare floorboards greeted her. Bare walls greeted her. Only the hanging bulb stopped the ceiling from being bare, but it greeted her all the same.

“Sorry about the smell,” said Lemon. “The last pony who used this room cleared it out. Tables, chairs, plastic board thingy: they took the lot. I was going to refurb it, but what with one thing or another…”

“That’s OK,” said Fluttershy, glancing from corner to corner. She sniffed, and caught the distinct scent of rat in the still air.

It’s perfect, she thought.

“I really am sorry.” Lemon backed away, wheel squeaking when Fluttershy turned to face her. “It’s the best we can do for now. I mean, sure I run the place all by myself, and those smarmy devils took all the best rooms, but… There you have it.”

Who knows? Maybe I AM going to make new friends here after all. “Any food?” she said.

Lemon stopped backing away. “Food? Oh, you mean the cafeteria. Sure. Right this way.”

They had to go upstairs again for this one. Fluttershy was disappointed; she’d hoped the cafeteria had been another subterranean marvel. Then again, none of the rooms had been marvels.

Fluttershy’s mind panicked. That was to say, she was sure they were a fine bunch of rooms, she wouldn’t say anything against them, only… only not quite marvels in the way she’d been thinking. She could be wrong, of course. Not her cup of tea, and all that. Don’t judge a book by its cover.

However, the cafeteria caught her breath. This wasn’t the crummy little room she’d gotten used to at St Meadow’s College, which was basically a wider part of the corridor with a counter on one side and a dozen chairs on the other. This was an emporium of hassocks and beanbags and hay bales and lounge chairs and benches and bar stools. Half the room was open, whereas the other half had cubicles; she flapped her wings to see over them, and spotted the thick glass partitions sealing many of them off.

“Whoa,” she murmured. Echoes of her “whoa” sang back, guided by the harmonics of the curved ceiling.

“Yeah,” said Lemon with a chuckle. “It takes newbies like that. Some bright spark had the idea of splitting the room for… what’re the terms now? Oh yeah, extraverts and introverts. Don’t ask me which is which. The open plan’s for the kinds who like to mingle. The closed rooms are for the kinds who like time to themselves. Kinda neat, considering we got all sorts here.”

And that counter… She could see the white tiles and hanging pans of the kitchens beyond. There were five-star restaurants that would love to have kitchens like those…

“Special treatment,” muttered Lemon in disgust. “When the whole world’s watching, you put on a show. They’re –” she spat again “– ‘celebrities’ now. Mind you, the old guard are pretty darn kooky.”

And they even had menus! Menus in a cafeteria! “Oh. Sorry. Kooky?”

“Twilight and the others. The ones who started it all. Yeah, don’t let Twilight’s ‘We’re all in this together’ shtick pull the wool over your eyes. She’s crazy ambitious. Mad over Celestia too. Figures: you take a pony who can’t even sack a lippy janitor ‘cause she’s scared of looking snobby, and then give her a whiff of royalty so she bends at the knees. Sickening, I call it.”

“Uh huh…” Fluttershy remembered the worried, desperate cheeriness from before. “She seems… nice.”

“Oh yes. Twilight’s good at seeming nice. Well, welcome to the team, brave pegasus.” Lemon slapped her on the withers, and Fluttershy bit her tongue at the thumping pain where she’d struck. “We’ll have you drooling over princesses within a week, I’m sure. Oh, and uh, one more thing…”

Rubbing her withers, Fluttershy looked pleadingly at her. “One more thing?”

“Yeah. Can you keep a secret?”

“Uh…”

“Terrific. Hold on.”

Lemon wheeled her trolley over to the counter and reached for something hidden behind it.

Meanwhile, Fluttershy dreamed of retreating to her room. The dome was full of too many ponies. Too many eyes to stare at her, too many mouths to mutter about her, too many brains to think horrible thoughts about her and her interests and her looks and the fact that she was excited to find there might be rats nearby. Far too many ponies she didn’t know. Blank slates, waiting to ambush her the moment she got far too comfortable or far too nice for her own good…

On the other hoof…

She stared at the cubicles, with their glass partitions. Someone here had thought about ponies who wanted to be left alone. Someone had thought about ponies like her. And Fluttershy very much wanted to find that someone, because this was the first cafeteria she’d ever found which actually had cubicles like that.

Oh, and the rest of the building was full of wonders too. No animals, sadly, but it had all looked very impressive in a sciency way. She hoped Lyra ever got her Tenor thing to work, if only because it had been so awkward when it hadn’t. Moreover, there were lots of sciences here. If she was lucky, there might be room for her kind, too.

A clink of bottles: Lemon rose up from behind the counter.

“Prime cider,” she said quickly. “Now don’t tell anyone a thing. I’ve got to get these out before Twilight starts her little puritan hunt. Hold the back entrance open, will ya?”

The Unseen

Moondancer had stopped trying to yell through the gag long ago; now her throat was sore and dry. Chains clanked when she shifted her legs. Irritably, she levitated the links and yanked hard and stretched that little bit further.

Around her, metal parts lay scattered. Some had been piled up against the far wall. Only this wall was not the curving, dark interior of her room, but built of bricks which glowed around the torch brackets. The flickering red prison gave her far more space, which was cruel considering what she’d lost.

Overhead, however, the square of darkness showed her the stars. She stopped and looked up, her eye drawn to the watchtowers in the corners.

Someone coughed nearby. At once, her mind returned to the ground. She shuffled over to the blueprints.

“I’m sorry you’re here,” said a voice behind her.

Moondancer ignored him. Burying herself in work was better than anything else right now.

“I swear, if I could do anything, I would.”

Bubbling rage seeped through her.

“Just… Just go along with it, OK? No one’s gonna get hurt. I promise.”

A flap of wings: instantly, her rage froze over. She didn’t dare turn around, not even when the two clawed feet slammed onto the stone floor.

“You guarding her, Peewee,” said the deep voice that crept up through her shaking legs, “or waiting to give her a hug? Ha!”

Moondancer picked up a pencil and traced the lines across the blue paper, trying not to breathe.

“Garble!” said the one called “Peewee”. He laughed nervously. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here! What a nice surprise!”

“Can it, pony-lover. I wouldn’t be here at all, except my so-called master wanted to pay a visit. And stay the heck away from me. I don’t want your pony cooties.”

Moondancer clenched her jaw. Nonetheless, she didn’t dare turn around. Taking an interest might be terminal; the big dragon had made unpleasant comments to her on her way here.

Which was slowly turning her mind inside-out, because she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here.

There’d been the smash of tiles and the rush of air, and her insides had thrown themselves downwards, but the big dragon had covered her eyes the whole time, and then she’d felt as though she were being stretched in all directions at once – she’d actually cried out. She’d feared her head and limbs were popping themselves out of place…

Then nothing. Then the rush of wind again. Next thing, they’d landed in this castle. She only knew that because the dragon had landed with a thump and uncovered her eyes, chained her up, and left.

There had been all this junk. Waiting for her.

She’d only had a few minutes… or hours… or maybe even days. She couldn’t tell.

Then this other – this baby – dragon had showed up. By then, she’d examined the notes. No one had told her what to do, but the designs on the prints were obvious to a mind like hers.

On top of the thing, she pencilled the word: “Manifold?”

Hooves tapped the stonework. She heard a male voice murmuring.

“What’s that, master?” Garble’s claws clicked over the stonework. “Wanna run that by me again?”

“NO!” squealed the unseen stallion. Moondancer prickled with sweat. “No. I, uh, had an invitation…”

“I know, you idiot. I just carried you here. Isn’t that what I just did?”

The stallion murmured again. Aloud, he added, “Did you… leave any evidence?”

Garble heaved his lungs with the irritated sigh; smoky tangs filled Moondancer’s nostrils for a moment before he spoke. “What do you take me for, pony? Course I didn’t! All that’s left is a smoking room and a whole lot of ashes.”

The nerve of him! Moondancer bared her teeth. Apollo’s Peak had been the best thing to home. She’d spent hours there. The place had always tickled her nose with its subtle scents. Bile rose up. Hoping to banish the dirty feeling clinging to her insides, she took a deep breath.

The nerve of him! He’ll pay! They’ll all pay!

Of course, she was a lot braver in her head than out of it.

And a fourth voice clipped the conversation. “That’ll do, Garble.”

So badly did Moondancer want to turn around. She wanted names, faces, anything…

“Fire does not destroy everything, Garble,” continued the clipped voice. There were no footsteps, no shuffling, nothing but a voice so stern that it might have been a deep female’s or a rumbling male’s.

No, Moondancer… don’t say anything… focus on staying alive…

“Destroys most things,” muttered Garble sullenly.

“Nevertheless.”

Gibbering, the stallion stepped forwards, his voice rushing out. “This is going too far! Look, I’m happy with the dragon, but this!? I can’t get involved in all this! I’m a respectable citizen!”

The silence was poison.

On the blueprints, Moondancer pencilled in more geometric shapes. Ah, but she couldn’t work with just paper. She needed calculations. Models. A prototype.

She cocked an ear. Much as she wanted to pummel the big dragon Garble into a mash of scales, she also wanted to examine the remains afterwards. If she only knew how he’d grown to such a size. No jurisdiction would have permitted it. Or maybe they had. Maybe there was a loophole. Even so, to risk so much was enough to make her mind gape.

That is, if he hadn’t laughed as her home burned. Yes, home. Apollo’s Peak had been a dark little corner of the world, cut off from sunlight, but she cared for no other, and he’d laughed.

Lips parted with a sickly tearing sound. “You wish to forfeit?” said the clipped, stern voice.

“It wasn’t so bad when he was working,” said the stallion, his voice trembling. “I got nothing against him working for me. I swear, I’m not grateful, I owe a lot to you, pleasure to have him around really, no nicer guy, but… but kidnapping ponies? I can’t. I can’t! I just can’t DO it!”

An unseen nose snorted. “For shame! You, of all ponies, growing a conscience?”

“Not that! No! Stuff that! What about my business, though? If word of this gets out, I dunno what I’ll do!”

Once again, that silence slowly killed the air. Only the torches crackled.

“No vision,” declared the stern voice. “No patience whatsoever. Has it not occurred to you, pony –” at this, Garble chuckled “– that it is impossible for anyone to find out about Moondancer’s work here? What are you afraid of? She is here, she cannot escape, no one even knows this place exists, let alone could penetrate its defences, and everyone else has a vested interest in keeping her happily contained.”

“But –”

“Lack of ambition! You have one of the greatest dragons on your side, and you’re content with bigger profit margins? Where is your pride, pony? No, you will simply do as you’re told. There is no other way.”

“It’s not worth all this! What if someone finds out about my dragon?”

“Garble? No one will find him.”

“He’s an enormous dragon!”

The stern voice sighed. “Garble?”

“Yeah?” said Garble.

“Your master wishes for you to remain stealthy. Have you followed his wishes?”

“Heck, yeah! You think I don’t know how to sneak?”

To Moondancer’s surprise, the stern voice chuckled at this. It was as if they were playing a game.

“Now, pony,” the voice continued. “Can you argue with that?”

After a silence dying painfully, the stallion muttered, “No…”

“Well, then. Take heart! Keep on course! You believe you’re doing splendidly as you are now. Thanks to me, you will not merely survive. You’ll thrive.”

The stallion gulped. “Uh huh?”

“Yes,” purred the voice. “Consider this; your business need not rely only on enhanced productivity. In Garble, you have the perfect tool for many other operations as well. Guided by me, as you would expect.”

“Like what? Just tell me that.”

Relishing the word, the stern voice rolled out: “Sabotage.”

Moondancer writhed with discomfort. When the stallion next spoke, his tone was infected with delight.

“Sabotage?”

“Yes.”

“Hm… I could do without one or two other ponies mucking things up, yeah…”

“Good. I’m glad you think that,” said the stern voice, and now thunder rumbled through its tones. “Because it pains me to think you might not be committed enough to our plans. Stupid pony! Were it not the case that a dragon needs a master, you would be nothing to me! And if you continue to act like this is a friendly opt-in plan, I assure you that Garble here will not hesitate!”

“What!? What!? What!? But… But I’m his master!”

“A replacement could be arranged!”

“Now see here –”

“Think, pony! Think! You sincerely believe he would obey you if you ordered him to attack me? Here? In this realm? No, I only need your assistance in the other realm. So long as the conditions hold, you will serve your role. Garble does not answer only to you.”

“You’re bluffing!”

Moondancer closed her eyes tightly. She’d never been a superstitious unicorn, but a sudden premonition gripped her in its cold claws and held her in place.

Coolly, the stern voice said, “Garble?”

“Yeah?”

“Take this bit of filth up high and then drop him.”

“With pleasure.”

The screams battered Moondancer left and right. Bracing her teeth, she shrank where she stood. Her pencil clattered on the stone under the screaming, the yelling, and the sudden flapping of wings.

“NO! NO! Call him OFF! CALL HIM OFF!”

“Garble?” called the stern voice.

“What?”

“Countermanded. Put the little pony back on the ground, please.”

Grumbling followed. Moondancer gasped and breathed heavily. Hot gazes sizzled along her flanks. Shakily, she levitated the pencil and scrawled some random symbols, trying to fight them into order.

“Thank you, Garble. We don’t want to upset our – aha – guest, after all.”

Rage and shame warred in the depths of Moondancer’s heart. If I get out of this alive, I swear I’m never going to be on my own again. Do the others even know I’m gone yet? I know I don’t spend that much time with them, but they’re still my friends, aren’t they?

Sobbing broke out; the stallion thumped onto the ground.

“Oh, do get up, pony.” The stern voice sniffed impatiently. “Rough as always, Garble.”

“It’s what I do,” said Garble with false modesty. The sobbing died away.

“Marvellous. Spike, come over here. You could learn something from this magnificent specimen. In any case, it’s time for your new instructions. I have summoned you both here because you have proven yourselves worthy of these next tasks.”

Claws skittered over the stones.

“Spike, you and your friends shall perform a – aha – a ‘test run’. You know the targets and the means. Use your skills wisely.”

Spike’s breathing was that of a child panicking. For a fleeting moment, Moondancer’s heart twisted.

“No! Please, no! I’ll do anything! That’s –”

“Spike! This is not a negotiation! You are bound by the magical obligation. At least act with some dignity.”

The little dragon’s gasping became desperate, rasping at his lungs. Overhead, Garble chuckled.

“W-W-Will do,” Spike stammered.

“Good boy. Perform well, and I will select you to be my number one assistant. Consider it a high honour. Garble?”

“Ready as always!” said Garble.

“Assist him however you can. Make sure there are no witnesses. If anyone gets too nosy, then their existence is forfeit.”

“Wait. That means kidnapping them, right?”

“If possible. But the stakes are high. Kidnapping may not be enough. Should it come to that, you know what to do.”

“All right! Haha!”

“Now, be gone – NO, Spike! Not another word! We have now officially entered the next phase. Remember; the future depends on how you act now. Act well. Act decisively. Be gone!”

Claws skittered. Wings flapped. The sudden wailing of the stallion rose up and died away. Then… silence.

Moondancer dropped the pencil. She didn’t dare turn around yet. Someone was breathing, ever so quietly.

“Moondancer,” said the stern voice, amusement rumbling through its tones, “I imagine you have a lot of questions. Uppermost, I imagine, is why we’re so flippant about our plan when inquisitive ears are around. Your ears, to be precise.”

To her own surprise, Moondancer hadn’t. Such an obvious question to ask, now she thought about it!

Then the shame swarmed among her insides. She bit her lip under the gag. Moondancer never thinks of other ponies. That’s why.

Calmly, the voice continued. “The reason is simple. This location is convenient for everything. More to the point, you will never escape this castle. No one comes in here without my leave, and no one with my leave will offer you a glimmer of hope. Most of all, you have no future left beyond these walls. There will be no naughty sneaking off to tell anyone about our plans. We are not fools.”

Moondancer’s gaze drifted down to the scattered metal pieces. Some of them looked weighty. Perhaps if she was quick, her spell would throw them hard enough to knock that hidden presence over. Knock it unconscious, or trap it under the weight.

“So why do anything I say, I hear you ask?” The stern voice pricked the back of her neck like a knife. “Simple. You will be destroyed whatever you do. Your friends will survive if you succeed.”

Under the gag, Moondancer growled. Some of the metal sparkled. Her magic welled up on the rising fury.

“And if you don’t succeed,” said the voice, delight tripping on every consonant, “all of your friends will be instantly and humorously destroyed.”

Roaring yet muffled, Moondancer spun around –

– and something gripped her horn.

Barely had she noticed the blinding light of a figure moving when pain squeezed the tender tip and stabbed down. She yelled. Metal crashed. Her knees hit the stone, and the stone sapped her strength, and she yelled again before the after-pain stung harder.

The stern voice sniffed imperiously. “And they call you the cream of the crop. Oh well. Better luck next time, my dear.”

Through the pain, Moondancer saw a mist close over them. Drops of condensation clung to her, and her face twitched under the prickle of dew. The glow of the thing before her faded away, taking the mist with it. Whatever had gripped her horn was now gone.

By the time she was strong enough to focus her eyes again, the prison was empty. Torches crackled on. Stars twinkled overhead. Otherwise, the darkness was her only friend.

Eyes raw and hot, she tried to coax her magic back. No feeling in her horn. No pain. No energy. Nothing.

Soon, the magic did return, stiff as an unused limb. Moondancer stood on all four hooves again. Coldness clung to her knees. She turned back to the blueprint, wincing.

They just signed their own death warrants. No one touches my friends.

She scrawled more equations on the paper. More than once, she had to stop herself halfway through doodling revenge plots. Many of those involved blasting a stick figure dragon.

Thoughts crossed her mind. Daring thoughts.

On one corner, she scribbled a few lines. Twilight had taught her this code once. They’d invented it together. The cunning part was that, even to an outsider well-versed in mathematical symbols and functions, this code lurked out of reach of understanding. It was Twilight who’d given it her own special touch.

Grinning despite her sore eyes, Moondancer turned back to the main schematic. The implied message of those symbols was obvious; build this device.

She looked around at the metal parts. She looked back at the schematic. Half of the page was covered, but the other half had been open for her to scrawl and scribble on it.

Not even a challenge. Only… why don’t they want me to build the whole device?

A Guided Tour Of Stuffed Animals

The Museum of Natural and Unnatural History stood to attention, its main entrance as ornate and soaring as a cathedral of terracotta, its flanking towers aspiring to palacehood, its east and west wings a royal guard of archways and stained glass. Even the steps leading up to the grand entrance were subservient to a marble statue halfway up. This statue was of a grandfatherly unicorn, his hoof held aloft for a marble finch to perch upon, his folded college robes belying the rapier shadows of his crinkled gaze.

Twilight closed the iron gates behind her, and savoured the air of history, and then winced because Sweetie Belle squealed.

“And then she said, ‘Sweetie Belle, you’re simply too much’, and then she made me pick up all the ripped clothes, and then she threw them out! They only had the teeniest little rips. She could have sewn them together again, but she’s such a perfectionist…”

Groaning, Twilight stopped next to the statue and turned to face her. “Sweetie Belle?”

“Yes, Twilight!” Sweetie Belle was almost on tiptoe, as though her eyes were balloons floating her up and up.

“You’re sure you don’t want to wait outside? I have business to attend to.” Hoping this would help, she added, “Really, really boring, paper-worky, worse-than-homework-on-a-Monday business. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind!” said Sweetie Belle. “Maybe I could help! I used to help Rarity a lot with her paper thingies, but she said she didn’t want them organized by colour –”

“No, no, it’s not that. It…” Twilight groaned. Why me? “Sweetie Belle, I love the enthusiasm you’re showing, and any other day I’d be happy to find something for you to do –”

“I’m free today! Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh! Maybe I could, um… Maybe I could…”

“Look, please. I’m kind of in a hurry. This is going beyond my schedule. I can’t afford delays.”

For the first time on their walk from the university, Sweetie Belle frowned and pouted.

“What?” said Twilight. Sweetie Belle suspicious was worse than Sweetie Belle loquacious.

“Why are you coming here anyway?”

Don’t answer that. Do not answer that. She won’t understand. “J-Just, uh, checking up on something –”

“TWILIGHT!”

Hoofsteps galloped up to their level and then Trixie skidded to a halt. Great, Twilight thought. More complications.

“What a – coincidence – running – into you here!” Trixie broke off, panting heavily.

“Right,” said Twilight. “A coincidence I’m sure you didn’t engineer in any way.”

Trixie finally got her breath back. “Fate moves in mysterious ways,” she said, and then gasped because she hadn’t quite got her breath back yet. “So. Where is it this time? Inside? Outside? Half-and-half?”

“Trixie. This isn’t window-related.”

Sweetie Belle bounced up and down on the spot. “Trixie! Trixie! I just remembered! Dinky says she wants to know if you’re definitely, really, for-sure, absolutely, positively going to be there for her birthday party.”

Uncertainly, Trixie stared down at her. Then she looked up at Twilight.

“What’s she doing here?” she said.

“Nothing. She invited herself along. Will you please let me –?”

“Oh, oh. So little fillies are welcome, but not –”

“Is that a yes or a no?” insisted Sweetie Belle.

“What?” Trixie said, marching up the steps to lead the way. “Oh. Yes. Fine. Sure. Twilight, I could have sworn you said you were… ah, what was it now… busy, busy, busy. Had I but known you’d have time to visit museums for fun with little fillies –”

“I’m not visiting museums for fun. Will you just leave me alone?” Twilight paused. She took a deep breath in. She took a deep breath out. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have done that much.

Below, Sweetie Belle’s eyes quivered with hurt. Above, Trixie looked back with daggers in her glare.

“All right,” said Twilight, far more calmly than her bursting heart felt like being. “I guess it can’t hurt. Hoo boy. Let me do the talking, though.”

Through the gaping arches of the grand entrance, Twilight shuffled on. The marble floor clipped and clopped under her hooves. Soon, she heard Trixie’s strutting steps march like a drumbeat, and the crash of hooves as Sweetie Belle hopped into the dimness.

Trust Trixie to follow me everywhere, thought Twilight grimly. She thinks just because we know each other, she has a right to a share of my work. But it doesn’t work like that. There must be a way of telling her without offending her. I wish I knew what it was.

She strode over to the marble wall of the reception desk, which had the look and colours of fossilized cookie dough. Fundamentally childlike, yet hardened with age. That’s appropriate.

“Yes?” said the elderly receptionist. Her oversized spectacles blinked.

“I’m here to see Mister Pyre,” said Twilight.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. You can’t see the curator without an appointment, and his schedule didn’t mention –”

Not daring to look at Trixie, Twilight focused her magic. A puff of smoke later, her university pass popped into existence between her and the receptionist.

She hated doing this sort of thing. It fed the very impulse she wanted to starve. Unfortunately, it worked far too well, and since it was going to work anyway, maybe she might as well use that fact.

“I see,” said the receptionist, smiling. “Beg your pardon, Miss Twilight Sparkle. I’ll let him know you’re here. If I may so say, Miss Twilight Sparkle, you’ve done some wonderful work. I loved your book on the subject.”

A bright spot, at least. “Really?”

“Oh yes. Didn’t understand a lot of it, to be honest, but Winnifred and I were very impressed.”

A fading light, it turned out. “Which way to Mister –?”

“You don’t want me to take you to him?”

Twilight grimaced and the pass vanished. “I know where to go. Thank you, but I… wouldn’t mind taking the scenic route. I won’t be long. I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Bless you, Miss Twilight Sparkle.” The receptionist bustled off.

Further beyond the sunlit outdoors, Twilight passed through more archways and into a dim world of vaulted ceilings and the distant harsh glows of clerestory windows. Both Trixie and Sweetie Belle had already entered the next chamber; she caught the flap of Trixie’s cape before it vanished. Swiftly, Twilight followed them.

Despite the glare from the stained glass windows, this room was a genteel cave. Ornamental spikes hung from the ceiling in place of stalactites. The distant murmur of the vents spoke of winds sneaking among the crags. Shadows resolved into monsters.

Even with Trixie prattling and Sweetie Belle squealing delightedly, the old chill of ages slid down Twilight’s spine. In a strange way, she felt as though she were at the home of an extraordinarily good friend.

On a banner overhead were the words, “WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN”.

A tail on her right ran along to a sprawled, lizard-like body, but one big enough to engulf two ponies and wait patiently to digest them. Its head – large enough to rival hers – grinned with fangs. What caught the eye, though, was the sail on its back.

Sweetie Belle scurried over. She peered closely at the display beneath.

“Dimmet-rode-on.”

“Di-meh-tro-don,” corrected Twilight.

“What is that?” Sweetie Belle wrinkled her nose at it.

“That, Sweetie Belle, is how mammals started off. Like reptiles. Once, animals used to absorb heat from their surroundings, but pioneers like Dimetrodon needed more power sooner. Hence the heat-absorbing sail.”

“Huh?”

“You know. Bigger surface area. All it had to do was sunbathe for a few minutes, and it got its get-up-and-go faster than the other animals. That would have given it an edge in the competition.”

“What competition?”

But Twilight’s inner child gave way to Twilight’s inner secretary, which was coughing and waving a paper report meaningfully at her.

“Sorry, Sweetie Belle. I can’t linger.” She stepped around her.

“Was it a racing competition?” Sweetie Belle called after her.

Just as she passed Trixie, the latter piped up, “Do enlighten us, Twilight. What on earth is that?”

Cutting off her own growl, Twilight threw the thing a glance, and stiffened. Then she reminded herself that nothing in here was alive.

The thing was the unholy union of Komodo dragon and wolf. Four running legs held aloft a scaly torso rippling with a hunter’s strength, its thrashing lizard’s tail as delighted as its gaping jaws. There were no ears or wet noses, though; that mouth was pure, streamlined death with canines stolen from a sabre-toothed killer. It had probably eaten the last owner.

“A gorgonopsid,” said Twilight quickly. “Means ‘gorgon-faced’.”

“It doesn’t look anything like a gorgon,” said Trixie, eyeing it up critically.

No, but it sure petrified me as a foal.

“Ha. Not much of a coat,” said Trixie. She gestured to the sparse hairs sprouting up like a disease along its flanks.

“That was the next development,” said Twilight in a rush. “Insulating hairs. For the warm blood, though the technical term is endothermy. No serious scientist calls anything ‘warm-blooded’ or ‘cold-blooded’. Reptiles can get warm blood by sunbathing, but what makes us special is that we can generate our own body heat internally –”

“This one certainly would, running around like that!”

Twilight sighed. There was no point discussing the advantages of being an active hunter with Trixie, not in this mood. Besides, her inner secretary was tapping its watch hard.

As she hurried along, though, she did stop once or twice to catch more of the exhibits. There, a hulking mass on four legs, tipped by beak and tusk. Here, a doglike creature with a full coat but a sprawling gait. Everywhere, strange mixtures of sprawling and upright limbs, lizard tails and tufted tails, scales and hair, simple fangs and complex mouthfuls of teeth like toolkits, all in such a menagerie of sizes and colours that, if ever the lifelike models actually came to life, the room would probably break under the jostling and fleeing.

She was almost at the exit, heading into the next chamber, when Sweetie Belle scurried to catch up with her. Far behind, Trixie reared up, stretched forelimbs up, and measured the gape of a roaring, lion-like mouth.

“Twilight?” said Sweetie Belle. Noticeably, she was less bouncy than before. In the gloom, the room seemed to have sucked the colour out of her.

“Yes, Sweetie Belle? What’s wrong?”

Sweetie Belle glanced at the exhibits. “Why’s this bit called ‘What Could Have Been’?”

Not what Twilight had expected: the room was dark, sure, but the displays were shown off to good effect. Gorgonopsid aside, nothing was particularly scary, either. Yet Sweetie Belle seemed to have something unpleasant on her mind.

“Because it shows off how life might have turned out,” said Twilight, “if anything in history had changed. Things might have turned out radically different.”

“So instead of hooves and big flat teeth, we might have had claws and fangs?”

Something in Sweetie Belle’s voice caught. She sounded as though a lot was riding on the answer.

Ah, thought Twilight, spotting the problem. Now, how to convey to a child the nature of historical contingency and the immense probabilities involved? In other words, how to get across – without frightening her any more – the idea that even the tiniest change meant she might not have existed at all?

Time and nerves gave up on her. “Yeah. Probably.” Twilight hurried through the next archway.

Sweetie Belle went “phew”, and her hoofsteps resumed. She hummed thoughtfully.

“I’m glad we didn’t, then,” she said. “It’s bad enough brushing my teeth as it is without cutting myself on them too.”

Twilight had never quite liked the way the museum jumped from the reptile-mammal ancestors straight to horses, as though all that stuff in-between with the platypus, kangaroos, elephants, sloths, rats, apes, bats, hedgehogs, hippos, orcas, leopards, pangolins, rhinos, and so on was merely a tedious sideshow to whatever the horses were getting up to.

At least Sweetie Belle was proving to be good company. In some respects, she reminded Twilight of herself at that age –

“Ooh, ooh, ooh!” said Sweetie Belle.

– except for that.

“What’s that one?” She pointed.

Twilight looked at what appeared to be a cat with a pointy face and more tuft than tail. “It says Hyracotherium.”

“That’s what we used to look like?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Aw, it’s adorable! They should tidy up the fur a bit, though.”

“Some of these exhibits are hundreds of years old, Sweetie Belle.” To her surprise, Twilight was enjoying herself and barely cared when her inner secretary elbowed her brain hard.

“And that one?”

Now this one was pony-sized, true, but the long face and many toes suggested something just as happy being a deer as a pony ancestor. It even posed in mid-jump like a fleeing gazelle.

“Mesohippus, or ‘middle-horse’,” said Twilight, gearing up for lecture mode. “Of course, it wasn’t really middle-anything; it was its own animal.”

“Why did they get bigger? I like the idea of being cat-sized.”

Twilight covered her own chuckle. “Times were changing. Once, long ago, horses used to live in forests and couldn’t grow very big. Only when wide, open, grassy fields took over more and more of the land did we finally start living to our full potential.”

Beside her, Sweetie Belle waggled her own hoof, and then held it up to the three-toed ones of the specimen. “Huh. Weird. Can you imagine having more than one big hoof? Ew! That’d feel icky.”

“Not at all. You’d be quite used to it.”

“NNNNNNNo thanks…”

So predictable was the next question that Twilight mouthed it along with her: “And what’s that one?”

“That,” said Twilight proudly, “is where we come in.”

Sweetie Belle squinted at the little plaque. “Eq-woo-us caballus.”

“Equus caballus. Modern horses.”

“She looks like Princess Celestia. Only without the horn and everything.”

“Exactly! And there are a lot of theories about how we went from that to the modern pony varieties we have today. For instance, some believe that magic and culture took over and changed our bodies very rapidly in response both to the background radiation of celesto-thaumic particles and to our improved technological and dietary –”

“Where’s Trixie?”

Mentally stumbling, Twilight glanced about. There were certainly a lot of horses, if the models and skeletons were included, but no sign of a blue one with a flapping cape and pointed hat.

“I… don’t know.” Hating herself for it, but unable to resist, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Trixie can take care of herself. I’m sure she’s just –”

“Shouldn’t you be looking for her?” said Sweetie Belle, her suspicious squint returning.

“No. I should be heading for Mister Pyre’s office! We’ve wasted too much time!” Unimpeded, the inner secretary batted her about the head and she rushed along the aisle to the corridor outside.

Skittering hooves kept pace alongside. “But… she’s… your… friend…”

“She always follows me around. It’s her decision, not mine.”

“But –”

“I don’t ask her to! She just does! Why are you following me, come to that? This doesn’t concern you.”

Unexpectedly, she heard the tiny hooves scrape across the marble floor. When Twilight skidded to a halt and spun to face her, she was hit by a glare coming the other way.

“Well, I think you should go look for her,” said Sweetie Belle. “Friends stick together.”

“She is not my friend. She’s just someone I know from way back.” Oh, that’s not a good way to put it. “Look, if you want to, you look for her. That can be your job. Only I’m in a hurry, OK?”

“Fine. I will. Only I thought you might be a little nicer about it.”

Twilight blinked. “Nicer? Nicer than what?”

Too late: Sweetie Belle was a scampering blur running down the corridor. Frustration and confusion shook Twilight’s head back and forth before she shrugged helplessly and ran on.

What was that all about? It’s true; I know Trixie, and we go back a long way, and it’s not as if I try to be rude or nasty to her. I just don’t think that qualifies as being friends. Anyway, no one forced her to follow me all over the place. I certainly wouldn’t force her to do so.

She knew she was right, but she felt she was utterly wrong. It didn’t make any sense. From the way Sweetie Belle had gone on about it, anyone would have thought the two of them had been as close as sisters, or something ridiculous like that.

Twilight took the stairs two at a time and stopped in front of a door to catch her breath. Straightening up, she knocked three times.

The door opened a crack.

Twilight looked up and noticed the slit pupil. Definitely not a pony eye.

“Yes?” said a curt voice. Feminine, albeit the sort of female with fangs in every word.

Is this the right door?

Yes, there was the bronze plaque, bearing the correct name, on the wall beside them. But…

“Mister Pyre?” she said.

“Take a wild guess.” The voice had the sharp timbre of a teenager. It brought to mind untidy rooms, loud music, and the utter conviction that no one else had a clue what was going on, not even other teenagers. It also probably wrote nihilistic poetry when no one was looking.

“Sorry,” said Twilight. “Who are you?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m Twilight Sparkle. I’m from the University of Eohippus.”

“So what? I don’t remember seeing your name on the appointments list.”

“Let me in! I need to talk to Mister Pyre!” Those surly tones were getting on her nerves.

The door opened fully. A wall of sapphire scales barred entry. Clawed hands pressed into the doorframe. Around the sharp eyes were sharp head spikes, sharp horns curling forwards eagerly, and sharp teeth when she snapped her next words.

“I don’t think you do,” said the large dragon coldly.

She didn’t need to make any threats. Her entire body, from clawed feet to armed head, was one big threat. Twilight took a step back.

From behind the dragon, another voice – much warmer and almost chortling – said, “Ember, please. Miss Twilight Sparkle is my guest. Do let her in, now.”

Scowling, the large dragon stepped aside, wings whooshing through the air as she did so. “All right. Get in, then.”

Twilight snuck in while keeping her distance from a gaze hotter than any fire breath. It involved a lot of scraping against the doorframe.

While the dragon Ember eased the door shut behind her, Twilight turned to face a much warmer room of oranges and browns –

– and dead things.

Twilight’s hoof did not come down. She stared at the rearing little squirrel on the plinth. Nearby was a hulking bear, standing in for a wardrobe complete with handles on its belly. Along the mantelpiece, birds of all colours and postures lined up.

“Chill,” said Ember stepping around her. “It’s just the taxidermy collection. Nothing to worry about.”

There was no sign of the Curator. For a brief moment, Twilight saw Ember as the master of this room, surrounded by trophies of things she’d killed.

No, Twilight. You’re being ridiculous.

All the same, her inner child quivered and she found her own knees shaking. Horses used to be no bigger than some of the creatures here. Once, the reptiles had ruled the world. Looking at a towering hunter like Ember, it was hard to believe that reign had ended yet.

The dragon must have noticed because she raised a scaly eyebrow at her and said, half-embarrassed and half-annoyed, “What’s your problem?”

“Sorry.” Twilight looked away briefly, which didn’t help as her gaze fell upon the bear wardrobe. “Um. Where’s the Curator?”

“In the adjoining room.” Ember jerked her head towards a white door Twilight hadn’t noticed the first time. The chink of china and cutlery leaped out from it and patted the silence.

“How did you get so big? I thought dragon size was tightly –”

“Unless it’s about work, I’m under oath not to talk to you,” said Ember gruffly. “Not that I’d want to.”

The white door barely squeaked. Balancing a tray on his back, the Curator Pyre ambled into the room.

“Pardon the taxidermy collection,” said Pyre cheerfully. “I was checking a few specimens, and sort of got carried away. Anyone for tea?”

Facets gleamed. When he gave Twilight a chuckle, Pyre’s irises had edges and corners.

It was an odd place to find a crystal pony.

“Good morning?” said Twilight. “Mister Pyre?”

“Oh, do call me Pyrite. We’re not strangers here, Miss Twilight Sparkle. Dear me, no. Do sit down, do sit down. I’d hate for you to feel like a stranger. Now,” he said, placing himself delicately on a badger and placing the tray on a wolverine. “Pull up an aardvark. Incidentally, welcome to the Inner Sanctum! Quite a cosy little place, isn’t it? Tell me what’s on your mind. Dear Fluttershy settling in, is she? Marvellous girl.”

Twilight noticed the poor stuffed animal on the floor. Cringing, she eased her rear onto its back. Silently, she apologised to its dear departed soul. The sooner she got this out of the way, the better.

A teacup rose up before her. She hadn’t even seen Ember move, but a dragon tall enough to scrape her head spikes on the ceiling had shifted like a feather in a gust.

Pyre shook with silent mirth. “Oh, don’t mind her. Ember’s technically within limitations. Dashed useful girl she is too. Can’t find servants as good as her these days, so you have to hold on to what you’ve got. After all, what else is a museum for?”

Still, Twilight took her time accepting the cup, and she used her telekinetic spell to do so. Rushing back to the museum sounded like a very good idea right about now.

“Mister Pyre – I mean, Pyrite – I urgently need to discuss Fluttershy’s –”

“Oh, shush, shush, shush,” said Pyre, beaming over a steaming mug. “Tea first, then talk. No point rushing around all over the place, getting flustered. Very awkward, that is. By the way, if you want sugar, you’ll find some in the hedgehog. Just by your elbow there.”

A Night In The Spotlight

Next to the clunking machinery of the Lambda Likelihood Locator, Twinkleshine kept watching for any obstacles as they crossed the campus threshold. The courtyard was silent. The approaching night was cool. She tried hard to concentrate also on Minuette’s strained voice.

“When…” Another clunk. “Is it time…” A third clunk. “For you…” A fourth clunk. “To trade places with me?” A fifth clunk. “This thing’s heavier than I thought.”

“In a moment, in a moment,” said Twinkleshine quickly. “I’m still considering our strategies here.”

The machine stopped moving. “You mean Opal’s still on your head?”

Opal’s tail flopped over Twinkleshine’s face. Feathery fur tickled her nose.

“Opal, dear,” she said, having passed the whimpering stage long ago. “If you get off my head, I’ll give you a nice cushion.”

A purring chuckle made it very clear what Opal thought of this pitiful bribe. Twinkleshine quashed the urge to shake her off. After all, she wanted to keep her mane.

“All right, I’ll give you a belly rub. How’s that?”

Opal stirred, but it turned out she was just yawning and stretching; the weight made Twinkleshine’s head dip, and down came the tail again. She tried to stop herself going cross-eyed.

“A toy mouse?”

Claws tugged at her ear; she squeaked.

“Eek! – Minuette, she’s not – eek! – letting go – eek!”

Minuette sniffed and stepped around to face her. “Well, of course she’s not letting go. You’re trying to be nice to her. Cats hate it when you’re nice.”

“You sure about that?”

“Come on. We’re scientists. This shouldn’t be hard to figure out.”

“I’d like to hear your plan, then!”

Minuette pouted and narrowed her eyes. It was the classic thoughtful look before she blew something up, and Twinkleshine hastily opened her mouth –

“How about we use negative reinforcement instead of positive reinforcement?” said Minuette.

Sounded hopefully intelligent, but… “Meaning?”

“Uh… I could find a dog? That’d get her off.”

“Dogs aren’t that suicidal – eek!”

“Ah, got it! We could blast her off with a laser.”

“Are you kidding!? You’re not shooting a laser at my head!”

“It’s all right. I’ll be aiming at Opal.”

“With your aim – eek! – I’d feel better if you were aiming at my head!”

“No call for that,” said Minuette calmly. “Ah! I know! I’ll invent a time machine and go back to just before she jumped on. That’ll sort it out.”

Twinkleshine sighed, and then squeaked at another tug of her ear. “The time machine again? Minuette – dear, dear Minuette – this is starting to get obsessive – eek!”

“Oh, you and your worries, Twinkleshine! Now all I need is a dog to take back with me –”

Someone whistled.

Beyond the waggling tail of Opal and the retreating face of Minuette, Twinkleshine saw the mare Amethyst Star stride up to them, her face an inscrutable blank.

Amethyst’s horn glowed. She braced her legs and raised a gemstone, lining it up like a sniper’s scope. The dot of red ran along the stone path, read the contours up Twinkleshine’s legs and chest, and then disappeared somewhere above Twinkleshine’s nose, blinding her briefly with the flaring redness.

If Twinkleshine had been still before, then now she was so frozen, she nearly achieved absolute zero.

“Am-m-methyst…” she murmured. “D-Don’t you dare…”

“I didn’t really mean blast her off with a laser –” began Minuette.

Shushing her gently, Amethyst waggled the gemstone.

Overhead, Opal mewed.

The dot shot down and ran along the stone. Seconds later, Twinkleshine yelped; Opal’s weight vanished, and she saw the ball of white leap over and over for a dot Amethyst’s gemstone laser was throwing back and forth. Slowly, she guided the beam around, towards the building, and at the nearest door. The light went out. Opal purred curiously, tail wagging, and then nudged the door open and slipped inside to begin her quest for the elusive shiny.

A flash later, Amethyst stood up straight and the gemstone was out of sight. “Now now, Twinkleshine. Much as we all know you want to be Rarity, there’s such a thing as being too obvious about it.”

Minuette giggled. This seemed entirely the wrong response, to Twinkleshine’s frayed nerves and spluttering embarrassment.

Even Amethyst’s small smiles – such as the one she wore on approach right now – carried a hint of diamond about them. “Nice machine, by the way, and I’m not being sarcastic.”

“Thanks!” said Minuette.

“You got it to work?”

“Yes,” said Twinkleshine, who was glad to be able to nod again without fear of claws tearing her mane off. “It works all right. We detected a window right there and then, exactly as my hypothesis predicted.”

“Which one’s that, Hypothesis Number 24?”

“Number 57.”

“Uh huh. Remind me why you sat down and came up with 57 –”

“125.”

“Right. With 125 hypotheses again?”

“I like to play it safe.” Twinkleshine’s face dared her to challenge it.

Fortunately, Amethyst had taken her clever pills today.

“Good call. Might as well cover our bases, though you’re not going to win any bets with a strategy like that.” She walked around the machine. Devoid of its full power, the thing resembled nothing but a trolley turning into an egg. Since clever pills didn’t include niceness as a side effect, she added, “A bit primitive, isn’t it?”

Minuette patted the side. “Ah, it’s fine! Why does everyone keep saying that? You want it spruced up, you tell Rarity to build one.”

At once, Amethyst’s lips went thin. She and Twinkleshine exchanged looks, the former with eyes like gun barrels, the other holding up a riot shield of a smile.

Her voice as measured as a combatant circling around an opponent, Twinkleshine said, “Style does count for something. Right?”

Circling in kind, Amethyst’s voice said, “If you say so.”

Around them, evening pressed on.

Twinkleshine looked up. Over the sleek gleam of the dome, the sky paled, colours melting out of the pure blue to seep into the clouds themselves. Cool winds rushed to bed across the shushing treetops. Whether or not the ponies wanted to shut their eyes, the light gently reminded them that soon the glories of the day would be an ebbing memory.

The loud chatter of the day faded to a soothing murmur. Twinkleshine saw the sunset every day. Still, she wondered why they didn’t see it too. The way she did. The way the world moved on, taking them all gently along.

Shame about the monkeys, really.

Amethyst looked up at the shrieks. One monkey clambered over the rooftops, helmet shining bright yellow now. It raised another helmet like a prize – a bronze one with plumes – and then jumped off the edge and out of sight.

“Huh. Well, that was surreal,” said Amethyst.

Two Royal Guards yelled out, charged past, and disappeared behind one of the college towers. One of the guards had no helmet on.

“Oh boy,” said Minuette, and she vanished behind the machine, which squeaked across the path again. “Quick. Help me hide this before we get into trouble.”

“Why?” said Twinkleshine, but some of Minuette’s nerves found their way into her voice box. “It’s not our fault. We didn’t bring them here.”

“So? We’ll get the blame anyway! Come on, help me push it!”

Twinkleshine sighed. She’d only do this because Minuette asked. Privately, the thought of pushing a heavy weight around held as much appeal as getting sunburn. Speaking of which, her skin was feeling a little warm, though that might have been overexertion. Or Opal.

“Will you help us, Amethyst?” she said before daintily pressing her front hooves against the metal.

“What, you mean a strong pair of ponies like you need my help?”

Next to her, Minuette backed up and rammed the metal repeatedly with her shoulder. They got it up to the exit before Twinkleshine broke first.

“I think I scuffed a hoof. Let’s stop for a second,” she said.

Minuette groaned and fell onto her front, panting hard.

“Not much for practicals, are you?” said Amethyst. She looked past them and added, “Three, two, one…”

Bounce, bounce, bounce… Next moment, Twinkleshine yelped as she tumbled backwards onto the lawn and landed flat on her spine, someone else’s four hooves pinning her limbs down. A grin beamed down at her.

“Hey, howdy, heya, hiya, hullo, howzat, and how’d it go?” Lyra said. It wasn’t a voice to endure inches in front of the ears.

“Like clockwork,” murmured Amethyst.

“It… went fine… Uh, Lyra? We talked about this?” Twinkleshine waggled her limbs slightly.

“So it works?” Lyra hopped off and pulled her back onto all fours. “That’s fantastic! I can’t wait to see you try it when I’m around! Didn’t I tell you? You girls officially rock! Oh, hey –” she spun around, and Twinkleshine ducked to avoid getting whipped by her tail “– this calls for a celebration! Who is on for pizza night?”

“I am! I am!” Minuette hopped on the spot and reared up. “Pizza night, here we come!”

Amethyst and Twinkleshine exchanged looks, this time full of mutual support and pity.

“I can’t,” said the former. “Prior engagements.”

“I’m not sure,” said the latter. “I’ve got so much work to do…”

It didn’t do her much good to see Minuette slump, but Lyra’s disappointment was a full body droop. From the path below, she moaned, “Oh, Ammy. Come on.”

“You’re one less tonight, girls.” Amethyst marched around them, adjusting the straps of her saddlebags. “Dinky needs picking up. If this were the weekend, maybe, but not during a school week.”

“Aw, you’re stealing away a good share of the joy!” moaned Lyra, making faint steps after her.

Yes, well, that’s a matter of opinion, thought Twinkleshine grimly. Everyone else says she isn’t, and you say she is.

“Be a proper big sister! Why don’t you let Dinky skip school, like Sweetie Belle? We could have them both over here! I’d show them how to play the lyre!”

“Goodbye, girls,” Amethyst said over her shoulder.

“Amethyst!?” Minuette shouted. “We can’t leave Opal here! Someone needs to take her home to Rarity’s!”

There was just enough uncomfortable silence before Amethyst shouted, “Have fun with that!” And left.

“She’ll join us one day,” said Lyra hopefully.

Twinkleshine heaved her lungs at the ineffable nature of faith. “Lyra, we know you mean well, but she’s just not that close to us.”

Lyra rounded on her. “If you give her one chance, trust me, you’ll find out she’s not as bad as you think.”

“She was going to shoot a laser at my head!”

“What? Nah! She wasn’t going to shoot you. She’d never shoot anyone. Anyway, she was aiming at Opal.”

“That’s much better!?”

“So she doesn’t want to join us this time,” said Minuette, wedging herself between the two of them; Twinkleshine felt the forelimb drape over her neck. “That’s OK. To end up having a fun time, the three of us are more than enough in the mathematical function of our friendship!”

“How about Moondancer?” said Lyra under Minuette’s other forelimb. “Someday, we’ve got to get her out of that tower. She’ll love it!”

Twinkleshine braced herself. “Or Rarity. She always knows the classiest places to eat.”

Limbs stiffened.

She knew the line had been crossed, but marched on regardless, ready to face the army or die trying. “Tonight, I heard she’s at the Genera Garden Gala. We know her. She’d let us in. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get to know how the other half live! Haven’t you ever wondered?”

All three of them broke apart.

“Twinkleshine,” groaned Minuette. “Why? She’s made it very clear she doesn’t want us around.”

“Nononononono, you don’t understand. She doesn’t mind us being around. She’d simply like us to act…” The giggles made a bid for her mouth, and she had to cover the exit before finishing with, “Act like ladies.”

“But you heard what she said about our pizza place!”

“She has… high standards. Nothing less than the finest cuisine this city has to offer. Five-star restaurants, girls! Five! Stars!”

“She said our pizza place didn’t deserve one! That’s our pizza place!” Minuette cupped a hoof to her own gasp. “No, we don’t have to take marching orders from her. Right, Lyra?”

After an embarrassed silence, Minuette added, “Oh, Lyra, not you too…”

“It’d be an experience.” Lyra shrugged. “That’s all. I mean, so long as we’re all together, right?”

“All of us minus Amethyst, you mean. OW!”

Replacing an awkward silence with even more awkward shouting, the monkey bounced off Minuette’s head and scampered out through the gates. A guard waiting outside pounced, ramming his helmet over the thing.

“GOTCHA!” he yelled in triumph.

Twinkleshine felt the others’ stares in the back of her neck.

“I’ll go talk to him about the monkeys,” she murmured.

On approach, she saw the guard levitate his helmet and shield the bottom to prevent the monkey falling out. He didn’t look the understanding type, but then she apparently had to take responsibility. Regardless.

“Pardon me, sir?” she said.

“I caught the little blighter in the end,” he said. “Rotten thing almost made off with Escutcheon’s crupper.”

Not sure how to respond to that, Twinkleshine went on. “I should tell you there’ll probably be more than that. You see, my friend and I were in the park –”

“We know, lass. Me lad Peytral told me you egghead-types made this big window-making thing.”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t quite how it happened –”

“Oho, lass. We know.” He tapped the side of his muzzle with a hoof; she noticed with horrified fascination that said hoof was as big as a dinner plate. “Me son tells me, he tells, ‘One minute, these two lasses wheel this big metal egg thing around the place, then it goes all flashing, next you know there’s bloomin’ monkeys everywhere, pinching the sandwiches.’”

He frowned at her.

“Sir, please, allow me to explain –” she began.

To her astonishment, he gripped her hoof – cuffs flashed through her shocked imagination – and shook heartily.

“That was a good wheeze, Miss! Me son thought it were a right good show, and no mistake!”

“Pardon!?” Twinkleshine’s leg burned with the rising friction.

“Oh, you students crack me up you do. It was like me cousin and the toilet seats in St Meadow’s College. Darn near choked on me drink when he tell it.”

“Ahahaha, I think we’re talking at cross-purposes –”

He let go of her hoof so suddenly she almost smacked herself, and then the guard’s notebook was thrust into her muzzle.

“Don’t suppose we could have an autograph? It’d be something to show ‘im next time he brings it up in the tavern.”

“Uh…”

“Oh, of course,” he added, lowering the notebook. “What am I going on about?”

“Yes, quite. Uh…”

“I forgot the pen. Here you go.”

Twinkleshine gawped at the toothmarked specimen offered up. Nearby, the notebook hovered, awaiting her signature.

Awaiting her signature. Yes, for a crime she didn’t commit but which wasn’t a crime anyway, but awaiting her signature. And it wasn’t a committee form, or a bit of bureaucracy. This signature was to show someone that the autograph connected them to the unreachable, untouchable, once-in-a-lifetime-do-you-get-to-meet-someone-like her!

Her first autograph!

Of course, she hadn’t quite imagined it would be for a royal guard, but presumably better candidates would follow. All in good time. She took the pen.

“Yes,” she squeaked. More gracefully, she added, “It would be my pleasure. How about, ‘To a charming fan, Best wishes, Miss – sorry – Lady Twinkleshine’?”

“Oh, I don’t think you should sign it ‘Twinkleshine’, Miss Sparkle.”

The dream shattered.

She stared at him.

“What?” she said.

“Oh! I beg your pardon! I thought you was Miss Sparkle, Miss.”

“No.” Her voice was an ice pick. “I’m not.”

“Beg pardon.” He looked past her. “So one of your friends over there is Miss Sparkle, right?”

Twinkleshine marched back to the others. She knew her face must be glowing. It was a wonder she didn’t blind herself.

At some point during her absence, Opal had returned and claimed Lyra’s head. For some reason – Probably a wretched cat-lover, Twinkleshine thought – Lyra seemed to think this was funny.

“Did you tell him?” said Minuette.

“Yes.” She spat the word out through clenched teeth.

“How come he looked at me at one point?”

Twinkleshine pinned her gaze down and took a deep breath. “Right. No ifs, no buts, no contrariness of any kind. We are going to that Garden Party.”

“But –”

“For one night, for one year, for one lifetime, you and you – yes, I’m looking at you Lyra – are going to find out what it’s like to be high society. Minuette: you’ve spent your whole life making marvellous machines. Lyra: you’re as gifted with music as any mare I know. Tonight. My treat. You both deserve it.”

“Uh… shouldn’t we get the machine in first?” said Minuette. Yet Twinkleshine had seen her friend’s lip tremble under the barrage of goodwill, and she wanted that.

“After we get the machine in first, then we’re going to enjoy the highlights of how the other half live. Is that fair to you?”

Lyra raised a hoof. “Can Moondancer come?”

“Oh, all right. We’ll pick her up on the way.”

“Hold on, hold on,” said Minuette.

“No! Look, the pizza place – pizzeria – is not the right place anymore. We’re top scientists. Why can’t we have a little class in our lives too? Don’t we deserve a treat too? A little pampering? A chance to shine?”

“I like the pizza place,” said Minuette quietly. “That’s where we always went as friends.”

They both looked at Lyra, who grinned at each in turn as though trying to decide who scared her most.

“There’s something to be said for the old-school camaraderie,” she conceded to Minuette. To Twinkleshine, she conceded, “On the other hoof, it would be nice to try new things. I’m game. New things are the best, except for the old things, but new things are like new friends you haven’t met yet.”

“So…?” said the other two.

“So… I think Twinkletoes – sorryTwinkleshinesorrysorry – can have tonight, and… we… can go to the pizza place next time.”

Twinkleshine’s mind exploded with fireworks. Too many bursts and bangs ran around her skull that she wondered for a moment if this was how Lyra felt all the time.

“Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!” She hugged them both, and didn’t even cringe or worry when they grunted with surprise. “The cuisine, the philosophical discussion, the architecture, the style!”

“All right, then!” Minuette’s voice was somewhat strangled. “Let’s go!”

“What!? Just like that!?”

“Uh… why not?”

“Oh, nonononono! First of all,” Twinkleshine’s hug tightened while the sparkles ran through her eyes. “First of all, we’re going to my place to try on dresses!”

This time, the grunts were a little more urgent.

“Have we been bad recently?” said Lyra.

Twixt Twists And 'Tween Tongue-Twisters

Twilight sipped her tea, but only after surreptitiously levitating the hairs off the surface. The cosiness of the orange and brown room, the predominance of fur, and the warm tones of Mister Pyre were leaving her cold.

“And, of course,” said Mister Pyre, helping himself to cookies from the stuffed wallaby, “before I became Curator of the Museum, I was a Mage of the, aha, ‘Life Force’ School of Thought. Can you imagine?”

Twilight’s cheeks filled with the effort of not retching. She’d refused cookies; something about the accusing way the cookie jar stared at her put her off.

“‘Life Force’ Mage. Everyone seems to think a crystal pony has no future but as a Mage of some kind. There’s too much clinging onto the past, if you ask me. Anyway.” He threw the cookie into his mouth, and the chocolate chips sparkled as he chewed. A gulp. A smile. “‘Life Force’ is such a primitive concept. Of course, I was a different stallion when I came out of university. Ah, but then I saw the darkness…”

Yet the smile was so wide that Twilight frowned and said, “Um, I think you said that incorrectly. I believe the usual saying is ‘I saw the light’?”

“Not the light, no. The darkness, in the universe.”

This was not a phrase to which crinkly-eyed smiling could be applied, and yet Pyre was doing a splendid job.

“Um…” Twilight glanced hopefully at Ember, but the dragon was no help: slouching against the far wall and too busy looking utterly bored.

“For instance,” continued Pyre, as Twilight politely put her mug of tea down on the wolverine, “look at your profile.”

Stiff with self-consciousness, Twilight’s wide gaze darted from stuffed animal to stuffed animal.

“No no no, don’t worry.” Pyre laughed. “I told you this was an old collection. We don’t do taxidermy anymore, but we do try and put the old exhibits to good use. Only these ones were on the way out, so I thought I’d try a bit of creative furniture. They’ll be out within a week, I expect.”

All the same, Twilight sat so her limbs were drawn as close to her as possible. She had a childish desire to become thin enough to disappear.

His badger creaking, Pyre leaned forwards and squinted. “Yes. The manestyle is very reminiscent… It is natural, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, it is.”

“Ah, the traditional Twilightian profile. Colour scheme more reminiscent of the Night family… Oh my, yes. Inheritance is an odd thing, isn’t it?”

Twilight’s jaw tightened. “Mister Pyre, I’m not here for an examination. I apologise for seeming curt, but the reason I’m here is because of your applicant, Miss Fluttershy.”

“Ah, yes. Fluttershy is another good example. Mixture of parental features, and yet possessing a beauty all of her own. Oh my, yes. Her father was Butterfly, her mother was Shutterfly, and I’m given to understand her paternal grandmother was also a Fluttershy. Full name was Flutterby Fluttershy. Rather endearing, I think. Yes, marvellous how the pedigree runs in the family. The same wispy mane designs and timid disposition. Unusual traits for a pegasus, but some breeds do retain the equine skittishness more than the avian boldness.”

This is going too far. “Mister Pyre!”

“Yes? What? Sorry. I do ramble sometimes.”

OK. Don’t get distracted. Now I’ve got his undivided attention. Here goes… Here goes… “I’m not entirely certain – that is to say, I have nothing against the applicant – er, I mean, Fluttershy – Miss Fluttershy – I’m sure she’s a fine worker and, and, um, I mean no disrespect nor intend any –”

“Splendid! Glad to hear she’s turning out so well!” Pyre bulldozed through the conversation and clapped his hooves together. “Ember, do be a dear and gather up the tea things. Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Twilight; I thought you’d finished your tea.”

“I had,” said Twilight sternly. She’d known some ponies could be scatterbrained with age, but Mister Pyre seemed capable of scattering his brains to the four winds.

Ember swept her claws over the wolverine. After the clatter of tea things and a whoosh, the white door swung shut and there was no sign that the tea had ever been.

“You’ve got a prize in that young Fluttershy, my dear Miss Twilight.” Pyre raised his hoof to add in a whisper, as though sharing secrets with his favourite niece, “Fluttershy has a gift.”

“I see.”

“Nope. You listen. She can communicate with animals on a whole other level. Yes, you may give me that look; I didn’t believe it either, but one day we were having problems with the local starlings outside our windows. Making such a ruckus they were, and disturbing our work. Oh, you should have seen the girl! Strode outside like she was going to comfort a lost child, then she cocked an ear – like this – and clicked her tongue – like this, TOK – and every bird in the plaza went silent. We heard the traffic in the distance. Then as one, the flock flew up into the sky. After a few more squawks, she had them dancing over the rooftops.”

“A few more squawks?”

“From Fluttershy. It was uncanny. To hear her, you’d think she’d been raised by starlings. Then, once she’d sent them on their way, she went back inside and carried on cataloguing her fossil rabbit collection like it was nothing. No, I thought that day, I thought, a mare like that should not be stuck in a museum. Sad to see her go, of course – never made many friends, the poor thing – but I predict she’ll have a much brighter future among your exciting team.”

Never made many friends, the poor thing. Never made many friends.

Twilight swallowed and didn’t hear the next question.

“Sorry?” she said. “I was miles away.”

“Don’t worry. In my old age, I get like that too.” Pyre shuffled on his… yes, seat, it was best to think of it as his seat and to ignore the eyes staring out of it – and gave her a creased, worried look. “She is getting on well, isn’t she?”

Sometimes, Twilight reflected with a sinking heart, I have a very nasty mind. “I’m, uh, sorry to hear that, Mister Pyre. I do, as it happens, have one or two concerns… about… Miss… Fluttershy.”

No obvious reaction. “Concerns?”

“Nothing personal, I assure you,” Twilight lied. “Only, I’m not entirely convinced she’s the pony we’re looking for.”

“Oh dear.” Surprisingly, Pyre didn’t seem put out. If anything, his muscles drooped under the relief. “Well, it was only to be expected. You are a Twilightian, naturally.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to –”

“Twilightians always check and double-check. In extreme cases, they have been known to triple-check. Discreetly, though, to their credit. Truth be told, I’m honoured, not offended. Of course, you’ve seen her qualifications?”

“Her qualifications are… fine.” Which was underselling it. She’d read the file. When it came to biology and the life sciences, Fluttershy was a polymath.

“Oh, worry not about the rest. Fluttershy is an oddball, but a worthy acquisition. Of course, I also knew your parents. They were the same; oddballs, true, but with great powers.”

Twilight started speaking before her own ears tripped her brain, and the syllables stumbled out of her mouth helplessly.

“My parents?” she managed.

“Yes, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you get to know a surprisingly large number of notables.”

Oh dear. “Notables? No, I think you’ve got the wrong mare. My parents have lived all their lives in the country. Unless you’ve visited our village, I doubt you’d have even met them.”

Now Pyre’s smile had a glint in it, above and beyond what was expected of a crystal pony. “Oh my, is that so? After all, I did know a couple called Twilight Velvet and Night Light some years ago. Avid travellers, I remember them being, and famous freelance security personnel. Heroes,” Pyre translated.

Sensing a trick, Twilight narrowed her eyes. “How did you know their names?”

Pyre waved a hoof cheerfully. “Bah. Of course, I could have misremembered. Perhaps these two were some other ponies coincidentally called –”

“Why, what did they do?” Alarm rushed through Twilight. He has to be wrong. This must be a mistake.

Grinning, Pyre clapped his hooves together. “Ember? The Eighty-Two Volume, if you please?”

Ember shoved the door aside, scowled at them both, and offered a vast tome. Merely opening the pages scattered dust.

Or it must be a joke. Some kind of practical joke, or a test, or maybe even a trick.

“Recognize them?” Pyre waved again, and Ember held up the book for Twilight to examine.

There they were. Both of them. The same fringe on her mother, so straight it could have been cut by a steel ruler. Dark blue mane of her father, and general darker coat tending to bluish gray. Her blue eyes, his amber ones… Her teary smile… His proud one…

“I had those taken when I met them twenty years ago.” Someone was speaking, and Twilight remembered; she was still in Pyre’s room, drinking in the photographs of three ponies, two of them Mom and Dad, right there, with the city skyline right behind them. “I’m frankly surprised you don’t know about this.”

Her parents, smiling, waving at the camera, cheerfully indulging in something they couldn’t possibly have indulged in…

No, that simply cannot be right. The evidence isn’t strong enough.

Twilight’s spell pushed the book away. “My parents told me they’d lived in the country all their lives. If they were heroes, I’m sure they’d have mentioned it.” Rather sharply, she added, “It’s not something you’d forget.”

“Oh dear.” Pyre nodded to Ember, who sullenly traipsed back into the adjoining room. “So your mother, Twilight Velvet, never mentioned that she once owned a baby dragon called Ember. Our very own Ember, in fact?”

“What? No. Because it never happened!”

“Really? Then I imagine she never told you about the War of Tirek? The struggle to rescue the kidnapped ponies? The attempted assassination of Princess Celestia? And Twilight Velvet’s part in the invention of the Heart of Gold Seven-Barrelled Laser-Guided Megaturret Rainbow Cannon?”

Twilight seized on this. “Of course not! There’s no such thing.”

Bitterly, Pyre added, “Yes, well, the prototype fell apart after the first use, and she destroyed the blueprints. A hero to the fullest. A lot of it happened abroad. Many ponies these days don’t care what happens overseas.” Less bitterly, he continued, “Twilight Velvet was hardly the first to prove herself a capable hero. Her – Your – ancestry contains many heroes, in fact. Ember?”

Growling, Ember pushed her way back into the room, carrying another book and knocking the bear wardrobe on her way past. “You do know I’m ironing in there, right?”

“Ohohoho, don’t I know it? I can smell the steam.”

Another pair of pages opened before Twilight. Even her inner secretary fell silent. No matter what was being shown to her, the evidence must be at fault.

Except this ran so strongly against the grain of her character that she gritted her teeth against the splinters flying off. Family trees floated before her.

“I told you,” said Pyre happily, “I am fascinated by hereditary, both from seed to seed and from brain to brain. One pony survives, another dies, and what gets passed on is the secret of survival. Your Twilightian lineage ran against Nature’s strictest breeding program. Not a nice one, either.”

Twilight saw her name over and over, merging as they went up and up the pages. Twilight Sparkle. Twilight Velvet. Twilight Candle. Twilit Robe. Twilit Crown. Twilit Lake. Two-Lights Gander. Two-Lights Seeker. Two-Lights Union. Twixt-Day. Twixt-Night. Twixt-Evenlight…

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” said Pyre from a long way away.

Finally, Twilight looked around the pages to that infuriating smile. “There must be some mistake. My parents wouldn’t keep this a secret.”

“Yes, I don’t understand it either. After all, we’ve all heard of your phenomenal power and skill.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“My dear Miss Twilight Sparkle, don’t be so modest.” Pyre chuckled. “You should – indeed, could – no more deny the inheritance of those powers and skills than you should – or could – deny the inheritance of hooves or herbivory.”

“Take the book away,” said Twilight.

Then she remembered herself and met Ember’s scowl. This dragon knew my mother? No. I don’t believe that story.

“Please?” she added.

Snapping the book shut, Ember turned. “Anything else, Master?” she said as though longing to bite him.

“Yes. Do you remember a mare… I believe her name was Twilight Velvet?”

Tics and spasms flashed across Ember’s face. None of them were slow enough to tell what emotion it had been, but Twilight had seen them nonetheless.

“I do,” said Ember. Her voice was careful. “But that was a long time ago.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The scowl returned. “Anything else, Master?”

“No, I think that’ll suffice for now. Thank you, Ember.”

“Wait!” Twilight called, but the dragon was already closing the white door behind her. Instead, she rounded on Pyre. “I did not inherit anything! I got here by my own talents. Which I learned. I wasn’t given an unfair advantage.”

Pyre sighed, and for once the ages weighed heavily upon his skin. “Inheritance of another sort, Miss Twilight Sparkle. If it was not via your seed, then it was via your brain. There is no shame in accepting this.”

“I know what you’re referring to.” Twilight’s veins rushed with lava. Her breath seemed as heavy and heated as smoke. “The idea that culture changes like Nature does over time. And I have to tell you that the theory is not credible. What you learn isn’t just spread. It’s… it’s reasoned, it’s developed, it’s, it’s… Look, even if I did have talent, I didn’t coast on it. Ponies aren’t like dogs or pigeons. No one breeds us. We make choices. We… we plan ahead.”

“Ah,” said Pyre, nodding cheerfully. “I see. And yet, I’m not entirely sure you believe that, Miss Twilight Sparkle. Not alone in your practice, are you? There is no future in denying it. Lots of ponies project what they want onto society. But we both know…” Pyre whispered. “We both know ponies are really quite short-sighted and chaotic and muddled. Culture isn’t planned, or if it is, it rarely goes according to plan. Like Nature, it wanders freely. Or you could say it’s guided by an invisible hoof.”

“I think we’re done here,” said Twilight. She glanced around the dead room for a clock, though she hardly needed one. Her mind throbbed with the knowledge of time flying onwards, leaving her own schedule behind – Shoot! That’s exactly what she’s been saying!

Groaning, Pyre lifted himself out of his… seat. “I can have Ember escort you out.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.” Twilight hastened to her hooves. She knew her cheeks were burning with the embarrassment.

“Trouble? Of course not! I haven’t had a discussion this stimulating in years. Guess it’s the Mage in me.” Aloud, he shouted, “Ember! You’re seeing our guest out! Do come! I’m sure Miss Twilight Sparkle would be honoured to have your company! For now, you may speak freely to her.”

“As you wish,” muttered Ember, and Twilight felt her presence like an electric charge surging up from behind. “It’s your ironing.”

“Ah, pish-posh. Clothes,” said Pyre dismissively. Before Twilight could hurry out, however, Pyre gripped her shoulder and shook her gently. “Whatever the case, I assure you Miss Fluttershy is a worthwhile acquisition.”

“Acquisition?” said Twilight, struggling free. Her mind screamed out to be washed clean of the last few minutes. She had a horrible feeling it was going to tarnish her concentration for the rest of the day.

“Do not waste her gifts. And do not waste yours either. I understand we’re not friends, but do think about what I’ve told you. It will help you, and I’m sure you’re destined for great things –”

“Thank you for the tea, Mister Pyre. I must be on my way.” Twilight threw out the words. Thus divested of all the politeness she’d got left, she forced the door open and strode out.

The steps gaped below Twilight like the teeth of a grand jawbone. The further down she went, the more the shadows and gloom engulfed her.

Alongside her, claws clicked on the marble. Ember glared dead ahead, clearly resenting every second wasted in Twilight’s world.

Mom and Dad would never hide anything from me. Why on earth should I believe one crazy pony who’s getting old? He’s an unreliable source of data.

Ignoring her rational and reasonable thoughts, her skin tingled with sweat and nerves. Something about the idea was so preposterous that her own body dared it to be true. After all, both of her parents had never done anything more magical than bog-standard telekinesis spells. Yet that logically only proved that they’d never done it, not that they couldn’t.

“So,” she said, hoping to sidle up to the issue via cunningly polite small talk, “you… work for Mister Pyre, huh? In this museum? That sounds like it could be interesting.”

Not looking down at all, Ember said, “You’re wasting your breath. I do the housework because he says so. Doesn’t matter what I think.”

“That’s awful,” Twilight said, and then chided herself for it. The words had slipped out with no regard for tactics or long-term strategy.

“Yes, it is.” Ember’s tone betrayed nothing. “Not that a pony would understand.”

“I do! Lots of ponies I knew back home treated other ponies like that. My parents knew Lord Blueblood could be –”

“Did other ponies treat you like that?”

No. I treated other ponies like that. I know I was wrong to do so, but they just got in the way all the time! I had to study. I didn’t realize I was hurting anyone’s feelings. If I could go back and change things, I would.

“Well?” said Ember. She didn’t even sound impatient; her voice was low, sinking, and tired of this nonsense.

“No,” Twilight admitted. “But no one has the right to treat you as a thing.”

They turned the corner continuing down the staircase. Her voice rising with interest, Ember added, “You don’t have a dragon of your own, do you?”

Not trusting herself to speak, Twilight shook her head instead. Ember glanced down and snorted.

“I can smell the guilt coming off you,” said Ember. “What gives? You’re one of the strongest unicorns I’ve ever met. I can sense it. Yet you act like you have to bow down to everyone else all the time. Took you ages to lose your cool with my master.”

“I thought dragons couldn’t speak their minds.” Twilight hoped that conversational gambit worked.

“Pyre’s kinda relaxed, as masters go.” Their feet clicked on the last step. Either side of them, the corridor stretched away, carrying their voices and whispering back. “Doesn’t matter, though. With you and him and that Flutter-what’s-her-face, you ponies are all weird. I mean, look at your clothes. Your dressmakers have to run themselves ragged because you’re always changing your minds. First, it’s long skirts, then it’s puffy sleeves, then it’s suits.”

“Dragons don’t wear clothes?”

“Why would we? Scales are good enough.”

“Well, I think our pony coats are good enough.”

“For every occasion? Honestly, the idea’s crooked when you think about it. Special clothes for dances and balls and things? I’ve been around for centuries, and they’ve all looked stupid. It doesn’t do anything but fill the pockets of money-grubbing dressmakers. Yet you all fall for it.”

Twilight bit her lip, if only because she half-agreed herself.

Narrowing her eyes, Ember leaned down. “Are you sucking up to me?”

“No,” said Twilight.

“You reek like you wanna say yes to everything I say. For the record: that’s not a nice smell.”

“I just don’t understand why you work for Mister Pyre at all,” said Twilight, and some of the heat flared along each word. “If you think it’s beneath you, why do it?”

“Wow, you really don’t have a clue, do you? Magical obligation? Ownership trumps our desires? Physically impossible to disobey? The Mages go on about it all the time.”

“They shouldn’t. It’s wrong to take away someone’s free will.”

“Tough. It happens. What’s the big deal?”

“Don’t tell me you like it!”

Ember shrugged, which was worse than anything. If only she’d crack, admit she hated it, told Twilight was she was supposed to hear…

“And now you smell of anger. That’s better.”

“Will you please stop smelling my feelings? It’s kinda distracting.”

Cool air settled on her flanks. The corridor whispered her words mockingly.

“Let me guess,” said Ember as though she were disappointed by the obviousness of it all. “You’re one of those equal-opportunities types.”

Unsure whether answering would help or not, Twilight fell silent. Probably she was giving off the smell of answers anyway.

“Look,” said Ember. “We’re not the same. We’re in a museum full of things that aren’t the same.”

“That same museum,” Twilight said, unable to hold her peace, “shows that we have common ancestors!”

“So what? That was a long time ago. Anyway, don’t tell me you suddenly believe all that stuff Pyre was telling you. When it’s ‘magically’ convenient to you.”

Twilight gaped as though she’d been slapped.

“Ponies,” muttered Ember under her breath. Aloud, she said, “Things change. Slowly, bit by bit, but they change. Little differences get bigger. So everything’s different, bit by bit. How magical it is, how smart it is, how powerful it is, yadda yadda yadda. Look, the point is, sooner or later, you go from a small reptile thingy to… I dunno, a whale, or a crocodile, or whatever. You think we’re the same, you’re kidding yourself.”

“But…”

“Look, it’s dumb. Sweet, but dumb. Give up your little crusade for all dragonkind and smell the rose quartz. Or roses. That’s how it goes. Now come on. I’m supposed to be showing you the way out.”

Ember’s claws tapped on the marble. Soon, Twilight’s hooves clopped after her.

More archways and vaulted ceilings passed by. As the corridor continued, they entered the Hall of Sea Dragons. What at first resembled deep paintings on the walls were really framed slabs of limestone, encasing whole skeletons of long necks, bony flippers, and bulging ribcages. Some were small enough to have basked on Twilight’s saddle. Others were massive; one impressive skeleton had a skull that could have housed a curled-up pony and asked for seconds.

All the same, and yet all so different. Fish lizards. Crocodiles with flippers. Massive-headed sea serpents. Creatures that could have escaped from mysterious lakes.

I give up. I can’t put this off any longer. “You knew my mother? Is that true?”

Ember did not look back; she admired – or at least looked up at – the larger sea dragon skeletons as they passed. “Yes, and yes. Why?”

“How do I know this isn’t just a lie – sorry, a story – you were ordered to tell?”

“Someone’s in denial,” said Ember; even the closest her voice came to happiness skulked in its efforts not to be caught doing anything so lame. “If it bothers you that much, why don’t you ask her?”

“I’m asking you.”

“Why bother? You don’t know this isn’t a lie-sorry-a-story I’m spinning out, remember?”

Twilight peered through to an exhibition chamber. Lots of spindly insects and bulbous crabs featured prominently before she passed.

Sighing, Ember said, “She wasn’t bad, as masters go. Hardly a master, to be honest. Half the time, she acted like she was the one who had to do all the work for me. I told you ponies are weird. You’re all over the place, too.”

Another entrance came up; beyond, Twilight saw hulking, scaly models.

Of course, before the mammals and the ponies, everyone knew there used to be an age of reptiles. Monstrous creatures that made even the strangest and grandest of hairy beasts today seem like embarrassing replacements. Some proposed that the age of reptiles never really ended, and with dragons hanging on to the present, Twilight felt they had a point. Dragons even did magic better than ponies; no pony had ever outgrown a mountain, or sprouted eight limbs.

At least, until the Mages had put a stop to all that.

So maybe dragons were on the way out too. Maybe ponies were finishing the work Nature had started a long time ago, when nearly all the reptiles’ triumphs had vanished from the world.

Twilight shuddered at the thought. For once, she wished she had more power, not less.

“They’re sooo amazing…” squeaked Sweetie Belle’s voice.

“Wait.” Twilight stopped. She peered into the next chamber.

Rich light filled this room, tinged blue to suggest an underwater world. Swimming through the air, distended mouths and blubbery walls strained against wires holding them aloft. Dolphins grinned among their grander giant cousins, flanked by porpoises. Underneath the life-size replicas and overshadowed by the blue information board, Sweetie Belle had tilted her head so far back that Twilight could see her muzzle and eyes on top.

Ember’s breath surged near Twilight’s ear, making it twitch on instinct.

“What?” said the dragon.

And as Twilight watched the filly blink and cock her head to follow the humpback’s tail across, Twilight privately thanked the flighty attention span of young foals. If Sweetie Belle had carried on her search for Trixie, she wouldn’t have been around to make the point.

“Aha,” said Twilight, and she gestured to the foal. “You see her?”

“What about her?”

Pride fought against honesty for Twilight’s mouth. “Sweetie Belle is a magical marvel. You know how I know that? Consider this: whenever she goes to school to learn magic, she never lives up to her full potential. But when she sneaks out to watch us at the dome, she can levitate things and summon things and practise our spells. And you know why she does that?”

“Because truants have more fun?” said Ember, utterly confused.

“No. It’s all down to contingency. Her environment. Who’s there and what motivates her. She suffers in one environment but thrives in another. Ha! What does that tell you!?”

She wished she hadn’t delivered that last line so excitedly. Now that her words were echoing away, the noise was succumbing to whispers. In her mind, she added: Strictly speaking, there’s no cast-iron reason to think her schoolwork doesn’t have an effect. Not a subtle one.

If only it had stopped Ember, left her gaping, or made her murmur thoughtfully how Twilight had a point. But no: Ember sniggered. Twilight’s rising pride glowed against the friction.

“What’s so funny?” she said.

Beneath the dolphin display, Sweetie Belle read aloud, “‘Dolphins use echolocation to find their way around. Can you make a noise like a dolphin in our special echo chamber?’ Okey dokey!”

Ember pointed at Sweetie Belle, who was making strange “eee, eee” noises. “Look at her. I can sense her magic. She’s mediocre at best.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere,” said Twilight desperately.

“Really? So you were exactly the same back then?”

This time, honesty won the battle, but it was a weak victory anyway. “No.”

“No. And she’s got nothing like that Flutter-what’s-her-name has got, either. Sorry, Twilight Sparkle, but I’ll bet anything that pony’s ancestry holds no surprises.”

Lower-tier magic unicorns, thought Twilight. I’ve met them. I know what that means. Sweetie Belle won’t be anything like me. She’s right. I’m kidding myself.

“If it helps,” said Ember, “Pyre says her lineage will keep going. Something about the race not always going to the swift, or the powerful or the wise, either. It’s all about niches. Finding your place.”

“And that’s it, is it?” spat Twilight. “You’re telling me I should just accept that?”

Ember shrugged. “No one said it was nice.”

Rage trembled through her. The very walls of the museum should have shattered trying to contain such a palpably monstrous truth. Princess Celestia herself ought to have descended in a vengeful blaze of light.

Calmer voices in Twilight’s head reminded her that, a few hours ago, she’d wanted to send Sweetie Belle back to school. That was the law. The right thing to do. Education was “important”. But why, if it meant wiping out those days when Sweetie Belle cheered her own attempts at a laser spell? A spell Twilight had taught her, just to see if she could do it?

“Eee! Eee!” Sweetie Belle cocked an ear in the echo chamber.

Twilight rounded on Ember so fast the dragon actually drew her head up and away. “You’re wrong. There’s no reason Sweetie Belle can’t achieve great things if she sets her mind to it. Maybe I’d have to be there to help her, but so long as it could be done, then it should be.”

“You’re crusading again.” Ember blinked down at her. “You’re totally crusading.”

“Oh? Is that against the rules?”

“Wow. Got a strong smell of shock on that one. Come on. Even you don’t believe what you’re saying.”

“This museum is full of creatures that broke the rules. A few hundred years ago, we ‘proved’ that no animal could grow bigger than an elephant, and then we found the bones of dragons from long ago. They were stories and they were true! Dragons used to be just another lizard! Ponies used to be brown and looked like non-magical donkeys!”

They both turned back to Sweetie Belle.

“That’s just lineages and stuff,” said Ember. “No one animal changed.”

“Everything had to start somewhere,” said Twilight. “And every animal did change. The smallest steps build up to the biggest leaps. You said it yourself.”

Ember sighed. “You know what? You’re keeping me from my work. I’m done. Crazy ponies can find their own way out.”

Twilight said nothing. She didn’t even watch; she just listened to the click of claws fading away. She wanted to blurt out her own thoughts and squeeze every emotion out of her chest. Anything to get rid of all this bile sliming around inside her.

She stayed watching Sweetie Belle go “eee, eee”, this time with variations and even a few musical notes thrown in. Rarity might have taken most of the artistic talent, but Sweetie Belle had a voice stolen from angels.

After a few minutes, Twilight’s inner secretary crept back in and nudged her, glancing at its watch meaningfully. Yet her inner foal pushed her forwards. She stumbled under the blue glow.

“Sweetie Belle,” she said, holding her voice calmly. “I thought you were looking for Trixie?”

“I thought she might be in here.” Sweetie Belle reared up onto a guard rail. Spread out before her were a series of furry creatures; they started off otter-like, and moved up through more crocodile-like forms to big and blobby and blubbery things with fins.

“She’s probably gone outside.” Twilight rubbed the back of her neck. “Do you think she’s still mad at me?”

“I dunno. You should have looked for her, though.”

“Come on. Time to go.”

Sweetie Belle’s front came down to the ground again. While Twilight turned and strode out, Sweetie Belle scampered ahead and around her, almost tripping over and over.

“This place is awe-inspiring!” she was saying. “Did you know dolphins used to be these little things, and they weren’t very smart. There was this one called Indo-hee-uss…”

“Indohyus,” corrected Twilight. “Indo-hy-uss.” She wasn’t really listening, but her ear always pounced on the minor details.

“And then they got bigger and bigger and then they grew smarter and smarter over time, until we got dolphins!”

“Uh huh.”

“You think in time, ponies could end up like dolphins? I’d love to swim all over the place and play all day. I’d sing songs whenever I wanted. Sounds smart to me.”

“Sounds very nice, Sweetie Belle.”

They cleared the corridor and came out onto the main hall. Up ahead, the entrance glowed.

“She sells seashells on the seashore,” said Sweetie Belle.

“Interesting,” said Twilight.

Halfway to the exit, Twilight’s brain caught up with her ears.

“What?” she said.

“Seeing if you were listening; I do that with Rarity to make sure,” said Sweetie Belle, and it was astonishing how much she swelled up with smugness. One little body shouldn’t be able to take in that much air.

“Sorry,” said Twilight. “I’m kind of distracted.”

“What with? Is it Trixie? Because you should be, you know. I think you hurt her feelings.”

Twilight simply took it. To think: she’d only come over to ask about that new pegasus! Her mind was a maelstrom, her chest flooding, her mouth under a drought, and yet the inferno sent sparks and rolling heat her way, distant though it was. More things to deal with.

They left the sanctuary of the past, and returned to the present, blinking under its blinding light. The noises of rumbling traffic and murmuring street crowds lived again. Twilight’s head went for twelve directions at once.

“She sells seashells on the seashore?” muttered Twilight.

“I picked it up in the bit with the sea dragons,” said Sweetie Belle, hopping down the steps.

Twilight had no answer to that. She hadn’t even been ready for the question.

Culture Shock

Twinkleshine liked to think of it as her “boudoir”, save for the fact that she had no real idea what one was, and no inclination to ask. “Boudoir” was a Camargue Horse word, and the Camargue Horses of the wild were said to bring out the beast in even the most civilized of ponies.

She shivered at the thought. All in all, it was best to skim from the surface and hope no one looked any deeper.

Nonetheless, she judged her hoofiwork. “Lyra, you look positively splendid,” she said.

“Great. Um.”

“Uh huh?”

“Is it safe to breathe now?”

Twinkleshine frowned. “Aren’t you comfortable? I thought a little ‘country chic’ would suit you.”

Beside the increasingly sweaty face of Lyra, the increasingly pale face of Minuette added, “I don’t think milkmaids wore plastic corsets.”

“I was going for a shepherd’s style.” Twinkleshine put a hoof to her mouth. “To bring out the pastoralist in her. Lyra, don’t you think it’s appropriate? I had the Ars Arcadia in mind.”

“Twinkleshine!” cried out Minuette. “You are not Rarity! And can I take off this dress, please? And this makeup? They’re so pale! I look like a ghost!”

Twinkleshine lowered the powder puff. “Take off the petticoat, at least. I don’t know why you thought that’d go well with the Empire Silhouette style; you’re supposed to capture the Neoclassical fashions of dance and music.”

“Can I breathe now?” Lyra squeaked. She was starting to redden.

“Now you look like you’ve just exploded backwards.”

“I didn’t think it’d go well!” said Minuette. “I just wanted to stop the hem tangling up my legs!”

“Can I breathe now!? Please!?”

“Well, we can’t go with nothing.” Twinkleshine snorted. “Everyone would stare.”

There was a snap. Bits of cloth fell to the floor. Lyra’s gasp stretched for a whole minute while the other two waited.

“Yes!” she spluttered, gasping again. “They’d be thinking… ‘Wow… I wish… I’d thought of that!’”

Automatically, Twinkleshine returned to curling up where she stood. Upper class assertiveness had not come naturally to her, and the spell was broken. Confronted with the wild mane of Lyra Heartstrings and the twitching of Minuette pushing her dress down and off, no fantasy spell could last long.

“Don’t you want to look beautiful?” she said.

Minuette rubbed the powder off her face. “Not that way. You’re trying too hard. We’re not society ladies, and you’re not a dressmaker or a fashionista. The only fabric we mess with is the fabric of time and space. No one’s going to invite us to the best parties.”

Dispirited, Twinkleshine watched them struggle out of the tattered remnants. She didn’t blame them, though part of her felt she should. They thought the point of having a good time was to have a good time, and tripped themselves up the moment they met anything more sophisticated than eating, dancing, and chatting about who-broke-up-with-who.

Perhaps I am being a bit snobbish. We work in labs all day. We’re like children. Life’s a playground between safe walls, only now the playground’s a universe billions of lightyears across, and the toys are worth millions. Lyra’s idea of a hearty meal is a sandwich and some hay and oats. Minuette thinks a good dance can be made up on the dance floor.

Give it up, Twinkleshine. There are two cultures. Pick one.

“You’re sure I can’t persuade you to try on a princess dress?” She gestured teasingly to the open wardrobe.

“I don’t like this glamour stuff much,” said Lyra.

“Well, you listen to the classics, don’t you? The principle’s the same.”

“I listen to a lot of genres. What I like, I like.”

Glumly, she watched as they cast a critical gaze over her bedroom – boudoir – walls. Pink was the heart of Twinkleshine’s life. Her bed frame was ascending to four-poster status. Hearts and crowns were much in evidence. Even her dandy brush was curly and gilded, reflected in the three mirrors on a dresser she’d kept long after any adult was likely to call her “my little princess”.

On top of a room soft on the eyes, though, were hard edges, dark cores, and a mass of ebony that looked as likely as an oak tree on a cumulus. Her bookshelf was bricked up with books entitled “The Sky At Night” or “Astronomer’s Encyclopaedia”. Yet swarming about this were posters featuring psychedelic singers and grinning buckball players. One paper ball – painted black – hung from the ceiling, stuck with glittery stars; a more modern globe of the night sky lay plugged in on the bedside table, ready to shine the constellations across the room when the lights went out. Ruling over them all, a signed portrait of Princess Celestia dominated one wall.

And, in the corner, her first telescope leaned against the wall. Only Minuette had known her for longer.

Twinkleshine hung her head. “I’m sorry. But, but can’t we at least try?”

As soon as Lyra opened her mouth, Minuette held a hoof up to silence her. Head jerking back and forth, Lyra stepped aside and surrendered the floor to her.

“I’m a little nervous,” said Minuette, twisting up around her words. “I’m sure I’d love it once I got to know it, but I’ve never been to an upmarket place before.”

Twinkleshine’s face went slack. “Is that so? I could’ve sworn you did.”

“If I did, I don’t remember. I don’t know how you’re supposed to act at those places.”

“Oh, it’s easy enough. You simply need…” How had Rarity put it? “Attitude. Poise. Savoir-faire.”

“What’s savoir-faire?”

Twinkleshine remembered the Camargue Horses. “Knowing how to be fair to a lady?” she said, hoping no one tried to find out.

Minuette shrugged. “I guess I’ll find that out when I invent the time machine. Sorting out what old words meant is gonna be my number one priority.”

With a roll of her eyes, Twinkleshine busied herself with her own dress. Although she didn’t always smile around her friend – there were plenty of other emotions rushing to get out whenever Minuette was around – there was that cosy corner of her mind that stayed warm and bright, a permanent sofa before a gentle fire. And she owed that corner to Minuette.

Yes, even when Minuette was going on about time machines, because darn did Twinkleshine need that corner during those times. Years ago, the nutjob had got it into her head that, because nothing in physics said it was impossible to travel backwards through time, therefore she – Minuette – was guaranteed to get a time machine. Were that true, Twinkleshine had once pointed out, she would already know. So, the reasoning went, why hadn’t Minuette gone back to pat herself on the back?

Except the tactical mistake was to try and use reason on Minuette. It didn’t matter that she’d never met any tourists from the future; she still acted like the time machine was already in her attic, and all she had to do was turn it on whenever she felt like it.

Lyra coughed. Both of them looked up at her, and instantly she looked away.

Both of them looked at each other. Twinkleshine shrugged.

At last, one broke; Minuette rubbed her own neck. “Uh, Lyra? Since we’re alone at the moment… was there anything you wanted to tell Twinkleshine? You know, that thing which you told me not to tell anyone –” she winked at Twinkleshine “– because I’m so good at keeping secrets?”

Which was tantamount to a confession. Twinkleshine slapped her own face and rolled her eyes.

On the other hoof, Lyra was still avoiding their gazes. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. After all, Lyra wasn’t exactly the most subtle of ponies, and like all such ponies, wasn’t equipped to notice subtlety in others.

“It’s nothing,” Lyra said to the three mirrors. “It was idle talk. Forget I said anything.”

“That’s not what it sounded like to me,” said Minuette.

“Minuette, shush!” said Twinkleshine. “She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to.”

Nine subtle words. In her mind, Twinkleshine giggled at her own brilliance. Whether she’d known the secret ahead of time or not, those nine words practically guaranteed spilled beans. Even a mind like Lyra’s would be powerless against them.

The deep breath, the few seconds of bracing, and then…

“I wonder if we should both quit,” said Lyra.

After a few polite seconds of mental stumbling, Twinkleshine said, “You mean if you should quit, right?”

“No, I mean both of us. Look at us, Twinkleshine!”

Twinkleshine preferred to look at Minuette. “‘Both of us’?”

“She only told me she thought about quitting!” said Minuette, backing away. “She didn’t mention you. Except when she said, ‘Please, please, please, don’t tell Twinkleshine’.”

“She told you not to tell me!? But you said –”

“She said what?” Lyra’s words cut through their minds and held a blade up to it.

Metaphorical chopper or not, Twinkleshine’s mind concentrated wonderfully. “She… said… just… now… ‘since we’re alone…’ I don’t know if that counts as keeping a secret. When you hint at it. No one’s supposed to know you’ve even got a secret, right? Because it’s that secret.”

Lyra’s narrow eyes did not abate.

“I didn’t tell her!” blurted out Minuette.

“I knew it,” Lyra muttered.

“Minuette!” Twinkleshine groaned. “Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut!?”

“Me!? You’ve just blurted it out!”

“This is true,” said Lyra, and her mouth twitched into a smirk. In some ways, Lyra was a cunning little devil. Perhaps Amethyst was rubbing off on her after all; Amethyst could hide a sledgehammer of subtlety behind her blank mask of a face.

“Lyra, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think ‘don’t tell Twinkleshine’ meant ‘don’t tell Twinkleshine’.”

“Minuette! She’s not gonna buy that one. She just said –”

“It’s OK, Twinkleshine. It doesn’t matter really.” Lyra turned, and three Lyra’s stared back. “I mean look at us two. You like wearing fancy dresses at fancy galas talking about the best painters. I like sitting in the park playing dead music.”

“Pegasine Classical music,” corrected Twinkleshine before she could stop herself.

“Exactly. Should we really be stuck in labs?”

“Yes!” said Minuette, whom Twinkleshine knew couldn’t stop herself if her life depended on it. “Twinkleshine’s an amazing scientist. And so are you.”

“Really? Me? ‘The Funny Music One’?”

“Please stop looking in the mirror,” said Twinkleshine. Seeing four Lyra’s mourning each other was making her heart bleed.

Lyra did so, but now it looked like she was ambassador for three mares too ashamed to look round. “Yes, I want to leave! Look at me! You know me! Have I ever looked like a proper scientist? No! Scientists can… can work out the square root of… of 676 without using a calculator.”

Both of them looked at Minuette.

She shrugged. “76? Sorry. I got nothing.”

“Well OK, bad example,” said Lyra hurriedly.

“Oh, I’m sure Twilight Sparkle could do it,” spat Twinkleshine. To her alarm, Lyra sagged even further at this. “No, Lyra, no. Don’t compare yourself with the likes of her. She’s exceptional.”

“No, she’s not. Moondancer’s the same.”

“They’re both exceptional, then.”

“Just hear me out. All of you are like that. You, you’ve got that astrology thing –”

“Astronomy.”

“See? I can’t even get the name right! And you, Minuette, have the chrono stuff. Chronomony, or whatever. Amethyst has all the earth science. Everyone on the team’s got an actual science. What have I got? ‘Harmonics science’. That’s a fancy way of saying ‘music theory’. I can’t even get it to work right.”

By now, Twinkleshine simply weathered it. Her remaining dreams of galas and ball gowns blew away, and she was surrounded by charts and telescope accessories and the silence of the night sky. When she’d been younger, she too had bought into the “music of the spheres” stuff. It was childish nonsense, of course, but to dare say as much, right now…

“I think you’re a scientist,” she said with what she hoped was disarming honesty.

“Really?” said Lyra coldly. “That’s not what everyone else says. I hear them all the time. And they’re right! What kind of scientist has a mind as kooky as mine? I think psychics exist; they don’t. I think trees talk and you need big ears to hear them; they don’t. I tell them I met breezies in a magical land, they don’t believe me.”

Twinkleshine’s cheeks screamed with embarrassed agony. “Um…”

“I did! I was young when it happened, but it happened!”

“Anyway, you don’t feel like a scientist?” Twinkleshine threw the curveball desperately.

Lyra’s narrow-eyed look came back. “You think I’m crazy to believe that, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Um, well, to be more accurate –”

“That wasn’t psychic powers, by the way. Only brainy little girls have psychic powers. I checked.”

“Lyra!” Twinkleshine snapped. “You’re not leaving. I’m not leaving. Why would we? I don’t remember the bit in the exams where it said ‘Scientists can’t be cultured, true or false’. We’ve done lots of cultured stuff over the years. L-L-Look at that War of Tirek Art and Poetry Exhibition we went to!”

“What exhibition?” said Minuette, and Twinkleshine fancied she detected a sharp note of jealousy there.

“You weren’t there. You were sick.”

“I’m sure I’d have remembered.”

“No, because when I asked, you said you weren’t interested. And you were sick. Definitely sick.”

Lyra squirmed where she stood. “Well, truth be told, neither was I. Interested, I mean. I just wanted to be polite. It was just a load of foreign stuff. There was barely anyone else in the whole place.”

Now it was Twinkleshine’s turn to narrow her eyes. “You told me you liked it.”

“You kept asking me! I thought you were gonna be offended if I said no! Besides, I didn’t want you to go by yourself. I know what that feels li–”

“What about the exhibition?” said Minuette with a voice like a thrown hook.

“Well,” said Twinkleshine, “appreciating culture is no barrier to being a scientist, is it? Can a mare not look upon the rainbow, and also upon the Rainbow Cannon?”

Minuette’s grin had a “gotcha” in it as the lines around her eyes went taut. “Oh, really? What else do you remember from it?”

“Um… Ah… It was a war. And Tirek was in it. And there was a load of art and poetry involved.”

“OK, who built the Rainbow Cannon?”

“I don’t know. Celestia?”

“What is a Rainbow Cannon?”

“I don’t know!”

“Why did you bother going?”

“It was educational and cultural! I do try and broaden my horizons, you know! It’s not my fault I remember some things better than others.”

“What’s the brightest star in the Zodiac Galaxy –?”

“Alpha Cerberii, spectral type A-zero or A1 depending on which part of its spectroscopic code you wish to emphasize, binary system with one main sequence star and one white dwarf.”

Minuette gaped. “I was going to say ‘apart from Alpha Cerberii’.”

“Alpha Cymbae, spectral type A9, white supergiant.” Twinkleshine blinked at their “gotcha” grins. She’d been reeled in. “Look, my point is: it’s not impossible, whatever they say. You can belong to more than one culture. And Lyra –” she took a guilty pleasure in seeing Lyra’s eyes dart about for an escape “– don’t you dare think you’re not good enough to belong to ours.”

Lyra bit her lip.

“Maybe I do try too hard,” Twinkleshine continued, toning her voice down. “Maybe I don’t remember everything. But I’d like to. You expose yourself to a lot of trivia, you get a bit overloaded, but some of it sticks.”

Lyra chuckled, and it was the sort of chuckle more becoming of an Amethyst than a Lyra. “Really, now? Like that Indrabhumi Art Exhibition last year?”

The heartwarming speech was torn out of Twinkleshine’s grip. “What?”

“Don’t you remember? All three of us went? Contained examples of the traditional paintings of Indrabhumi culture?”

Minuette and Twinkleshine exchanged silent requests for clues, like two exam students swapping answers.

“The wax-and-dye exhibit? The mural paintings of animistic spirits?”

Both students had blank cheat sheets.

“There was that talk on Pithora wall-painting rituals?”

Both students now frantically searched their papers for anything other than sweat-inducing questions.

“The one with the seven suns that you said you liked?” insisted Lyra.

“Oh!” said Twinkleshine desperately. “That one!”

Teacher was not amused. “You don’t remember a thing about it, do you?”

Twinkleshine’s very voice was an apology. “I remember we had curry afterwards.”

Accompanied by a growl, Lyra pointed to the wardrobe. “All right. Let’s just take some decent dresses and go enjoy ourselves. At least the gala will be something different.”

“This doesn’t prove anything, you know,” said Twinkleshine, who wretchedly suspected it did.

“The important thing,” said Minuette like it was a mantra, “is that we’re together, here and now. Also, can you get a cloth for my leg? The powder’s still clinging to it.”

The three unicorns looked up at the ember glow of the sky.

“Huh,” said Lyra. “There’s smoke over there.”

“Those poor ponies,” said Twinkleshine. “I hope they got out of the fire.”

“I’m sure the Royal Guard can handle it,” said Minuette, hopping ahead. “Come on! Let’s give the Garden Gala a go!”

“You’re excited all of a sudden.” Twinkleshine giggled.

“The way I see it, if we’re going to this grand get-together, we should make the most of it. Don’t you think so, Lyra?”

“You bet I am!” Lyra hopped after her, and the two of them laughed, forcing Twinkleshine to hurry whilst not hurrying fast enough to trip on the hem. She shook her head at them. Children at heart, indeed.

They cantered along the dim streets, on the threshold where the day was going to bed but the streetlamps and shop windows hadn’t risen for the night shift. The evening was silent of light.

As for sound…

“No dawdling,” said Twinkleshine once the other two had slowed to let her catch her breath. “We pick up Moondancer –”

“Ask Moondancer,” said Minuette, but the giggles smoothed the words over. “We ought to be fair.”

“I say we drag her out kicking and screaming!” said Lyra, borrowing her giggles and starting a gaggle. “Take off the glasses of self-restraint! Let her see a new world with new eyes!”

“Or squint at it,” said Minuette.

“Don’t you think dragging her out’s a tad rough on the poor girl?” said Twinkleshine, not yet at the giggly stage where everything seemed unaccountably hilarious.

“Ooh, Twinkletoes thinks everyone’s poor now. Poor ponies. Poor girl. Poor Moondancer.” Lyra giggled, and Minuette caught some and giggled in turn.

OK, this was crossing a line. “You know, it might be good to have Moondancer around,” said Twinkleshine over their snorts and sniffs. “She knows what to do and how to do it. Much like Twilight.”

Giggles went straight to the brain. The other two went “Woooooooooo!” in the manner of all idiots who think someone’s talking far above her level, or more accurately their own level, even though the latter achievement is not hard.

“Twinkletoes and Moony! Twinkletoes and Moony!” sang Lyra, hopping along.

“She won’t come out,” said Minuette cheerfully. “Moondancer likes time to herself. Tortoises come out of their shells more easily than Moondancer does.”

“Anyway,” Lyra chimed in, “I didn’t think you liked Twilight that much.”

“Twilight’s… not terrible,” said Twinkleshine, fighting against her own thoughts on the matter.

“Wow, that smoke’s really thick, isn’t it?” said Minuette. She and Twinkleshine craned their necks to follow it.

“I wonder what happened.”

“I hope no one got hurt. What a thing to have hanging over your head.”

“And on such a fine night as this one.”

As they turned the corner, the three of them turned their heads towards a bright window on their right. Gentle notes of mandolins tickled their ears. Torturously overwhelming cheeses dared to stroke their noses, and even the warmth of the ovens carried across to their cheeks and brows.

“Past the pizza place we go.” Minuette sighed.

The chequered tablecloths were unblemished; through the glass, only three tables enjoyed the company of customers. A portly waiter with a smile like wine and the comforting presence of beer chatted and laughed with a family of four.

“If we went there once,” said Twinkleshine gently, “we went there a thousand times.”

Minuette let out a chuckle. “Remember when we stopped there on our first day in the city, and Pizza Peppi came up to us and kissed our hooves, and – Oh my gosh you were redder than a tomato!”

“Yeah,” said Twinkleshine dreamily, who’d actually quite liked it once she’d passed through the culture shock. “A true gentlecolt.”

“We went there every day. I’d never even heard of tiramisu until he offered me some.”

Lyra’s tail whipped the air and she walked backwards to talk to them. “See what I mean? We were true friends in that place.”

“Oh, pish-posh,” said Twinkleshine, shivering at her own nerve in saying that. “And we still will be when we go back there tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. Pizza Peppi was only the start! Perhaps tomorrow, we dine at Mulia’s! The day after, Chef Gustav’s! And then: the top of the tower of the five-star Zesty Zucchini!”

“Er, Twinkleshine?” said Lyra, backing away faster. “You’re drooling.”

“My point is –” one telekinetic spell flicked the spittle off her lip “– the pizzeria is the starter, but you act like it’s the main course. Minuette, you’re looking in the past all the time. Lyra: you’re sweet, but you’re a romantic.”

“I’ve never romanced anyone in my life!”

Twinkleshine rolled her eyes. “Oh yes? What about that what’s-her-face at the sweetshop place? Goody-Goody, or something?”

“That’s different. And nothing to do with you, FYI.”

“My point is that you’re thinking about tonight all wrong. I’m not taking anything from our time spent in Peppi’s. I’m giving something to you two instead.” After a pause, she added, “Anyway, I meant ‘romantic’ in the other sense.”

“Huh?”

Minuette peered over her shoulder, obviously watching the pizza place disappear behind them as they turned a corner. “She means all that stuff about your breezie trip.”

“Your tendency to dream,” said Twinkleshine.

“It wasn’t a dream!” Lyra spun round to continue walking the conventional way. “It really happened! Dinky had the same dream – I mean, experience; you can ask her!”

“I’m sorry, Lyra, but I’m afraid it can’t be true. How do you think you could get to a whole new world like that?”

Minuette’s giggles rose back up like wind. “Maybe the breezies had magical machines to take you there.”

This time, Twinkleshine indulged herself with a tiny, ladylike giggle. “Maybe Moondancer gave them hers.” Guilt soon overtook her giggly fit. “Oh, don’t be cross with us, Lyra. We don’t mean any nastiness. Please see where we’re coming from.”

“I’d like my dignity back once you’ve stopped playing with it, please.” Lyra’s muzzle aimed up at the column of smoke.

Which, come to think of it, was growing all the time they were walking. One huge trail of bulbous shadow over the city: such was its thickness that the lumps and rolling shell of the column could have flash-frozen into a stone club, raised gruffly at the evening star by an unseen brute.

They continued along the avenue, over the bridge and past several chained-up bikes. Still, the smoke column rose up before them.

“What do you mean,” said Minuette slowly, “Moondancer gave them hers?”

“I mean,” said Twinkleshine slowly, “she was working on a machine like that.”

“Not for Lyra’s breezie wonderland, though?”

“Not for that, no. For the multiverse.”

Lyra growled. “Will you please stop going on about it? I’m right here!”

Years of practice let Twinkleshine exchange a glance with Minuette that said fifteen different things at once.

“Of course, Moondancer’s very careful and precise,” she read off her internal script.

“She’s as obsessive as Twilight over detail,” recited Minuette.

They slipped down an alleyway of cobbles and brown-baked bricks. The smoke was still coming from that general area…

“What’s wrong?” The two of them looked down to see Lyra’s half-frowning puzzlement.

“Lyra,” said Twinkleshine. “Tell me if there’s something wrong about that smoke?”

Still frowning, Lyra glared up. Her glare faded.

“It’s getting bigger,” she said.

And when they came out of the alley and turned to go down the oak-lined boulevard, the smoke was still waiting up ahead.

“That’s definitely coming from the campus,” said Minuette.

Despite her hopes whispering sweet nothings to her, Twinkleshine’s breaths started to run away from her. Every step was both laboured and effortless on the tide of energy washing through her limbs. The smoke was filling the entire sky, though her brain insisted it hadn’t changed that much.

The foot of the smoke was not a small black chunk over the rooftops now; from here, the chunk resembled a chimney, or a factory cooling tower, or –

“Apollo’s Peak,” she breathed.

Too late, she clamped her mouth shut; when Lyra next looked back, her fear swelled her eyes.

She bolted.

“Lyra!” Twinkleshine shouted after her scurrying hooves. Seconds later, a blur shot past her. “Minuette! Wait! It might not be what you think it is!”

Please tell me that’s not just a sweet, sweet lie. Please tell me you believe that, Twinkleshine. Please, please, please.

Aflame and afraid, her body panicked; she ripped her hem and stumbled as first Lyra and then Minuette vanished round the last corner.

“WAIT!” she called. “DON’T! PLEASE! DON’T! No, no, no, no, no, NO!”

Terraced homes like cobbled stables flew past, out of her way, to give way to –

Apollo’s Peak. Blazing hot enough to rival the sunset. Swarmed by Royal Guards. Roped off. Contained. A nightmare quarantined from a reality that burned away.

She was abandoned. Her own body went stiff. She barely possessed herself enough to close her mouth as the outbreak of panic infected her from the inside out.

“Moondancer.” Her voice caved in first. “Moondancer!”

Someone rounded on her; Minuette’s terror cast about for relief. “She might be in there!”

Twinkleshine couldn’t move. The flames commanded her attention.

“Twinkleshine!”

Maybe she had tried it. Maybe the machine, or the spell, went wrong. Maybe she didn’t get out.

“I can’t…” She hurried backwards. “I can’t!” If Moondancer is still in there…

Dismissing her with a hoof flap, Minuette surged forwards, to where Lyra was scrambling to get around the Royal Guards, to where the red helmets were firing hoses at the black tower surrounded by sunset fire, overshadowed by the smoke which eclipsed the night sky.

“Stay back, please!” shouted a guard.

“My friend could be in there! Let me in!” Lyra leaped to the other side and met yet more unresisting armour.

“We’re still investigating. This is a magical fire. Please wait here and remain calm. We’re doing everything we can.”

Grunting with the effort, Minuette gripped Lyra round the midriff and dragged her away.

Twinkleshine never stopped staring. Even when they got the fire out, she stayed stiff. Not even Minuette’s tugging would get her to move any closer. In the end, all three of them stood on their own, under the shadow of dying smoke.

Secret Stash

Deep in the confines of the castle, Spike placed one jar after another onto the shelf, and didn’t dare turn around.

Although his stomach lurched at the thought of what he was doing, he insisted on doing it professionally, every jar’s label facing outwards. If nothing else, the clink of glass on stone, accompanied by the knowledge of how many were left, kept him calm. Here, at least he knew what he was doing.

Behind him, the room was engulfed by orange light. Occasionally, he wished he could turn around and hurry over to Master Crystal Pony Amber; whether to pat her, say something to her, or simply make sure she didn’t sit alone on the hard stone floor, even he didn’t know.

When she spoke, anger ran through his heart; her voice had withered to a rasp of a whisper.

“I need… water,” she said. “Crystallized water.”

“You’ll have your water,” said the stern voice, tinged with amusement, “once you’ve earned it.”

More jars clinked on the shelf. Spike moved back to the beginning to place the next row of jars before these ones. He could do that, at least. It was a long shelf; he’d be there a while.

Beyond the arched window, the stars were wonderfully indifferent. How he envied those stars.

“I confess I’m uncertain about this Twilight Sparkle,” continued the stern voice, less amused than before. “Postdoctoral Researcher on the Esteemed Unicornian Scholarship Fund, Head of the Equiverse Committee, greatest faculty member the University of Eohippus ever had… all that, and the result is this milksop?”

“Modesty is a brave virtue,” rasped Amber, “when one knows what one would be without it.”

“Modesty,” spat the voice, “is precisely the problem. Her so-called friends – toadies, nutcases, glory hounds, and empty husks that they are – amount to a bunch of lucky nobodies. On their own, I would not give them a second glance. It’s only thanks to Twilight Sparkle’s oversight that they function as an effective unit at all. Ah, but what a mind she possesses. What insight. A mind like that is the real prize. Yes, I must remember that.”

“It’s a mistake… to glorify the one over the many.”

“Ahaha… Master Crystal Pony Amber… Quote all the ‘sour grapes’ clichés you like, but my work here matters to the many. If you want a rebuttal; it’s a mistake to deny the one whatever credit she is due. I merely express my disappointment as to certain… irritating… shortcomings in my longed-for prize.”

“What is it you really want?” snapped Amber.

Spike froze in the act of raising the jar. No one dared to talk to the master like that. No one!

The silence hung from the edge of a blade.

Fortunately, the stern voice was indulgent; chuckles stroked and sheathed the tension. “Of course. Mages were never ones for small talk. Whatever the circumstances, we are good friends indeed.”

Amber grunted, whether through disbelief or grudging interest Spike couldn’t tell.

“You have seen the state of pony society?” said the stern voice. “‘Milquetoast’ would be too kind a word for it. Once there were dragons. Real dragons! Not these paltry baby forms. Dragons that ate mountains and drank from volcanoes. Dragons that laughed at magic and sang the world to life.”

Spike knew it was a vile dream. Dutifully, he forced himself to retch at it, though not too loudly. And yet, raising the next jar, he saw his small claws clenched around the glass. The jar was a building. The shelf: a city. This patch of floor: a mass of lowland crops and pastures. For a dream, he would tower over everyone who’d dumped clothes on him or dumped mops on him or dumped rakes and hedge-clippers and aprons and lists –

“The Golden Age,” said Amber drily.

Spike shook himself and returned to duty. Clink… Clink… Cl… ink… He turned his ear without actually daring to look behind him.

The chuckle worming through its stern voice, Amber’s “good friend” continued: “A touch idealistic, Amber, I grant you. I would not go so far as to use that term. Yet you can’t deny things were better back then.”

“The Golden Age,” said Amber, so drily the air crackled like kindling, “never existed. Your contempt for the present blinds you to the crimes of the past.”

“Bold words, I grant you that too. However –”

“What you pursue is merely a dream. For a dream, you would pile the world’s troubles onto Miss Twilight Sparkle?”

“She has the power!”

“Nevertheless, she is just one pony. Not even she understands what she is doing to the world.”

Spike unfroze; he was supposed to be shelving jars. Grimly, the clinking resumed.

“Very well, ‘good friend’,” said Amber. “Since I have only two choices, I will find out which is worse.”

“But you have no choice.”

“To every question the universe asks of them, everyone has the choice to say ‘no’.”

“Then you shall reap the consequences!”

“Ah. Is this before or after I have no choice?” So much smugness oozed through her tones that Spike grinned and had to stop himself cheering. “And the question now is: What do you want from me?”

The voice was silent for a moment. If Spike didn’t know any better, he’d swear it was being hesitant. Through the window, the stars sparkled onwards, and for a moment the sight of them calmed him down. He knew it didn’t really make any difference, but a glimpse of the night sky promised him wonders and freedom. Someday.

“So be it,” said the voice. “Insightful as always, my dear Amber. Getting to the point: I want you to apply your crystal pony magic.”

“Obviously,” said Amber. “But for what purpose? I was sure Twilight was your favourite.”

“Oh. What makes you think that?”

“I thought you wanted her power.”

“And so I do. She overflows with power. Her pathetic attempts to hide this fact only draw more attention to it.”

Working along the shelf, Spike kept his mind carefully blank. Or at least tried to: it was no good. Pangs stirred inside him. They still hadn’t given Amber the water she needed. His legs itched to run off and find some, but his head stayed them; should he disobey, the stern voice’s next words might be aimed at him.

“Well?” snapped Amber.

The stern voice didn’t respond.

Amber coughed.

A thoughtful hum. That wasn’t a good sign. The master never shouted. Every word carried with it the conviction of one who was never disobeyed.

“Amber, my dear, it occurs to me that you harbour more than mere sympathy for Twilight. For her, aha, efforts to undermine anything of worth. You are aware that she sides herself with the mob, the unwashed masses, the common herd. And that she will gladly use her natural advantages to forward that goal.”

“If there are higher things, then it is one’s duty to bring ponies up to it.”

“Really? Or to drag everyone down to some lowest common denominator?”

Clink… Clink…

Nearby, machinery clanked for a few seconds. Metal hummed. What sounded like a spanner banged against a hull.

They weren’t far from Moondancer’s prison. She’d already made fantastic progress, which Spike hated. He wanted her to take her time out of sheer spite for her captors, but the stern voice had actually complimented her once or twice. Surely anyone sane would have tried to stall.

“So you finally admit there are higher things?” said the stern voice.

Amber wheezed silently.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby. I would hardly let you die of dehydration, now would I?” Irritably, the stern voice clicked its tongue. “Twilight the Paradox can be dealt with later. Amber, focus. Who shall be the next target?”

“Please…” Amber’s next breath was a death-rattle.

“Who. Shall be. The next. Target?”

Coughing, Amber shuffled about. Spike knew what she was doing. He’d helped her set it up earlier. The bowl. The powder. The large book. Yet he didn’t dare turn around. Not while the master was still there. Not while Amber was how she was, otherwise he’d have to face what he’d done…

Don’t tell him, Spike thought. Please, please, please don’t tell him!

“You have something…” Amber stopped and gasped. “Something that belonged to her?”

A clunk hit the bowl. “That should prove useful, my dear. Primitive magic. Magic from the glory days when unicorn civilization was barely –”

“A yes… will suffice.”

The voice spluttered indignantly, and then fell silent.

Spike was down to three jars. It had been a long shelf. Slowly, he lifted up the third one…

Behind him, the thing scraped along the insides of the bowl as the crystal pony pushed it around. She muttered under her breath. Was it some kind of enchantment? Some subtle secret spell?

“It’s always intrigued me,” said the stern voice, “how crystal ponies featured in the old stories. In some ways, they complement dragons wonderfully.”

Amber hummed. It was a hum with a lot to say for itself on that score.

“I see…” she began.

“Yes?”

A pause, then… “A maniac out of touch with the modern world.”

The silence prepared to stab. Spike froze halfway towards the second jar.

Then… the stern voice chuckled under its breath. “Amber, Amber, Amber: always ready to hiss and spit. What on earth have I done to make you so disrespectful?”

“I have a list,” muttered Amber.

“I’m sure you do. But before we die of old age, tell me what you see. Less of the spite, if you please.”

Spike reached for the second jar. Once they’d picked a target, then he was going to have another attack of conscience, because they’d ask him to aim at it.

“I see…”

Lie! Lie! Tell a lie! Please!

“…a young filly. Mane as soft as the gentlest clouds. Heart as bright as the rising sun. Voice as sweet as the tender rain.”

“Yes,” muttered the voice. “Assume, for a moment, we don’t all see in simile. Tell me the… darling’s name.”

Spike shuddered; his claws unexpectedly knocked the glass, and he snatched for it.

At last: “Sweetie Belle.”

Triumphant laughter broke out. Spike grabbed the jar and rammed it onto the shelf in his haste. Horror, fury, disdain: his insides fought a sudden war, and he grabbed the last jar and held onto it tightly.

“Of all the amusing…” The stern voice fought against its own laughter.

Even under all that, Amber’s sigh was clear. “I am sorry… so sorry, little one…”

“What on earth is your problem?” Now the stern voice was free of any kind of mirth. Spike could imagine the scowl. “She’s perfect! Right next to Twilight’s side, no less. I thought as much. Greatness does rub off on other ponies.”

Smash!

The shattered pottery cracked and tinkled in the silence.

Spike fumbled not to drop his own jar. He’d never heard the crystal pony lose her temper. Somehow, through a voice straining against desiccation, it sounded worse, as though every word were sizzling and bubbling with poisoned acid.

“You are a fool,” she rasped. “The skies you wish to soar through are beyond your reach. The earth you wish to run from has neither beginning nor end. The seas you wish to cross are beyond your ken. Turn back now, or the price you pay for your arrogance will destroy you and those who stand by your side.”

Spike yelped. His jar slipped out and smashed on the floor.

His clawed hands wormed around each other. He could feel the stares.

Then the stern voice spoke in the rumbling tones of command. “Little steed, your bitterness is getting tiresome. But since you have so much sympathy for a unicorn who wastes her talents, let me retort: Miss Twilight Sparkle is correct in one particular. She is not better than anyone else. Not while she remains a mere steed. And I will prove it. After all, you and I were created by her ilk long, long ago. I know how her mind works. I know her weaknesses.”

Pitifully weak in itself, Amber whispered, “What of the foal?”

“And,” the voice ploughed on remorselessly, “I shall force Twilight and her ilk to suffer in turn. Suffer, as we have suffered! One little pawn at a time.”

Spike gulped. Not daring to move, he now felt the crash and bangs of the war raging around his insides.

“SPIKE!”

He almost swallowed his tongue. His clawed hand rose in salute. “Yes, m-m-master!”

“I am leaving. Take Amber back to her room and give her some water.” Moving away, the voice added, “And clean up this mess.”

“Yes, master! Quick as a blink, master!”

Then he turned around.

Alone.

Amber was slumped over the shards of her bowl. Damp patches darkened her blindfold. In the flickering orange of the torchlight, she seemed smaller.

Gently, Spike guided her around and walked her as though holding invisible reins. He didn’t trust himself to speak, in case the bile escaped from his twisting heart. Judging from her silence, she knew what he was thinking.

Amber was wrong. He had no choice.

Fluttershy was lighter than air.

This was not because she was insubstantial or blown about by the merest of forces, not this time. This time, it was because she was lifted up out of her clumped-up life and now looked down on the world from a giddy height, seeing its tiny beauty for the first time in her life.

The effect was somewhat spoiled by her bouncing off the banisters.

“You know what I think? Lemon?” She hiccupped.

“No. I think you’re gonna tell me anyway,” said Lemon wearily.

“You are the nicerest… nicenest… nicest pony I’ve ever met.”

“Am I.”

“I feel sooooooo cheerful. Isner? Isn’t that, um, nice?”

“Watch your step. The stairs are going round again. Nice and gentle.”

“Yesh. Nishe – Nice and gentetal. Gentle. You have a nice huggle.”

“If you say so.”

“That’s a hug and a cuddle. Hug cuddle. Huggle.”

“Just let me do the steering, Flutters. Whoa! Watch the next step!”

Fluttershy hummed a little ditty to herself, because it had asked her brain so nicely and she wanted to play.

Lemon Hearts had wanted to dispose of the cider. She’d gotten creative about it.

For instance, on her way through the back entrance, she’d stopped and suggested that, since the bottles themselves were inoffensive, the actual cider was all they needed to get rid of. And Fluttershy had suggested pouring it down the sink, a suggestion met with the sort of silence usually reserved for people who say, “This old mother of yours; why don’t we take her to a glue factory and sell her? It’d save on funeral costs.”

So – partly as punishment, Fluttershy suspected – explicitly as a test, Lemon had asked her if she drank. Fluttershy had said yes, everyone drank, and had failed to mention that “drink” in her world got no more adventurous than a glass of orange juice. Being the gracious host, Lemon had offered to pour out the first drink. Of course, they’d had to bunk off somewhere, because ponies like Twilight could be so unreasonable.

Feeling it would be heart-crushingly, catastrophically impolite to say no, Fluttershy had accepted the first bottle, but only after Lemon had wiped the neck with a cloth. No one had offered her cider before. Back at the museum, the only pony who even remembered to ask if she wanted tea had been old Pyre, and even then only when he’d invited her for a rare talk.

Surely, nothing that tasted so nice could be so bad, could it? Besides, Lemon did say it was made of apples. Basically apple juice.

Finally, they’d made it out the dome and along the streets, where Fluttershy had smiled and waved at many innocent ponies on the basis that she was the happiest mare in the world.

And now? Now, she groggily turned to smile at Lemon. Curiously, Lemon wasn’t smiling back. If anything, she looked at Fluttershy much as Professor Von Crackbrain must have looked at his creation before it broke out of its cage and wandered off to the nearest village.

“Um…” said Lemon.

“You’re very pretty,” said Fluttershy. Lemon’s face certainly glowed.

“You told me you drank. I am not altogether sure you understood what I meant.”

Fluttershy let the giggle frolic in the fields of conversation. “Silly pony! Everyone drinks. Seen them doing it. Outta coffee mugs.”

“Up you get, Flutters. One more step. So you live in which room was it now?”

“Room 36.”

Fluttershy jerked back as Lemon stopped on the steps.

“I thought you said it was 42?” said Lemon.

“Oh. Did I?”

“Yes! As we came in through reception!”

“Oh dear. Did I do a silly?”

“What?” Then Lemon groaned with realization.

“That’s OK. My legs know where they’re going.”

“Oh, good. Now we just have to wait until they agree with each other. Up you get, my lovely. Beddy byes, now. Blimey, you’re heavy.”

“My head feels funny.”

“That’s because you can’t hold your cider, honey.”

Oh, silly! Fluttershy held up the bottle so proudly grasped between her hoof and her ergot. “Can too.”

“Stop waving that in my face. Cor, you’re worse than Lyra. At least she goes quiet when she’s had enough cider.”

Lemon pushed the door to the corridor open. It wasn’t much of an apartment. Nothing shone or sparkled, not even through Fluttershy’s tear-streaked joy or childlike wonder. No amount of cider could make damp look good.

“What’s that smell?” said Lemon, sniffing.

“What smell?” Fluttershy wiped her nose on the back of her hoof. The room was blurred until she blinked and something ran down her cheeks.

“The smell like someone’s been dead for weeks.”

Pangs of grief slipped through Fluttershy’s heavenly brain. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “Someone did die.”

“What!?”

Fluttershy pointed. Halfway up the corridor, a dead plant lay crumpled on its flowerpot.

“Poor Mister Leafy,” she moaned in a bubbling voice. “I forgot all abou’ ‘im. I dononoro… I men, I never look after –” she hiccupped “– plants…”

“Sod almighty,” muttered Lemon.

“Sut langerid!”

“Oh, ‘such language’ yourself. Sod was an old Mage who specialized in grass magic, actually. Where do you think the term ‘a sod of grass’ came from?”

“Ah. You’re not a veran very ice pony. Are you?”

“No,” said Lemon flatly.

“That’s OK. I still… I sntill love you.”

“Really?”

“I love ev’ry liddle thin. Living thing.”

“Come on. Off to bed with you.”

“You really are verany pretty.”

“If you say so. Which room is it?” And because it had been a long evening, she added, “This time?”

Guided by what remained of her memory, Fluttershy stumbled, dragging Lemon along with her. There was barely enough room along the corridor for one pony; they kept bouncing off the doors and walls.

Of course, they said that if you drank too much fruit juice, it could do very odd things with your head. Apparently, it was all because horses through history had been forced to get as much nutrition out of their simple stomachs as possible, given that most of what they ate was about as digestible as wood. So when something with a lot of flavour came along…

Fluttershy frowned. So when something with a lot of flavour came along…

The clouds of concentration met a headwind coming the other way.

“You wanna know s’thing, Lemnon?” she said suddenly.

“Yes; how much further we got.”

Fluttershy stiffened like a mule, and Lemon cannoned off the back of her and scrabbled to hold on.

“No one…” burbled Fluttershy to the dead plant, “gimme cider before. You. You so nice t’me. An’ I fought – thought – you were, you were just a meanie, nasty, spitty ol’ bully… I wanna to scream at you.”

“Is that so?” Lemon said indulgently.

“I wanted you to, to, to go away and, and, and get sack. Sacked. Jan’tor. Runsplace. No! No, you don’ runs siss place. This place. You, you, you jan’tor! You loser. I fought. Thought.”

“Really,” Lemon said, less indulgently.

“Got a bucket,” Fluttershy sneered. “I never got a bucket. Ev’one hated me in that place, an’ I still nev’ gotta bucket. Ha. Serves you right. Miss… bullery. Bucket bully.”

“Does it.”

“Did id. Heard ‘em talkin’ behine my back. Nasty meanie-pants. Not nice ponies. But now… you so nice to me. Youra nicenest pony ever met. You been so nice to me. I wanna huggle you so much. You not a bully, really. You’re a heart of gold.”

“That I am. On we go, honey. Where’s your door?”

Fluttershy huggled her anyway. It was nice to meet a jerk with a heart of gold, especially when the heart of gold was shining so brightly that she had to squint to look at her. Wow, everything really was glowing…

They bounced off another door and stopped suddenly. Fluttershy patted herself down.

“I dun have my key…” She groaned. “My head feels funny.”

Lemon sighed. “Oh, I wish I could help you there, honey.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Yes. Getting into happy time is easy. Getting out of it, less so.”

“That’s the spirit!” Fluttershy toppled forwards, and only Lemon’s quick hooves prevented her from kissing the carpet.

“Up you get, me lovely. Whoa, you really like that stuff, don’t you? Remind me never to challenge you to a drinking contest.”

“Tasted nice,” said Fluttershy sullenly.

“So do cookies, and even Lyra knows when to stop there. Even if it is after the third jar.”

She stood and stared at the lock. Now that the happy feeling was relaxed and steady, trickles of habit came through to tickle her thoughts. Something she had to do, that she always did, just before going in…

“Come on, honey,” said Lemon. “The lock’s not gonna melt off if you stare at it. Where’s your key?”

“I must… do… something. First.” Sour reminders clashed with the sweet broth in her brain.

Perhaps sensing her trepidation, Lemon asked quietly, “What is it? If you’re worried about your lost keys, I could break in and open it for you. One of my best skills, that is.”

The memory tapped Fluttershy on the shoulder. Sobriety waved frantically at her, and then she focused and saw Lemon trying to catch her attention.

“Amber!” Fluttershy yelled, and she jumped so suddenly that her rear banged off the door opposite and knocked some sense into her.

“No, honey. I’m Lemon.”

“No, I mean, Amber!”

“Huh?”

“She’s my neighbour! I’ve got to check on Amber!”

“Why?”

Fluttershy gaped at her. “I always check on Amber.”

Lemon groaned with the tones of one already put out by several embarrassing hours. “What, is she your pet rock, or something?”

“No. She’s a crystal pony. I have to make sure she’s OK.”

“Why?”

Fluttershy frowned. As though reciting from memory, she said, “Every evening when I come home. I always. M-Make sure Master Crystal Pony Amber is taking care. Of herself. I knock on her door. I ask if I can come in. I tidy up her room. I give her the medication. And then I make sure she goes to bed. She always wants to stay up late. Reading.”

“Oh, for Sod’s sake.” Lemon let go of her and staggered. “Can’t she look after herself?”

“She’s old.”

“But still –”

“And blind.”

“Well, yes, but surely someone else can –”

“There isn’t anyone else. She lives on her own.”

Lemon turned away. “Oh, Sod almighty,” she said. “Did I ask for plucked heartstrings tonight?”

After some of the cider seeped back into Fluttershy’s mind, Lemon added, “So, uh, which door is hers?”

“The one opposite mine.”

“Ah. That’s convenient.” While Fluttershy spun round to face said door, Lemon said, “I didn’t know, OK?”

“Shh.” Fluttershy pressed an ear against the wood. “Amber? It’s me.”

“Crystal pony, huh? She’s a Mage?”

Fluttershy threw out the words. “She’s a ‘Life Force’ Mage. We met at the museum. Amber! It’s Fluttershy! Are you asleep again?”

Frowning, she backed off. “Strange. She’s not normally this quiet.” The handle rattled under her mouth’s grip, and she winced at the grimy metal icing her mouth with its clammy touch, like tasting a cooled kettle. “The door’s locked. She never locks it. I always have to lock it for her.”

“Maybe she’s asleep?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Fluttershy searched the door, even rearing up to press the wood with her hooves. “She hardly ever sleeps. It’s like she thinks so much she can’t drop off the same way we can.”

“Sounds like she’s overdue a nap, then.”

“Oh dear, and I don’t have her key, either. How can I be so useless?”

“Maybe she’s popped her clogs.” At the blank stare this earned her, Lemon added, “You said she was old.”

“She doesn’t even have clogs. What are you talking about?”

“Sorry. Just some grim humour.”

“Wha?”

“Bah, never mind. So what do we do now, Flutters? I’m probably missing some classy entertainment somewhere.”

Fluttershy winced and flicked her head; the cider was itching to come crawling back, but she had to think straight. Amber might be in difficulties. It was a special Fluttershy word, but “difficulties” was the nice way of putting it.

“I have to get in there,” she moaned, turning to Lemon for help. “Oh, I won’t rest if I don’t know she’s OK.”

“Sod almighty…” Lemon wiped her face. “OK, stand back. Give me two minutes and a chance to concentrate, I’ll have this thing open in a spell.”

“Lemon! Ow!” The cider stung. Fluttershy shook and hit her own head with a hoof, then winced as the bottle smacked off and rolled down the corridor. Horrified, she watched it clink off a door and stop.

“Um,” she said, rubbing her head. “Was that a cider bottle?”

“No, it was an empty bottle. Look, how else are we gonna get in if I can’t pick the lock? I’m not waiting all night for you to toss me one hare-brained scheme after another.”

Rare thoughts passed through Fluttershy’s brain. The cider, the happy feeling, the tearful glow, and the worry mixed with confusion muddled her mind until she was staring at a cocktail of impressions. Force the door. Teleport through it. Smash the walls. Hug it. Sing to it. Call for Amber. See the window –

A very un-Fluttershy idea stuck.

“We could get in through the window?” she tried. “No, forget I said anything…”

“Hm,” said Lemon. “You know, for someone as sweet and innocent as you, you have a very troubling mind.”

The ever-present blush surged through to her cheeks. “I only meant –”

“What about locks? Does she ever lock the window?”

“I… don’t think so. There’s just the latch.”

“Which side?”

“Which side? Inside, of course. But then how can we –?”

“Ah. Perfect.” Lemon winked at her and saluted. “HYou’re lucky hyou found me, Miss Fluttershy. For Hai have some hexperience with the hintrusion of certain hillicit premises, ma’am.” She winked again.

Fluttershy hit her own head. Where was this sting coming from? “Meaning…?”

“Meaning you fly me up the window, and I’ll wave my magic wand and have it open in a jiffy.”

Fluttershy’s cheeks overflowed with the stretching pressure of the blush. The strained skin twisted her face up into a grimace. Up till now, she’d considered merely shouting an unpardonable crime.

“But…” She covered her mouth. “You don’t mean… breaking in?”

“Amber needs her check-up, doesn’t she?”

Fluttershy knew this was just an excuse. She knew from looking at Lemon’s grin that the breaking-in part was the only attraction to a mare like that. But she knew – and she suspected Lemon knew – that the thought of leaving that poor crystal pony, possibly lying on the floor, or helplessly whispering her name…

She sighed and slumped; the cider washed over her brain. “Oh, all right,” she said miserably. “Just promise me we don’t break anything.”

A Sold-Out Personality

After sundown, darkness lurked in ambush. Then it watched as the small figure waddled up to the door, glanced both ways, and rapped his fist against the woodwork. It was a back entrance.

The earth stallion who answered didn’t think to look down until a few seconds had passed. Despite the rectangle of light spilling out, the night was so cloudy and dark that he could barely see beyond.

Not that he couldn’t stop himself hearing the voices: childish whispers, they seemed to him. A few things glinted. Lots of things. Scales, by the look of it, and all from no higher than a foal could reach. Maybe a few worried eyes too.

Small dragons?

The only unambiguous thing, in fact, was the small figure in the light. Small claws twirled as it fidgeted uneasily like a child. The small spikes on its head vaguely resembled a cock’s comb, and there was something of the chicken about the small, chubby creature and its twitchy demeanour.

“Oh, it’s just you. Make it quick,” snapped the earth stallion. “I’m busy.”

Swallowing, the small figure started fiddling with the diamond tip of its stubby tail. “Er… good evening, uh, good sir. Uh… I couldn’t help wondering if you… if maybe you’d like a brand new dragon?”

The earth stallion gave the small figure his best withering look. Baby dragons. They never got to the point. Hadn’t they learned by now to respect their masters?

“Who wouldn’t?” he said irritably. “But I’m not doing dealings at this time of night. Anyway, what do you take me for, some backstreet lowlife? I’d need a receipt and anyway we’ve just closed the till.”

This made the dragon fidget at a much more frantic rate. “Um. Well. I suppose that’s true, if… uh… if the dragon had been, uh… owned before. You know how it is. New market and everything –”

“You!?” The earth stallion backed off and made to slam the door. “Pull the other one. I know you. You’ve got an owner, and I’m not getting arrested by buying outside of protocol. Darn con artist. Be off with you. And why would I want a scrawny runt like you anyway?”

He almost slammed the door. Something blocked the way and the woodwork rebounded, almost hitting his muzzle.

“Hey!” He stepped out again. “Just what kind of –?”

“Scrawny runt?” said a much deeper voice.

The earth stallion stared, mouth half-open.

“Peewee here isn’t for sale, dork.” The owner of the much deeper voice loomed over his head.

The earth stallion had to crane his neck.

Having stepped out of the darkness beyond, this new dragon was now threatening to block the entire doorway. It most certainly was not a scrawny runt. It probably ate scrawny runts for breakfast.

Scales burned bright red. Oversized fangs stuck out from the upper jaw like improperly sheathed swords. Despite barely fitting through the door as it was, the larger dragon stretched its wings anyway, and the earth stallion suddenly had a vision of this winged monstrosity swooping from the sky and engulfing him in the shadows of the night.

Dragons, he was sure, were not meant to be this big.

“Y-Y-Y-You’re… f-f-f-for sale?” the earth stallion stuttered. Being polite seemed a very good strategy right about now.

The red dragon grinned nastily. As its mouth already looked like a losing battle against the overbite, this merely added an extra few notches of terror to the earth stallion’s nightmares.

“Yeah,” said the red dragon. “For sale. Sure.”

“W-W-What for?”

The red dragon leaned so far forwards that the earth stallion felt, for a few seconds, its snout bump into his. “Do I ask you why you want a dragon?”

Gibbering, the earth stallion shook his head rapidly.

Thankfully, the red dragon seemed to run out of interest. It backed off, allowing the small figure to shuffle into the light again.

“No questions asked,” said the earth stallion, thinking fast.

“It’s nothing, you know, dangerous or anything,” said the small figure, contrary to all apparent evidence. “He’s just another dragon, like me.”

Teeth chattering, the earth stallion ran a critical eye over the red dragon, who was still grinning at him. Sure, dragons these days were just babies – they weren’t allowed to grow anymore – but “allowed” didn’t always count for much. After all, there were lots of things he wasn’t allowed to do as a business pony, and he did them anyway, and if the tax office never found out, what harm had been done?

Dragons, though…

Oh, they said that, once upon a time, dragons had been big and scary and did all kinds of things. Kidnapping princesses, or eating villages. Hard to remember these days, since all that was left were the stories and all these stupid baby dragons everywhere. No one really believed dragons could grow big anymore…

Possibly sensing his thoughts, the small figure hastily added, “Think about it this way, right? He’s just a really big little dragon. You get big ponies and little ponies. It’s not like, uh, he’s as big as a house or anything. And bigger means better, right?”

“Huh,” spat the red dragon. “That explains your case, Peewee.”

“Um,” said the earth stallion to the small figure. “How… exactly did he get so big?”

The red dragon folded his arms. “I work out.”

It was such an obvious lie that the earth stallion decided not to call it out. Arguing with a dragon was all right when they were small and weak.

“Work out,” he said hurriedly. “Right. Obvious, really, when you put it like that.”

“And not because of anything bad or illegal.” The small figure – somehow, the earth stallion doubted he was really called Peewee – waved his clawed hands in a placatory gesture. “Besides, everyone knows you can’t hatch dragons these days. You can’t even find any eggs!”

“Are we doing this or not?” Smoke snorted out of the red dragon’s nostrils.

“Er, sure,” said the earth stallion at once. “Of course. It’s just… supposing one of the Mages comes round?”

“So?”

“Um… won’t they want to see a receipt?”

“Geez, make one up or something. And ponies are supposed to be the master species? What a load. I could swallow you in one gulp right now.”

“Please don’t,” said the small figure.

“Well, yeah…” The earth stallion himself swallowed. Dimly, he remembered he hadn’t done the stock-check at the end of the shift. It suddenly seemed like a lifetime ago.

“We’re not asking for much,” continued the small figure. “In fact, I could write up a receipt easy-peasy. Just give me till tomorrow.”

The earth stallion was liking the small figure more and more, though, given the competition, that wasn’t hard. Anyway, he had wondered if it was time to up his game. A baby dragon was better than a suite full of ponies, provided you knew how to solve the fire sneeze problem. A large dragon was probably better than a suite full of baby ones…

“Well…” he said, in a voice begging to be persuaded and hoping not to be bullied.

“He might look scary,” said the small figure, who had stopped fidgeting and was positively bouncing under the smile. “But trust me when I say he’s the best dragon in the business. You remember the Wonderwide company?”

Shock of a wholly welcome kind entered the earth stallion’s brain. “No way… You mean to tell me he –”

“Yep.”

“But they’re the Number One company to work for! I saw it in Workaholics magazine!”

“He was their trade secret.”

Reality crashed over him. “Oh, I couldn’t afford a dragon like that. Wonderwide kicked butt last quarter. Lots of butts. They kicked butts most ponies could only dream of kicking.”

“And,” said the small figure, waggling his scaly eyebrows, “he’ll be perfectly fine with the Mages too.”

“But he’s a bloody great –”

“Within limits! He’s within limits! Size limits, flame breath limits, whatever limits they give on dragons. I know. I checked. It’s not like I’d sell you an illegal dragon, right? I said.”

“You sure? He looks pretty big to me.”

“Sure I’m sure.”

And the earth stallion was thinking, Good. That means you’re the one who said he’s fine. Everyone knows you dragons have to fit in. You know what I could do if you sell me a bad dragon. You know what the law could do.

“Ha,” he said, far more confidently now that he’d found an escape hatch. “Not bad. But you better get me that receipt, or I’ll have the authorities on your tail, Peewee.”

The small figure wiped his brow and saluted. “Dragon’s honour.”

“Uh huh,” said the earth stallion, indicating in just two syllables his opinion on how much that was worth. “All right. How much?”

Smiling more greedily, the small figure answered, “Ten bits.”

“Ten bits!?”

At once, the red dragon filled the doorway. “Is that a problem?”

“But even the cheapest dragons cost at least a hundred –” Survival instincts kicked his brain into another gear. “N-N-No. No problem. It’s just… surprising. That’s all.”

“Sweet.” The doorway was free of overwhelming redness. It had even felt hotter for a moment, as though someone had opened a furnace.

He hurried back inside and almost broke the till in his efforts to extract the money. The sooner this dream was over, the sooner he could find a much better one. One that involved a fortune with his name on it.

Suspicion hung around the back of his mind; no one sold prime dragons at that rate, and there’d been too much talk about how the whole business was aboveboard, even as it was being conducted at night via back entrance.

All the same, business was business. Even in the most cutthroat of companies, there was a time to be more trusting, wasn’t there? A good candidate would be the time when a large dragon gives you a nasty grin and suggests you get on with it.

“Ten bits,” he said, throwing them at the small figure. “And I’d better get that receipt, or it’ll be your hide, Peewee, not mine.”

Excited murmurs broke out among the shadows. For a moment, the earth stallion was caught off-guard; he’d plum forgotten about the lurkers.

“Um…” he began to say.

Red claws closed on his shoulder. “Nice to do business with you, little pony,” said the much deeper voice of the claws’ owner, who was incapable of speaking to him as though his opinion mattered at all. “Let’s have a look at the digs, eh? Oh, and that’ll be a chest full of gemstones and whatever your biggest room is. I’d ask for a cave, but I don’t think ponies know what those are, ha!”

“Now hold on –” said the earth stallion before he could stop himself.

He was turned sharply around to face two glowing, narrowed eyes. “I said… nice to do business with you.”

In the thoughtful pause, the earth stallion noticed how much it felt like his shoulders were being pressed against knives.

“Uh, s-s-s-sure,” he managed. “One g-gemstone ch-chest, c-com-coming up.”

The claws let go. “That’s much better. Stick with me, my little pony, and you can’t go wrong. My little pony, ha! It’s like you’re a toy, or something.”

Wincing, the small figure eased the door shut behind them. Without the light spilling out, he too was lost to the shadows of the street.

“Done,” he said, and he let out a sigh of relief. “That went well.”

“Do you think we’ll get into trouble over this, Spike?” squeaked a little voice.

The small figure shrugged. “We get into trouble whatever we do. Anyway, no one’ll figure this out. Just trust me, OK? It’s for the best.”

“You’re sweating,” said another tiny voice. “I can smell you.”

“Excitement,” lied Spike.

Wisely, no one said anything. There was merely the sound of shuffling. It didn’t matter that they had doubts. A dragon could not, after all, question the wisdom of stepping off a cliff when he was already halfway down.

Soon, there were no other sounds. Spike scratched and started fidgeting with his tail again, in spite of the click of coins; he had to shuffle those around the scales to do it.

“Ten bits…” he said dreamily.

Of course, he’d been forced to handle money before now, but then it had belonged to others. Now these coins were his… his to do whatever he wanted…

But he sighed. No. It’d never work out. There were rules about this sort of thing. Sometimes, it really sucked to be a dragon.

On his way home, he dropped the coins in a collecting box outside the first charity shop he passed. It made him feel a bit better, but not by much.

That same night, Twilight Sparkle sat in the highest room of the tallest tower, and read her book.

In truth, this was not the usual sort of book. She’d commissioned this copy especially from the Royal Archives. What saddened her most of all was that – unlike the usual commissions – there hadn’t been a large waiting list for this one.

Clover the Clever’s Compendium of Classical Creatures.

She was reading the chapter about dragons.

Before the multiverse had been discovered, virtually every cosmology had once involved dragons. Dragons that hatched the world, dragons that created mountains, dragons that brought rain to the thirsty land and so granted life. They were quite a far cry from the “Damsels in Distress” dragons of later centuries.

In fact, they clung to the imagination like no other beast before or since. Ahuizotls were too culturally narrow. Basilisks barely featured. Chimaeras never got the blood running. Ah, but of course… dragons were everywhere. Once…

She’d never tell anyone about this book. Other ponies always said she had strange interests. It wasn’t true. She had limitless interests. On any one day, she might begin by researching the nature of war and how to construct the most deadly weapons of all ponydom. By lunchtime, she’d be learning how to paint an enigmatic smile using the techniques of the old masters. Right at the end of the day, she’d have moved on to magical theory, wondering how to unscramble an egg without simply feeding it to a chicken and waiting for it to start laying.

Yet she kept coming back to dragons. Which was absurd. They were either romantic images – in truth, no different from any other random romantic imagery – or yet another species living in the capital. They weren’t even particularly interesting. The laws of the Mages had made them uninteresting, though as these laws also made them safer to be around, that was to her mind a Good Thing.

Nevertheless, the multiverse had been discovered. What little romanticism the dragons could have still claimed, that had long since been swept away. Today, everyone spoke breezily of inter-continuum transport as though they’d personally thought of it. The latest science always gave way, sooner or later, to the latest fad.

Well, she’d set that right.

Right after she’d checked a few misapprehensions about dragons, of course.

And possibly had rewritten the history of Mage-level philosophy, of course.

And, if she had the time, had learned a little bit more about the historical fusion of eastern and western traditions. Of course.

Outside her window, the city was bright. The city was magnificent. Towers competed against towers. All manner of pleasing shapes and imperial sizes invited her to come outside, to experience the cosmopolitan new age, to try new things, see strange places, and enjoy unsuspected delights provided by the creative minds of the modern generation.

She almost, almost wanted to go. Her parents often sent her letters hoping she would. She needed to broaden her horizons, they said.

She would. She swore she would.

Just not right now. There was still too much to learn. Magic, the arts, biochemistry, all the continuums of other spaces and other times. Whoever had designed the days and weeks had left them too short for Twilight’s standards.

She’d go out there. She’d take time out. Just not right now.

Spike rubbed his clawed hands together nervously. Daybreak drifted through the window of yet another room.

He hated this room.

Strictly speaking, this room didn’t warrant such hatred. That the curtains and blinds were designed to shut out all sunlight… that was annoying, true, but a dragon had perfectly good night vision, and if anything he was grateful that he didn’t have to go into the other rooms yet. Compared to those rooms, a bit of minimalist darkness was as wholesome and welcome as a day out in the fresh air.

However, he still averted his gaze. This meant he couldn’t see what he was doing. But he could hear it, though, and he could feel it, as he tied the rope around the struggling figure.

“It’s just temporary,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “It’s not my idea. I swear.”

With a final yank, he tightened the bonds. Trying not to be sick, he reached forwards and patted the lump gently. It stopped struggling.

“Look, it’s not me,” he said frantically. “It’s just if I don’t, then I’ll never – you know I can’t – I never wanted to!”

No one else was around. They usually trusted him to work on his own, in the same way that they trusted a dumb machine to work: ploddingly, accurately, and without a trace of independent thought. For once, that suited him fine.

He ripped the gag off. Coughing and gasping noises ripped at his reptilian ears.

As soon as it was over, the mare’s weak voice said, “They smashed the other eggs.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And they tore up my magic books.”

“I’m sorry!”

“There was no need for any of that.”

“I, uh…”

Spike stopped to think for a moment. After all, this was no ordinary pony. This was a crystal pony. In the near-total darkness, facets gleamed.

Lots of species lived throughout the capital. Crystal ponies were among the rarest. Although they were called ponies, they really had little in common besides how they looked. Spike guessed they thought completely differently from ponies, too.

“I’m sorry they smashed the eggs,” he said gently.

“I know. Why do they hate dragons so much?” said the crystal mare.

“Oh, they don’t. They don’t hate us.” We’re not important enough to hate.

“I don’t blame you. You’re only a little dragon, after all. What’s your name, little one?”

“Oh. Uh. Spike. Spike the dragon. At your service.” Then he caught himself. “Well, not at your service, obviously, but if I wasn’t at the service of the, you know, the obligations and stuff, I’d like to be at your service.”

The crystal mare coughed; something splattered on the floor. “I feel funny.”

“Hold on a sec!” Spike hurried out of the room and soon returned with a glass of water. He dropped two white pills inside. Instantly, they fizzed and dissolved.

“They hit me quite hard,” she continued.

“Drink this. It’s got mind pills in it. They’ll make you feel better.”

“But… I’m a crystal pony…”

“I checked. They’re crystal pony pills.” Smugly, he added, “I know what I’m doing.”

Slowly, he tipped the drink down the crystal mare’s throat. Against the shame creeping back, however, his sapling pride withered and died.

“How did a fine dragon like you fall into such company?” said the crystal mare.

Spike sighed and removed the empty glass. “I can’t tell you.”

“I understand.”

“Not that I don’t want to!”

“I do understand.”

“It’s just… after all that’s happened… they know I know too much, and if I don’t do what they say…”

He fell silent. Gently, the crystal mare’s head eased towards him and rested on his shoulder.

After a few seconds, and all too soon, she raised her head again. “You can call me Master Crystal Pony Amber. I know who you belong to.”

Spike didn’t say anything. When none of the other “company” were around, he could almost believe this room wasn’t so bad. She hadn’t been the first through here.

“If it’s possible for such a busy dragon as yourself, Spike, I’d like you to perform a little job for me. I’d like you to go to my home and tidy up the place. Those books are my life’s work. The eggs… I don’t know what’s happened to them now…” She sighed, and to Spike she sounded as though she’d lost one of her children.

He gulped, and with as firm an expression on his face as he could manage, he nodded once.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway,” she continued, “but if you can, if they’re still there, then at least see to it that those poor eggs are treated with dignity. I’d prefer them to be buried. Returned to the earth: it seems… poetic, somehow.”

Spike dammed back the words. Obligation and fear kept him from speaking his mind. Instead, he gave another nod.

“Is that a yes?” said Amber sadly.

“Oh. Sorry. I forgot. Yes, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you. That’s at least a load off my mind.”

Spike struggled hard not to break his obligation. Or his fear. It was extremely difficult.

“They won’t get away with this,” he said stiffly, and then inwardly cursed himself for the slip.

Amber shook her head. “They must be stopped, yes, but they’ve already ‘gotten away with this’. What’s done is done. History has played out. Your pain is a part of it forever.”

“There’s always the future.”

“This is true. The future, however, is simply another pony’s history.”

“I can’t do nothing!” Spike covered his mouth at once. He was saying too much. A dragon should not speak his mind. It was law.

Amber smiled weakly. “Everyone does something. What’s important is whether or not it’s the right thing to do.”

Spike winced. “Do all Mages talk like you?”

“Have they done so? Are they doing so? Will they do so? That’s a big question to ask of a Master, or to expect her to answer so easily.” Amber turned her head and appeared to look at him. “Spike, if I can help you at all, then I will. Don’t look for freedom. True freedom is emptiness. Look instead for –”

“Let me guess… My heart’s desire?”

“No. Even a fine heart should not be led by desire. Look instead for the right obligation. Look instead for duty. Codes. Principles. Limits.”

Spike screwed up his lips, but he didn’t have the heart – fine or otherwise – to say anything harsh. Regardless of the law against speaking his mind, he wouldn’t have done so anyway. Amber was far more understanding than most of the ponies he’d seen. But it was a close call.

Besides, he knew she couldn’t see his face. The blindfold took care of that.

Briefly, he reached forwards and – curiosity peeking out of his eyes – lifted the fabric.

“OK,” was all he dared say.

“Be open-minded, Spike.”

Milky eyes stared at nothing. A slight chuckle lay dying on her lips until he lowered the blindfold again.

“Remember,” she said before he had to put the gag back on too. “There are none so blind as those who will not see. Remember that, Spike.”