The Most Shameless Nonclop Ever Told

Chapters

1. It Starts.
2. Arrival Happens.
3. Meetings Are Inflicted.
4. Parties Are Landed.
5. Boundaries Are Bounded.

1. It Starts.

“Checking all circuits,” Spock said. “No sign of malfunction.”

“Then whatever it is, it’s real,” Kirk observed. “But what is it?”

“Analysis complete,” the science officer announced. “It appears to be a tight energy beam similar to an old-style radio wave. But altered, to allow for it to travel at interstellar speeds.”

“Spock, is there any record of that kind of technology in this sector?”

“Negative, captain.”

The captain thought or a moment. His crew had been through a great deal during the last five years. There had been changes, of course. Transfers, promotions, and, yes, even deaths. But it remained that he had the best crew in the universe. Whatever lay in their path, he knew he could handle it.

They, he corrected himself. They can handle it.

“Lieutenant M'Ress,” he asked, “can you decode the transmission?”

“Negative, Captain,” the female Caitian purred. “The signal was too tightly focused.”

“Spock, can you isolate the origin of the signal?”

“Affirmative.”

Several moments were filled with the background sounds of the bridge’s computers.

“…and?” Kirk prompted.

“And it seems to have eminated from the only planet in the Equus system,” the Vulcan answered. “I am obligated to point out that the Equus system has been in a state of quarantine for approximately sixteen standard years.”

“M’Ress, could that signal have been a distress signal?”

The felinoid considered. “Theoretically, Captain. But—“

“Lieutenant Arex , plot a course for Equus-1,” the captain said immediately.

“Aye, sir.”

The orange-skinned Edosian complied at once, his three arms working the navigational controls with their customary grace. Still, the tripedal officer had to wonder: why the rush? Had it truly been so long since the last shore leave?

Kirk threw himself into the command chair with gusto, staring eagerly at the screen.

Arex snorted. Apparently, it had.

“We’re approaching the planet now, sir,” Arex said.

“On screen.”

The bridge crew fell silent.

“Mister Spock,” M’Ress asked in a hushed tone, “what… is that?”

“That,” Spock said, “Is Equus-1.”

The system had but one planet, if such it was, maintaining a stationary position near a sun the size of a large moon. The planet itself was a rough flat plane, like a badly chewed coin at least fifty thousand miles across. One side, the side facing its miniature sun, was barren and lifeless. The other was covered with a vast array of oceans, clouds, and terrains worthy of any lush and resource-rich world. Facing the living side of the planet, a pale moon shone against the emptiness of space.

“According to Federation records, the Planet Equus-1 is home to a variety of fully sapient non-bipedal creatures, as well as a few bipedal and quasi-bipedal ones,” Mister Spock said. “Virtually all forms of government are represented, however haphazardly. At the time of last contact, none of them were known to have reached a level of technology beyond that equating with Earth’s nineteenth century.”

“Mister Spock,” Kirk asked, “How is what we’re seeing… even possible?”

“Unknown.”

“And the reason for the quarantine?”

Spock cocked an ominous eyebrow. “Unknown.”

“Ce-le-stiaaa…”

The lump in the royal bed did not stir.

Princess Luna gave an exasperated sigh.

“Sister, awaken yourself. My duties are all but done. It is time to raise the sun, even as I must lower the moon.”

At last, the lump moved. Granted, it tightened into itself under the covers rather than actually shift towards wakefulness. But some mornings, Luna was ready to take whatever she could get.

“Arise!” she cried. “For lo, the world doth await the touch of thy orbiting celestial bod from on high! So rise up, Celly! Shine down upon us!”

Throwing her arms out dramatically, she cried, ”Be brilliant, oh sun-butted one!”

“Wzlbzmgzlmght,” the lump muttered, tightening even further.

Luna considered the lump for a moment. Then, gently, silently, she crept towards the end most likely to contain a head… and therefore, a set of ears.

The lump under the covers untied itself slightly.

Slowly, silently, Luna took in a breath. These things must be done delicately, after all.

The lump began to give the slightest of dainty snores.

Somewhere in the distance, a cock crowed.

Luna leaned down. In the days before there was a need for the Royal Voice, she had been quite the opera singer. Now, however, she projected her rhymes in a deliberately off-key megafortissimo.

“ON THE FIRST DAY OF CRISPNESS, MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO MEEE…!”

“Aaaaaack!”

Princess Celestia was flailing in mid-air, eyes wide and unfocused, mane and tail splayed in all directions like a pastel sea urchin.

Meanwhile, Luna continued belting out the forbidden lyrics at the top of her lungs:

“…THREE BAILIFFS BAILING, TWO POUNDS OF CAKE, AND A PARSNI-IP IN A PEAR TREEEEEEEE!”

“I’m up! I’m up!” Celestia cried. “In the name of mercy, I’m up!”

Luna gave her a calculating look. “Are you certain? There are seven more verses—”

“No!” Celestia exclaimed, the chandelier swaying slightly from where she clung for dear life. “I’m awake!”

Luna sighed, and shook her head. “It is a puzzlement. What dark cosmic force in the universe determined that the Princess of the Sun should be a night owl?”

“More to the point, what dark cosmic force wished that a night owl would become the Princess of Day?” Celestia grumbled, dropping back onto her bed.

“You were the one who called heads,” Luna shrugged. “Are we doing this, or not?”

“Breakfast first?”

“Morning is overdue.”

“My strength is waning.”

“We can eat after sunrise.”

“Oh, Luna, really! It’s not as if the day will start without me—”

“Seven more verses, Tia.”

“What are you waiting for?” Celestia asked hastily as she trotted towards the balcony. “Our subjects are counting on us!”

Together, the sisters stepped out onto the balcony, their horns glowing with power.

The red alert blared shrilly throughout the ship as the crew found themselves hurled into walls and furniture, the ship’s artificial gravity thrown into disarray by forces beyond its power to account for. On the bridge, the command crew struggled to hold onto computer banks, railings, anything within reach.

“Evasive action!” Kirk bellowed.

“What’s happening?!?” M’Ress cried.

“Equus sun increasing speed!” Spock shouted. “Starboard impact imminent!”

“Deflector shields up on full!” Kirk shouted. “Helm, hard a’port!”

“Hard a’port, sir!” Arex shouted back.

“Scotty! Give us more power!”

“Captain, I’m givin’ her all she’s got!” came the intercom reply. “Any more’a this an’ the dilithium crystals will shatter!”

“Scotty, we’re about to be hit by a flying sun! Get us more power or the Enterprise will shatter!”

“There,” Celestia said happily. “One sunrise. Now for breakfast. Care to join me?”

“You know, I could eat.”

Then Luna paused, considering the sky.

“Did it seem to you as though there was a shadow near the sun, just now?” she asked.

Celestia waved her concerns away. “I’m sure it was nothing important.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Minutes later, Celestia sighed happily as the bite of pancake all but melted in her mouth.

“Oh, there is just something about breakfast,” the white mare sighed, reclining on her chaise lounge. “Such a luxurious meal.”

“It is,” Luna agreed, gesturing towards the table between them. “More nectar?”

“Please. And would you care for more honey for your pancakes?”

“I wouldn’t say no. And perhaps some jelly?”

“But of course.”

“Still,” Luna mused as she glanced around the palace triclinium. “Have you ever had the feeling that you were missing something?”

“Not really,” Celestia shrugged. “I have a sense for these things, you know.”

On board the Enterprise, the bridge was a shambles. Fire burned freely on all sides while loose wires hung from the ceiling, spitting sparks. Several of the jewel-like control matrices had gone dead, more smoke billowing from their sides. All around him, the captain saw his people strewn like discarded dolls. Some unconscious, others, like himself, merely reeling from the near-impact with the system’s tiny, fast-moving sun.

“Damage report,” he rasped.

“All decks are reporting damage and injuries,” Lieutenant M'Ress coughed. With one hand putting her earpiece back in place, she pulled herself back into her seat.

While the navigators grabbed fire extinguishers and fought the blaze, she continued, “Warp drive is unavailable; shields and ship’s phasers are down; all hands in engineering are busy containing a radiation leak; decks two, five, and nine are suffering massive system failures; and all toilet seats are locked in the upright position.”

With a shaking hand, Kirk managed to press the command chair’s intercom button.

“Sick bay—”

“God dammit, Jim, what the hell did you get us into this time?”

“Later, Bones. Right now, I need that damage report.”

“Well, nobody’s dead, but damned if I know why not. We should have lost a few people just from the impact alone. As it stands, the worst injuries should be healed up in a matter of weeks. We were lucky, Jim. Damned lucky.”

“Can you be spared?”

“Why, do you need me on the bridge?”

“Landing party. Something’s going on down there, and I want to find out what.”

“Yeah, I can’t be spared.”

“Nice try. Meet us in the transporter room in five minutes. Kirk out.”

Meanwhile, in the sick bay, Doctor McCoy stared at the intercom as its light went out. Then, he sighed.

“Well, shit.”

The lift doors opened to allow McCoy reluctant entry into the transporter room. Spock and Kirk were already on the transporter pad, along with four red-shirted security specialists.

“Our reading shows an oxygen nitrogen atmosphere,” Spock was saying, “heavy with inert elements, but well within safety limits for all concerned.”

While the ensign prepared the transporter settings, Kirk nodded. “Gravity?”

“Zero point nine one three.”

“Just the three of us, plus a security detail, huh? That sounds about right,” McCoy grumbled. “Something swats the Enterprise out of the sky and you want to either talk to it, fight it, or kiss it.”

Kirk lifted an eyebrow. “Jealous, Bones?”

“Me? Nah. I’m just wondering which one it’s going to be this time.”

Glaring at his commanding officer, McCoy went on, “You know, not every damn planet’s going to have some golden-eyed beauty just waiting for you to fly down and carry her off for a week in some Orion love-palace.”

“Why, Doctor McCoy, I believe you are jealous!”

“Not even a little. Here.”

Kirk examined the small vial the doctor handed him curiously. He shook it. It rattled.

“Bones, what…?”

“Take three when the rash first shows up, then one a day until the bottle’s empty,” McCoy said.

“Very funny, Bones,” Kirk said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know… you probably think you’ll find a pair of hotties down there being fed grapes by a nubile servant girl in a brass bikini, just waiting to have an alien pool party.”

Kirk grinned.

McCoy rolled his eyes.

“Look at it this way, Doctor,” the captain said, still grinning, “If there’s three of them, then that just means there’s some for you.”

McCoy gave his captain a look. “In a pig’s eye,” he said.

“More grapes, Raven,” commanded Luna, outstretching a languid foreleg.

“Yes, Highness,” the unicorn demurred, her bikini flashing in the morning sun.

“What is on today’s itinerary, anyway?” asked a still-lounging Celestia.

“You promised to spend the day with the mare’s volleyball team, in honor of their victory against the Yaks,” Raven said as she slipped a peeled grave between Luna’s perfect lips. “And Princess Cadence will be visiting in the afternoon, as well.”

“Ah, very good,” Celestia sighed contentedly. “When we are done here, do be sure to summon the pool girls.”

Raven bowed. “Yes, Highness.”

“Oh, and have the guillotines ready, in case males should somehow interrupt our frolic.”

“Of course, Highness.”

Surreptitiously pocketing the vial, Kirk turned to his first officer. “Spock, you’ve been very quiet during this. Do you have an opinion you’d care to share?”

“None whatsoever,” Spock replied. “I was simply continuing my study of emotional bonding by observing the verbal sparring between yourself and the good doctor.”

“Spock, so help me,” McCoy said. “Someday, something’s going to get to you, past that thick, green-blooded skin of yours. And if there is a God, I’ll be there to see it happen.”

“As I am a stranger to the emotional range you are describing, I find that highly unlikely.”

“Don’t let it bother you, Spock,” Kirk grinned. “That’s just more of that ‘verbal sparring’ you were studying.”

Spock barely glanced at him. “I wasn’t.”

McCoy, meanwhile, had stepped up onto the pad. He glanced back at the security team, then faced forward again, shaking his head sadly.

“Poor bastards,” he said.

The security team exchanged nervous glances. Maybe it wasn’t too late to be fire fighters instead?

“Alright, gentlemen,” Kirk announced, “you’ve had your briefing, and we’re all as prepared as it gets. Next stop, Equus-1.”

He nodded to the ensign at the controls.

“Energize.”

MEANWHILE, EARLIER THAT SAME DAY…

“Scootaloo!”

Within the house, there was a filly who answered to that name. Her ears twitched slightly at the sound.

“Scootaloo! Come on, we’re going to be late!”

For an instant, Scootaloo glanced at the window. Seeing that it was still dark, she rolled over, contented that she had imagined the whole thing. Then, her half-closed eyes happened to land on the clock.

With a contented sigh, she drifted back towards sleep…

…then jackknifed awake with a cry of pure terror.

“Oh, holy crap! I’m late!”

Bolting to the window, she threw open the panes.

“Sweetie Belle, hang on, I’ll be right down!”

Scootaloo burst into motion, grabbing her school uniform skirt and twisting herself into it in a few seconds, not bothering to undo the buttons.

“First day of school,” she muttered, “new teacher, new school, new everything, and I made us both late, this is just perfect…”

Raising her voice as she grabbed a piece of toast, she called out, “Almost ready!”

Then, more quietly as she hurried cobbled a lunch together, “Crapity-crapity-crapity-crapity…”

Moments later the front door opened, Scootaloo emerging with her bookbag secured on her back.

“Sorry, I overslept.”

Sweetie Belle gave a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, so did I,” the young unicorn admitted. “I think it’s because it’s still night out.”

“Yeah, what’s with that, anyway? It’s not winter yet, right?”

“Huh-uh.”

Sweetie Belle considered as they walked. “Maybe it’s another monster attack?” she suggested. “Or a magical invasion?”

Scootaloo shrugged. “Maybe. If it is, The Sisters will handle it, though.”

In the distance, the schoolhouse bell began to toll.

The two stopped short.

“Oh, geez!” Scootaloo exclaimed. “We’re late!” quickly, she reached over and grabbed her friend’s hoof, pulling her onto her back. “Hang on tight!”

In a flash, they were off. Scootaloo ran, then galloped… then, her miniature wings whirring like a hummingbird, she began to truly pick up speed. A thickening trail of dust was left in her wake, leaves and the occasional piece of debris whirling in the wind she generated.

I can’t make Sweetie Belle late, she thought desperately. Gotta go faster, gotta go faster…

Sweetie Belle clung on for dear life, her mane whipping behind her, the dirt streets merely a blur as the two of them sped ever faster towards their goal.

Ahead of them, a shadowy figure in a great cloak and hood paced slightly, peering at an arcane instrument in its claws. Then, it paused, looking at the instrument more sharply. Its whiskered snout twitched within the shadows of its mantle, as it muttered to itself, “No, that can’t be right, not after all these years…”

Then the figure detected a slight rumbling sound, more felt in the ground than heard. Looking up, it had just enough time to register a pair of teenaged fillies, one riding the other, before there was a thunderous impact and the figure was sailing through the air, helpless as a rag doll in a wind storm.

It wasn’t the fall that hurt, though. It was the sudden stop at the end.

“Sorry!” Scootaloo called out behind her.

“Who was that?” Sweetie Belle asked. “We hit somepony, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, some shadowy guy,” Scootaloo said, her wings buzzing even faster, her legs fading into a blur. “But I mean, what did he expect, just hanging out on the road like that?”

The depression was several feet deep, and vaguely bipedal in shape. Slowly, a shaking clawed hand covered in what once had been downy fur reached up, fell against the edge of the pit, grasping it for support. Then, another, matching the first in most regards, did likewise. Slowly, painfully, the figure pulled itself out from the dirt angel it had created upon impact.

Wrapping its cloak about itself, tucking its furred tail out of view from any accidental onlookers, the figure took a step. Stumbled. Half-leaned, half-fell against a tree for support.

Contact. After so long, finally there was contact.

The figure allowed itself a few moments to recover its dignity, then pulled out a small, palm-sized disk. It placed it on the ground, pressed its activation jewel, knelt before it, and waited.

The ship’s bridge was massive and elegant and domed, with golden filigreed railing and jewel-inlaid controls. Its crew, masters of stealth and assassination, took pride in their duties as they traversed the cosmos at the whim of their dread overlord. A full dozen of them worked at their stations, watching controls, logging reports, occasionally half-slinking, half-bouncing from one station to another with the grace of a ballerina, chuckling gently to themselves all the while. And always, always, mindful of the comforts and passions of their dread overlord.

Weasels are very social creatures, and once they give their loyalty they do not take it back lightly.

The ship’s lord and master half-reclined where he sat, high-collared cloak spread over his throne to either side like a gargoyle’s leathern wings. In his ancient pale hand, a crimson liquid swirled in a goblet of purest crystal, his scalene triangle sunglasses catching the light of the bridge readouts perfectly as he sipped.

Before him, a communication weasel turned to face him.

“My Lord,” she said. “We are receiving a communication from one of our agents.”

The ship’s ruler waved an elegant hand. “On screen,” he said.

There was a moment of static, and the figure of a male weasel on one knee filled the screen, his disheveled cloak wrapped around him in obeisance.

“Agent DC-Marvel-Valiant-Defiant-Shooter-Kirby-Ditko reporting, My Lord.”

“You may speak,” His Lordship said.

“My Lord, I believe I have made contact with the princess at last.”

The pale figure leaned forward suddenly, all languidness forgotten.

“How certain are you?” he demanded.

“More than fifty percent, My Lord.” said the agent.

The vessel’s master drained his glass.

“Excellent work, Agent D,” he said. “Call me again when you have a hundred percent certainty.”

“By your command, My Lord.”

The screen went dark.

A serving weasel was there in an instant, refiling her master’s glass, even as he considered the news with growing excitement.

Could it be? He wondered. After so long, could she truly have been found, the last descendant of my chosen queen?

“Plot a course,” he said, draining his glass again. Holding his goblet out for another refill, he added, “Chart the fastest course, and get us there as quickly as possible.”

“What destination, My Lord?”

“Equus,” came the dread lord’s reply. “As fast as the ship will take us.”

“By your command,” the weasels intoned.

While his servants worked their ways, he settled back again, sipping his crimson drink thoughtfully. For centuries, the bloodline of his one true love had eluded him through space and even time itself. But now…

Now, she will be mine, he thought. Oh, yes, she will be mine.

In the deepest reaches of dead space, the Mina Murry shifted its trajectory. Its massive thrusters blazed with ruby fire, and then the Elizabethan structure was gone, warping its way through hyperspace, carrying the Lord of Darkness ever closer to his goal.

Author's Note

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Tune in for future installments at some vague point in the future, when some or all of the following may or may not transpire…

Celestia gave the gold-shirted alien a once-over, then turned away with a shrug.

“I don’t sleep with monkeys,” she said.

Then, she paused, reconsidering. “But the one with the ears can stay,” she decided. “He interests me.”

“Spock!” Kirk whispered as the guards surrounded them both. “We’ve got a chance! All you have to do is seduce their queen, and we could all still get out of this!”

The Vulcan turned to him with an eyebrow upraised.

“What do you mean ‘we,’ monkey boy?” he asked.

Kirk gaped.

As Spock turned to face the monarch of day with a bow, Kirk was dragged away by powerful hooves. He seemed to recover somewhat, his voice echoing throughout the chamber.

“Spock! Spock, you can’t do this! You’re half-human, Spock! SPOCK!”

McCoy’s mutter could just be heard under the tirade, “I blame you for this…”

Then the great doors closed with a boom, and it was quiet.

Celestia frowned in puzzlement. “What was that all about?”

Spock shrugged. “Nothing of consequence.”

“…a variety of artifacts from our ten-thousand-year reign,” Celestia went on as they toured the palace’s museum wing. “Throughout that time, we have been revered for our magic powers, even worshipped briefly. But always we have sought to rule with kindness, justice, and compassion.”

“Indeed, given the circumstances of your abilities and magic-heavy environment, that would be the only logical course to take,” Spock nodded.

“Of course.”

“But what about this statue of the two of you together, with the dark stains and the gutter along the sides?”

“Yes, well,” Celestia shifted a little uncomfortably. “It’s a sordid tale.”

“We’re here to speak of Sweetie Belle’s well-being,” Celestia pointed out. “In light of that, our own stories are quite…”

“…inconsequential,” Luna finished, nodding.

“Your Highnesses, please,” Miss Cheerilee said. “This is a parent-teacher conference for a reason. Sweetie Belle has been acting very distracted. And as you are her guardians, anything I can find out about her home life can only help.”

The sisters looked at one another, then sighed in unison, giving in to the inevitable.

“Very well,” Luna said, “where to begin? Our father is a many-tentacled elder thing from the greater dark near where Azathoth writhes in eternal dream. Our mother is a carnivorous color of light never before seen by mortal eyes.”

“I think our childhood was typical,” Celestia added, picking up the narrative. “Our parents frequently took us abroad, to better our education. We learned from the ghouls and ghasts in the hidden places, made their gibbering ways our own. We vacationed in Leng and Kadath, and frolicked in doomed Sarnath’s ruins. In the summer we would go wamp hunting.”

“My most beloved companion was a cat from Saturn named Wiggles,” Luna said, smiling at the memories. “Together we would hunt the giant spiders of Leng as our rightful prey.”

“And I dreamed of one day becoming a great playwright,” Celestia smiled as well. “I wrote my first and only play in those days. It featured the King in Yellow, with his moldering Sign and his Pallid Mask.”

“Those were carefree times.” Luna acknowledged.

“I wonder whatever became of that old manuscript, anyway…?” Celestia mused.

With some difficulty, Cheerilee swallowed, made herself speak.

“We have to stop,” she said.

“But Ditsy, don’t you see,” Kirk implored, “Under the tyranny of the Two Sisters, you’ll never truly be free! You’re all just prawns in their diabolical game of Go-Fish.”

The mare looked uncertain, assessing his words with her golden eyes.

“I want to believe you, Jim Kirk,” she sighed, looking away. “I just… I don’t know if I can.”

Gently, Kirk reached out and took her chin in his hand, guided her back to face him again.

“You can believe me,” he said, leaning in. “Always.”

“Goodbye, Jim Kirk,” Ditsy Doo sighed.

She looked up into the nighttime sky with a brave smile. “I will learn, and watch the lights in the sky, and remember. And someday, I will join you in your travels.”

She placed a hoof over her midsection, her smile becoming a quiet glow.

“We both will,” she said.

2. Arrival Happens.

“Captain’s log, Acting Commanding Officer Uhura recording. The captain and first officer, along with ship’s doctor and several security personnel have beamed down to the forbidden planet Equus to…”

She flicked the recording off for a moment, considering her phrasing carefully. Sometimes, Jim’s motives were more transparent than others. Then, turning the recording back on, she resumed speaking.

“…investigate the strange phenomenon which has damaged the Enterprise. Thus far, while we have been able to maintain orbit around the strange planet, both warp drive and higher speeds of impulse power remain impossible due to damage sustained by the system’s strange behavior.

“We have gotten no word from the away team since their beaming down, though the crew is in high spirits regardless. After all, both he and they have certainly been through far worse. Additionally, it remains that the Enterprise has the best crew in the Federation. And, like them, I have every reason to be confident in our captain’s abilities.”

Eyes narrowing, Uhura completed her entry, fingers flexing slightly such that her nails momentarily resembled claws.

“That being said, in accordance to recent Starfleet regulations, if word is not received soon I will be exercising my discretion as commanding officer and activating the ship’s secret weapon to secure and retrieve our captain.

“The years in space may have increased the crew’s optimism in such matters, but I find that my own patience dealing with bizarre planets taking hostages... has just about run out.”

“Great. So where the hell are we now?”

Doctor McCoy’s dry inquiry met, at first, with no answer. The three men – himself, Captain Kirk, and Mister Spock – had found themselves immediately in a small cell-like room after leaving the Enterprise. The walls, floor, and ceiling seemed to have been carved from a single piece of stone, the door from a single piece of steel.

“And besides that,” Kirk pointed out, patting at his belt, “Where are our weapons? Our communicators?”

“And let’s not forget the security team,” McCoy pointed out. “Poor bastards.”

“Fascinating,” Mister Spock observed. “Our ship’s transporter beam would seem to have been redirected somehow, without any indication of this registering on the ship’s instruments, at least at the time. Furthermore, whoever did this would seem to have the control necessary to redirect not only the security team but also our equipment to another location, all while we were in transit.”

Kirk spoke as he continued examining their prison. “Spock, what kind of technology would be required to accomplish this?”

“Besides the numerous instances in which this or something similar has happened before in our travels?”

The Vulcan considered for a moment, then answered.

“Unknown.”

“Well, I’ve still got my tricorder,” McCoy observed, “And you’ve got yours. So let’s see what we can find out about this place.”

“Gentlemen, I think that question may well be answered for us,” Kirk said. “Look.”

He pointed to the area next to the room’s single door, where a series of arcane-looking marks had been carved into the wall.

But as the trio watched, the carvings writhed and changed, becoming…

“English!” McCoy marveled. “The marks are turning into English, Jim!”

“And yet, to me they are in Vulcan,” Spock observed. “Fascinating.”

“‘Dear unexpected guests,’” McCoy read, “‘Thank you for your interest in our beautiful kingdom of Equestria. We take great pride in our land and our ponies—’ wait, ponies?”

Shrugging, he ploughed ahead, “‘…and our ponies, and the peace we have established and maintained for so many years.’”

Kirk picked up the narrative. “‘However, in recent centuries, it has come to our attention that unannounced teleportation into our lands can be indicative of anything ranging from potential new friends to the beginning of an invasion, to simply a fledgling mage who is incompetent at teleportation. No offense intended if you are the latter.’”

“‘Therefore, we have provided this facility for your diversion until we can arrange to meet and greet you properly,’” Spock read on. “‘Please be assured that we are aware of your presence, and that preparations are being made. We also eagerly look forward to meeting all of you. So, please, try not to eat each other, no matter how hungry you may get while waiting.’”

He considered the last line of script with upraised eyebrow, while his companions’ eyes widened.

“Eat each other?!?” McCoy shouted.

“Fascinating,” Spock said.

“Just how long are we supposed to stay here?” Kirk wondered.

“Dammit, Jim,” McCoy swore, whirling on him, “what the hell kind of savage purgatory have you landed us in now?”

The sun shone down cheerily onto Ponyville High School that morning. Birds sang happily as they flew from branch to branch, and autumn leaves danced gaily along the breeze. Everything was exactly as it should have been.

Well, almost everything.

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo had, in fact, been late to class, zipping past the gate of the building’s ornamental stone wall and screeching to a halt just before the building’s main portal. Then, quickly opening the door, they had ducked inside and slammed it shut behind themselves. The wind Scoots had generated in her run had immediately cascaded a variety of leaves, branches, and other debris against the glass double doors, both girls wincing as it did.

Fortunately, the glass had held.

Unfortunately, they could see where, further down the hall, the door to their classroom was closing.

Realizing that a graceful entrance was now impossible, they’d galloped down the corridor like mad, Sweetie Belle giving a cry of, ”Wait!”

And then, something wondrous had happened.

The teacher had stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her, and held up a gentle hoof, smiling.

“Let’s take a moment to gather ourselves, girls,” she’d said kindly. “You don’t want to make this your first impression in class, do you?”

Now, they were in front of the class, no longer quite out of breath and with manes and tails freshly combed, being introduced to their classmates for the first time.

“Class, we have two new students today,” Miss Cheerilee announced. “They’re new to Ponyville, and to our school, as well. So let’s please try to help them feel welcome, and to fit in.”

Turning to her new students, she added, “Girls, perhaps you would like to introduce yourselves?”

“I’m called Scootaloo,” the pegasus said with a polite bow. “And I’m very happy to meet you all.”

“And my name is Sweetie Belle,” her unicorn companion said with the same bow. “We’re both looking forward to our sophomore year here at Ponyville High, and hopefully graduating from here, as well.”

A young stallion with a pale gold mane raised a hoof. “Where did you go to school before? Bowing at introduction is kinda old-fashioned.”

“Now, Sunny Daze,” Cheerilee reprimanded gently.

The two new students exchanged glances.

“That’s alright, Miss Cheerilee, we don’t mind,” Scootaloo assured her.

“We were homeschooled together,” Sweetie Belle said to the class.

Miss Cheerilee blinked. “Oh. Are you sisters?”

“Cousins,” Scootaloo supplied.

“Well, basically,” Sweetie Belle added.

The two of them exchanged another glance, then turned back to their teacher.

“It’s complicated,” they said in unison.

Miss Cheerilee rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, I’m sure it is. In the meantime, perhaps you’ll find some seats…?”

One of the other young mares in the class stood. Her perfectly manicured hooves and the silk bow in her hair, not to mention her elegant coiffure and exquisite coat announced her as a member of one of Equestria’s elite families.

“Miss? If y’don’t mind, they could sit next to me,” she offered, in a perfect aristocratic drawl. “Ah could show them the ropes.”

As her eyes drank in Sweetie Belle’s figure, glistening lightly with sweat, then her eyes and her purple-white mane, the young mare sighed to herself, thinking, Yes, all of the ropes. An’ also the whips, an’ the chains, an’ the…

Miss Cheerilee blinked. “Oh. Well. That’s certainly thoughtful of you, Apple Bloom. Girls, please take your seats next to her, and we’ll begin our first lesson.”

It was just after school when the bully came after Sweetie Belle.

Both Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo had been daydreaming in class, but Scoots had been the one who had been caught. Further, she had insisted on taking her punishment alone, ‘like any other schoolfilly would.’ Sweetie had considered this a bit of an extreme measure, but the other filly would brook no argument.

So, while her pegasus cousin was cleaning up the classroom for her detention, Sweetie Belle had elected to explore the schoolyards a bit.

Meanwhile, Scootaloo stacked the desks in one corner to make the sweeping easier, sighing as she did. The novelty of detention had worn off after about two minutes. Lifting Ms. Cheerilee’s desk in her left hoof so she could sweep up the dust bunnies with her right, she reflected that she should have at least let Sweetie Belle stay and keep her company. This was so dreary. Honestly, how did other schoolfoals deal with such hardships?

But unbeknownst to either filly was the way in which they had played perfectly into the hooves of Scootaloo’s Machiavellian nemesis. Granted, this was partially because Scootaloo didn’t even know she had one of those, and partially because even if she had, she would have been far more concerned about her detention anyway.

But most of all, they were unaware of such manipulations due to their very manipulative nature. And events such as after-school detentions played perfectly into their enemy’s brilliant design.

Even as Ms. Cheerilee had reprimanded Scootaloo for her lack of focus, the young pegasus’ cheeks burning with embarrassment, Apple Bloom’s eyes had narrowed in satisfaction.

An after-school detention, she had thought. That fits perfectly into mah brilliant design.

Now, the elegant earth pony sipped her tea in the honor students’ lounge, waiting for the perfect moment to make her appearance.

Snails will frighten Sweetie Belle with his greater size an’ violent gestures, she thought to herself, contented. An’ then, when her fear is at its height, Ah will swoop in an’ save the day.

An’ then… Sweetie Belle will be mine.

It was a simple plan. But in Apple Bloom’s experience, the simple plans were often the most effective.

Step One: Have Snails terrify Sweetie Belle.

Step Two: Rescue an’ comfort Sweetie Belle.

Step Three: Begin romantic relationship with Sweetie Belle.

Even with a halfwit like Snails in charge of Step One, nothing could go…

Apple Bloom stopped in mid-sip, frowning. Ah might want to reassess that, she thought. This is Snails, after all.

With a look of mild distaste, she put down her teacup. Perhaps she should start moseying in that general direction, just in case.

Meanwhile, on the empty path that wound its way around Ponyville High, was a small, sunny clearing, surrounded by trees on all sides. And in that clearing, Snails was becoming more and more frustrated by the second.

It wasn’t that he was really a bully at heart. Far from it. For all that his growth spurt had struck him with a vengeance when it had finally arrived – putting him head and withers over any adult pony he’d ever seen – he just wasn’t interested in hurting anypony. And weighing in at well over three hundred pounds, most of it muscle, it wasn’t like he generally had to anyway.

And besides, he knew what it was like to be picked on.

And it wasn’t as if he had anything against the white unicorn before him, either. She seemed okay. Better than okay, in fact. She and her cousin had both seemed pretty nice in class, and they were smart, besides.

It was just that, well, Sweetie Belle was determinedly missing the point of the entire encounter.

“Sooooo… just to make sure I’ve got this,” she was saying. “You’re going to pummel me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“A lot.”

“Right.”

She tilted her head as she studied him. “Until I cry. Or, if I don’t cry, until I’m unconscious.”

Snails hesitated. He hadn’t really thought about the matter in that much detail, and neither option sounded particularly appealing. But he certainly didn’t want to admit that to her.

Nor did he want to volunteer that the whole ‘bullying’ part of the transaction was staged, to help make Apple Bloom’s ‘brilliant design come to fruition,’ whatever that meant.

Apple Bloom always made his head hurt when she talked like that, so some time ago he’d just developed a habit of tuning her out and nodding a lot whenever she started explaining things.

But this time, he was getting the feeling that he might have missed out on something important. Something that would have clued him in on how to handle it when the new filly in class reacted to his being all intimidating and stuff with detached curiosity instead of fear. He was pretty sure that part wasn’t helpful to Apple Bloom’s design thingy at all.

So, after some thought, he settled for, “I guess.”

Which, as soon as he said it, he had to admit to himself didn’t sound very intimidating at all.

Sweetie Belle looked him up and down. “You’re really not very good at this, are you?”

Snails considered his options.

On the one hoof: no, he really wasn’t very good at this.

On the other hoof: if he messed this up, Apple Bloom was sure to explain things to him again.

He frowned. He really didn’t think he could deal with two Apple explanations in the same day. He could just imagine her with that look she gave when she was displeased, launching into another of her sarcastic, twenty-bit word tirades.

Ugh. His head hurt just thinking about it.

Sweetie Belle, meanwhile, had been continuing to observe Snails’ expression, watching it darken as he continued to frown, apparently finalizing his choice. This time, when he stepped forward, she took an involuntary step back. His eyes were hard when he spoke again.

“You’ll get better.”

Scootaloo had the dust bunnies just about dealt with when she heard the scream. Tossing aside the large desk, she zipped as fast as she could towards the sound.

When Apple Bloom heard the scream, she began to canter, allowing herself a brief smile of self-satisfaction. Then, she heard a second scream. It sounded higher, more desperate.

Apple Bloom’s eyes widened. Snails hadn’t actually hurt her, had he?

Panicking, heart pounding, Apple Bloom broke into a full gallop.

Sweetie Belle was on the ground, Snails towering over her, when he heard something. Something very fast, coming his way.

Snails had just enough time to turn, wide-eyed, and to hold up a hoof with an ineffectual “Wait…!”

Then, impact.

He’d often wondered, as a colt, what a buckball felt like.

“Are you okay?”

Sweetie Belle sighed as she accepted Scootaloo’s offered hoof, and let her cousin help her up.

“Yeah,” she muttered.

“What happened?”

Sweetie Belle spoke as she brushed herself off. “It’s actually kind of embarrassing. He came towards me, and when I stepped back, I tripped. I don’t think he was really going to try to beat me up—”

Scootaloo gaped. “Beat you up?!?”

Oh, dear, Sweetie Belle thought. Poor Snails.

But out loud, she said, “Now, Scootaloo, I need you to stay calm…”

Scootaloo glared skyward. “I let him off too easy!”

“…no, I don’t think so. I think there’s something else going on, here…”

Still staring upwards, Scootaloo growled, “You have to come down sometime.”

“…and, you know, now that I think of it, I get the impression we’d both kinda been set up.”

That got Scootaloo’s attention, and she glanced back at Sweetie Belle with a frown. “What do you mean?”

Sweetie Belle shook her head. “I don’t know. The whole situation was weird. I don’t think he was really a bad guy, though.”

Scootaloo spared the sky one last scowl before focusing fully onto her cousin.

“Well, whatever,” she said grudgingly. “You’re alright. I guess that’s all that really matters.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like I was in any real danger.”

Scootaloo snorted.

Sweetie Belle nudged her playfully. “So. Want to walk home together? Schoolfillies do that too, you know.”

The pegasus smiled, relaxing a little. “Sure, why not?”

As they trotted off together, Scootaloo added in a hopeful tone, “You know, it’s getting dark out. Maybe we’ll find some muggers on the way home. Schoolfillies get mugged sometimes, right?”

Sweetie Belle laughed. “You should be so lucky.”

Apple Bloom arrived at the predetermined spot, only to find it empty. No Sweetie Belle, no Snails… nothing.

That was very odd. And disappointing. And, more than just a wee tad vexing.

Hmph! she thought as she glanced about in irritation. Honestly, that colt had one job…!

Then, she heard something. Something very fast, coming her way.

Was it a comet? Or, wait… somepony screaming, perhaps?

She had just enough time to glance up with huge eyes and ears laid flat, realize that it might be both, and scramble like mad out of harm’s way.

Then, impact.

MEANWHILE, SHORTLY AFTERWARDS IN A PLACE THAT IS ELSE…

“Oh, Luuuunnnaaaaaaa…”

The lump under the covers contracted slightly, giving forth a slight moan.

Celestia’s eyes narrowed in sinister calculation.

“Sister, dear, the sun has set and the moon must ri-iiise,” she sing-songed innocently.

“Hmmmmmmff,” the lump managed.

“And I know you would never disappoint your loyal subjects with a late moonrise…” the white mare went on.

“Up late,” came the muffled reply. “You do it.”

The narrowed eyes gave way to an expression of evil glee. Celestia had never sung opera, having always been more of a writer than a performer. But she felt certain her own oversized lungs would be up to the task. And the Royal Voice was not a talent one lost with disuse.

Slowly, carefully, the Princess of Day crept upon her hapless prey.

Slowly, the lump under the royal bedding loosened slightly, the alicorn beneath it relaxing into deeper slumber.

A few moments later, the lump began to daintily snore.

Celestia took in a long, silent breath. Then, with great precision and care, she began to sing, dainty as any oliphant, dulcet as any heffalump:

“ON TOP OF SPA-GEHHHHHHT-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…!”

“Aaaaaaaaack!”

Luna flew straight upwards, all six limbs splayed and eyes bulging like eggplants.

“ALL COVERED WITH CHEEEEEEEEEESE, I LOST MY POOOR MEEEEEEEAT-BAHHHHHHLLL…!”

“Mercy!” Luna cried. “In the name of all you hold dear, MERCY!”

Celestia considered her sister, clinging upside-down to the ceiling like a cat beset by a super-speed rodent in a sombrero. Then, she smiled.

“Then beseech me in thine own name, sister, for none are more dear to me than thee and ours.”

Luna slumped a little, falling back onto the bed with a fwomph!

“Tis unfair, giving me feels right after such a stunt,” she grumbled. Still, she was smiling when she rose.

“Will you be attending dinner tonight?” Celestia asked her as they stepped onto the balcony. “The girls might be here, and I think we will have guests, as well.”

“I might be held up if there are major dream troubles, but I should be able to. Why, who are the guests?”

Celestia shrugged. “Off-worlders, no idea who. I wasn’t going to interrogate them before feasting. Why, do you think I should?”

Luna considered this, then smiled again. “No, let’s wait and see. That way, it will be like opening a present.”

Celestia nodded, sharing her smile. “My thoughts, as well.”

“Guard!” Kirk cried. “Guard! Come quickly!”

A feminine voice answered, “Just a second, I’m on my way!”

A moment later, a pleasant-looking pegasus mare with a grey coat and golden eyes bustled around the corner. Within seconds, she was fumbling with the keys to the cell door.

“There’s something wrong with our friend,” Kirk said, pointing to the lump of blankets in a corner.

“Oh, oh dear,” she fretted, entering quickly.

Then, stopping abruptly, she whirled to face where Spock stood behind the door.

“Now, see here,” she said sternly, “have you been eating him?”

Spock paused in mid-ambush, eyebrow upraised.

“What? No, no, nothing like that,” Kirk assured her kindly as he approached. “It’s just that he’s sick.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” she said. “I was just on my way to let you know that dinner’s ready. But if he’s sick, your friend might not be able to join us.”

“Fascinating,” said Spock.

Hands now clasped behind his back, he observed the mare more closely. “That would seem to genuinely be her primary concern.”

Meanwhile, in the corner, the pile of bedding slumped slightly.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” McCoy muttered from beneath it.

“I’m sorry, there may have been a misunderstanding,” Kirk said. “We thought we were prisoners.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” she said with a beautiful smile.

Then, she rolled her wandering eyes, adding, “Well, okay, the door was locked, but only as a precaution. Sorry about that. Anyway, I do hope you’ve brought your appetites. Princess Celestia’s eager to meet all of you, and she’s arranged a special feast for the occasion.

“And before you ask,” she smiled with an upraised hoof, “no, you aren’t on the menu.”

“So, we were never in any danger,” Kirk said.

“Of course not. And you’ll be especially safe in the princess’ presence, of course. Well, now that the pool party is over. And oh, look,” she added happily, “your friend’s feeling better, too.”

“It’s a miracle,” McCoy grumbled, kicking off the last of the blankets.

“Hungry?” she asked him.

McCoy stood, brushing himself off. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“I apologize,” Kirk said.

“Indeed, we all do,” Spock added with a slight bow.

“Yeah,” McCoy agreed, nodding.

“Oh, that’s okay,” the pegasus assured them all. “Sometimes the translation spell gets a little wonky, so misunderstandings are bound to happen.”

Kirk blinked, genuinely intrigued. “Translation… spell?”

“Oh, great,” McCoy muttered. “It’s one of those planets.”

Sparing his friend an amused glance, Kirk turned his full attention to the pony before him.

“I’m Captain James T. Kirk, of the starship Enterprise,” he said with his most charming smile. “These are my First Science Officer and Second-in-Command, Mister Spock; and Ship’s Doctor and First Curmudgeon, Doctor McCoy.”

McCoy rolled his eyes, and the mare giggled.

“Well, I’m Ditzy Doo,” she smiled, extending her hoof. “And I’ll be your diplomatic contact and guidepony. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

Taking her hoof, Kirk bowed in a reverance, eliciting another giggle.

“Of course you are,” he smiled.

Soon afterwards, the four of them were winding their way through the ornately carved stone corridors, ascending occasional flights of stairs as they did.

While Kirk and Ditzy ranged ahead, chatting happily, McCoy gestured to his Vulcan friend.

“Spock,” McCoy whispered, “does it seem to you like our Beloved Captain is rather at home here?”

Spock gave the barest hint of a shrug.

“I would say no more than usual,” he replied. “The captain has located and begun emotionally bonding with a female native to this world, however temporarily. That is hardly noteworthy.”

“I’m not arguing that, Spock. But my point is, in order for this planet to be in quarantine, somebody’s had to have been here before. And with a ‘special feast’ being prepared in our honour, that somebody may have been associated with the Enterprise!”

“I do not believe that I understand your concern, Doctor. All of this would seem to be self-evident.”

“My point is what if, sixteen years ago – Jim being Jim – he fell into bed with the queen of this place?”

Spock considered this. “It would not be completely out of character,” he admitted.

“And it wouldn’t be ‘completely out of character’ if there were a few hard feelings after he left,” McCoy pointed out. “You know what he’s like… picture what he must have been like back then! Not to mention there’s been no sign that our weapons will be returned, either.

“So I’m just saying, maybe you should keep those Vulcan ears peeled for any sign of trouble.”

McCoy knew he had erred as soon as Spock frowned.

“I fail to see how peeled ears would would be of assistance--” the Vulcan began.

McCoy cut him off with an impatient gesture.

“Dammit, I’m just saying, stay alert! Remember, we don’t know what’ll happen if the queen – or one of her retinue, or even all of her retinue – recognizes him on sight.”

“What kind of tool would you recommend to peel ears, Doctor?” Spock wondered idly.

McCoy ignored him, refusing to be baited further.

“Or if this ‘princess’ who wants to meet us so badly ends up being his long-estranged daughter,” he went on. “Or… well, whatever.”

“Ah,” Spock nodded in sudden understanding. “You are thinking of the Thudpucker Twins on Beryllium Nine.”

“Exactly! Spock, we barely escaped with our lives!”

“You exaggerate, Doctor. They only wanted our thumbs and eyebrows as mementos.”

McCoy made an exasperated noise. “That’s not the…!”

Then he sighed, and tried again. “Look, my point is, we need to be ready for anything.”

Then, a new thought occurring to him, McCoy added, “Unless, of course, you’ve read something in the Starfleet files on this place that I don’t know about?”

But the Vulcan shook his head. “Even if I had such information at my disposal, Starfleet regulations are quite clear. Such data could only be provided under specific circumstances, all of which are unmistakably enumerated. Neither damage to the ship resulting from our violating this planet’s quarantine, nor our being upon its surface, are among them.”

“Well, that’s just ducky.”

“Indeed.”

“Still,” mused the old surgeon, “if Jim’s in mortal danger, at least we’ll be there to bail him out.”

The Vulcan nodded. “Of course.”

“And if he’s not in mortal danger,” McCoy concluded with a serene smile, “well, we can always just let the chips fall where they may.”

Author's Note

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Tune in for future installments at some vague point in the future, when some or all of the following may or may not transpire…

“Well, yes, we know,” a blue-coated mare admitted, “Castle Anthrax isn’t a very good name for our palace. But the princesses named it that way. We never knew why.”

Jim Kirk considered the assortment of young females surrounding him eagerly. He could hardly blame them for their curiosity. He had to admit, he was feeling rather curious, himself.

“So, um,” he said in his best seductive smile, “Exactly how old are you... ladies?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” a yellow unicorn assured him. “We’re of age. And besides, we know all the words...”

“Loop-the-loop,” supplied a white unicorn wearing sunglasses, sidling closer.

“Jail-bait,” a grey-coated earth pony offered happily, stepping to his other side.

“Uh,” observed Kirk, eyes suddenly wide.

The circle of something over a dozen young mares - fillies? It was impossible to know - continued closing in eagerly, cutting off any avenue of escape. From above one of the newly blocked doors, a Conrad Birdie concert poster glowered at him ominously.

Then, one of the ponies leaped up, throwing her forelegs out ecstatically, shouting, “Let’s have an or-ghee!”

“Wait!” Kirk cried, his mind suddenly working frantically with the desperation of a drowning man clutching at a hanging line of toilet tissue.

Suddenly, the doors to the place flew open, a trio of guard ponies bursting into the room.

“AHA!” one of them shouted.

“There’s the reprobate!” declared another.

“Oh, god dammit,” the grey earth pony swore, rolling her eyes.

“Well, scum,” the third guard pony demanded as he advanced on the human before him, “What do you have to say for yourself?!?”

Kirk immediately threw himself to his knees before the constable.

“Thank God you’ve come,” he said.

“Y’all know what Ah want, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom murmured, her school uniform sliding effortlessly off her perfect figure.

Shaking her head, terrified, the unicorn began backing up. “No, Apple Bloom,” she said. “No.”

“But Ah need it,” the earth pony drawled, her voice sliding through Sweetie Belle like a siren’s song. “An’ Ah need you t’give it to me.”

“No... no...”

But Sweetie could feel her will weakening as she butted against the stone of the elven fountain behind her. The chain around her neck becoming strangely heavy, her eyes losing focus in the nighttime air.

“The ring, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom crooned. ”Give me the ring...!”

“Long and hard you have journeyed, travelers,” the guard pony intoned. “And many hardships you have faced, I’m sure, to find your way to the Crystal Empire.”

“But be warned,” his compatriot said, “for the Crystal Emperor is a mage of great power, and he will brook no folly.”

“We understand,” Kirk assured them. “But we come on behalf of Equestria’s princesses, with a message of great import to both kingdoms.”

“Very well, then,” the crystal ponies intoned as one. “Enter as ye dare.”

And between them, the great blue crystal doors slowly opened to allow the aliens and their pegasus guide entrance.

The four of them entered with great trepidation, surrounded by an opulence rarely seen even in their wide-spanning travels. Gold and gems of every kind surrounded them, on the walls, the ceilings, and as ornaments to the mares who swarmed in attendance to their dread monarch, each one lovelier than the last.

He sat upon the ruby throne, surrounded by fawning female subjects, several gently fanning him with massive feathers while another fed him grapes. From a corner, a pair of harpist twins gently played.

The four travelers stopped in their tracks. Ditzy in awe of the majesty before her, the aliens in stark amazement, even as the dread crystal monarch espied them at last.

“No...” McCoy stared.

“It can’t be!” Kirk exclaimed.

“Fascinating,” Spock observed.

And, from his throne of magic and power, surrounded by beautiful mares and with the Crystal Heart hovering by his side, Harry Mudd began to laugh...

He held his newly-won treasure up to the light. Gave it a few experimental swings through the air. It was more tip-heavy than he would have liked, having been made with telekinesis in mind rather than actual hands. But it was still balanced.

Still a sword.

And there was an entire castle, perhaps even a world, just waiting to taste his blade.

His grin was that of an oni having suddenly come home, as he held the blade before his gleaming eyes. His soul filling with a predator’s joy, he gave voice to his true nature, the call of the hunt and the wild.

“Oh, myyyyyyyy...”

3. Meetings Are Inflicted.

As the command crew ascended various finely-carved staircases, Ditzy explained to her guests that much of the palace, especially the catacombs, had been carved out of the living rock aeons ago… the rest of the palace having been built from the displaced stone. That alone was impressive enough. But their guide went on to explain that the government had continued to use the same system, unbroken, for thousands of years: a diarchy of rulers, one overseeing the day and the other with sovereignty over night.

“And these two queens who rule over so much of your world… are they as beautiful as yourself?” Kirk asked her with a smile.

Ditzy blushed prettily, then continued her narrative, explaining that Equestria had been ruled by the same two mares throughout that time, ever since their arrival from beyond the stars so long ago.

“But yes, they are pargons of beauty,” she said. “Ages and times will come and go, but only the Two Sisters are forever.”

“Spock, are you hearing this?” Kirk marveled.

“I am, Captain,” the science officer affirmed. “Indeed, with the luxury of observing the Equestrian royalty within their own adopted environment, it is possible that we may gain greater understanding of such beings as Apollo, Trelane, Lucien, and others.”

“Yes, because our encounters with them all went so well,” McCoy grumbled.

“Oh, I don’t know, Bones,” Kirk grinned. “Lucien wasn’t so bad…”

McCoy shot him an amused glance. “You know, I thought you two kind of clicked.”

Kirk tried to look innocent. “Why Doctor McCoy, whatever do you mean?”

“I believe the good doctor is insinuating that you and the First Tempter, also known as the Great Deceiver and the Seducer, may have been kindred spirits, Captain,” Spock supplied.

Kirk rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you, Spock,”

Spock waited a beat, then added conversationally, “You did seem to get on rather well.”

“Thank you, Mister Spock.”

The Vulcan contemplated for a moment, then went on, “In fact, I was rather surprised that we have not heard from him since. After all, the comradery that you and the Devil shared had seemed—”

Kirk covered his face with his hands. “Yes, thank you, Mister Spock, and good night.”

“Anyway, we’re here,” Ditzy broke in with a chuckle.

The stairs ended in a doorway that opened into a massive hall, replete with ornate stained glass and intricately carved walls. At the far end of the hall was a set of double doors, immense, golden, and engraved with countless ornate swirls and designs. They covered an entrance easily twenty feet tall and half that much in width. To either side, heavily armored guard ponies stood at attention, unwavering.

Waving a hoof towards the massive portal, Ditzy pronounced, “Gentlebeings, please allow me to present you to Princess Celestia, Lady of Day and Co-Ruler of Equestria.”

The mammoth doors opened, allowing them admittance to the throne room. The lines of guard ponies to either side of the long crimson carpet were obviously ornamental: the creature sitting upon the dais exuded such waves of power that one could hardly imagine her being endangered by any weapon conventional to her world.

She nodded elegantly as they entered, amethyst eyes measuring them through the lens of millennia, her mane and tail continually undulating like the tendrils of an anemone dancing in the caressing current of a polychromatic sea. She had the horn of a unicorn and the wings of an Isis, her royal crown and throne registering to the aliens almost as an afterthought; a goddess clad in the trappings of a mere queen.

As they entered the throne room, a unicorn mare beside the doors read off a scroll in a courtly voice, “”Presenting: Royal Diplomat Ditzy Doo; Captain James T. Kirk; Science Officer Spock; and Ship’s Chirurgeon Doctor McCoy.”

Ditzy dropped into a courtly bow, and the others followed suit.

“Rise, please, all of you,” said Celestia with a gentle smile. “This is cause for great celebration. It has been too long since our world had visitors.”

“You are too kind, your Highness,” said Kirk.

“Not at all,” she rejoined as she rose. “Ditzy, you’ll be joining us as well, I hope?”

The pegasus grinned.

“I’d be happy to, Your Highness!” she bounced.

“Good,” Celestia nodded, still smiling. “Let us adjourn, then, to the banquet hall.”

As the princess walked past the four of them, Ditzy (still bouncing) gave forth a “Yay!” and began to follow. The humans exchanged puzzled looks - Spock giving the merest of shrugs - and then also followed suit.

Kirk’s mind ran through dozens of possibilities. As captain of a starship, he was of course a diplomat as much as a commander. But thus far, everything had been rather abrupt, and it was difficult to tell exactly how best to respond.

Hoping to gain some insight, he leaned over to the diplomat of his immortal hostess to inquire. But as they passed through the great doors again, she only whispered to him, “I hope you like cake.”

Somehow, that was not helpful.

The feasting table was easily thirty feet long, and seemed to have been carved from a single piece of deep brown oak. It stood in the center of its own hall, surrounded by tapestries and serpentine archways, the centerpiece of a dazzling display of art created from gold, marble, gems fine cloth and wood.

Upon the table there were, in fact, a great many confections laid out… far more than any mere mortal might ever consume. However, many of these had been placed towards the head of the table, where the Diarch of Day sat, so that was of little concern.

In addition to the assorted platters and bowls of cakes, pies, iced creams and pastries, there were also any number of fruit and vegetable dishes cooked to perfection in various combinations, as well as salads, soups, and simple fresh produce. Rather than a multi-course meal, the enormous table was set out as a giant smorgasbord. Celestia motioned her guests to sit where they wished to either side of the gargantuan board, and they arrayed themselves two to a side.

“Please,” she smiled as she daintily scooted a large ice cream cake closer, “help yourselves.”

After a moment, the crew and their guide began passing various dishes around. Meanwhile, half a dozen servers filled drinks and aided in refilling plates again and again.

Kirk found the apple wine to be an amazing accompaniment to most every dish, while Spock drank water and McCoy happily attacked his chocolate malt. Ditzy, for her part, enjoyed something simply called ‘lemon fizz,’ which seemed to be something akin to a carbonated lemonade.

It was, as Spock observed, a fascinating combination of formal and informal dining, one which encouraged both conversation and appetite. Chatting became almost inevitable, conversation meandering freely between food, culture, personal interests and back to food again...

“Wait a minute,” McCoy frowned, lifting the silver lid on a newly-delivered platter, “Are those… hamburgers?”

Ditzy shook her golden mane. “Hayburgers. What’s ham?”

“It’s made from pigs,” McCoy answered. “Well, sort of. Though hamburgers don’t really have… um…”

His voice trailed off as the grey pegasus stared at him in shock.

“Your people… eat pigs?” she gasped.

“Not anymore. I mean, not exactly.” McCoy cleared his throat uneasily. “It’s, uh, kind of a long story, actually.”

“Our species – humanity – evolved as omnivores,” Kirk explained to both mares. “For most of our planet’s history our ancestors tamed and used animals for food and raw materials. But technology has allowed us to move beyond all that, including the synthesizing of meat for the last several centuries.”

Princess Celestia nodded as she reached for another strudel, the cake and several pies a la mode having already been consumed. “Mmm. Your technology must be advanced, indeed.”

Then, appraising them all, she asked, “Are you all of the same species, then? Ponies have three distinct tribes: Earth Pony, Pegasus, and Unicorn, each with their own physical traits as well as cultural traditions. Are you of different tribes of humanity?”

“Doctor McCoy and myself are human,” Kirk answered. “Mister Spock is a vulcan, which is a different species entirely.”

Spock steepled his fingers. “That being said, for the sake of complete accuracy I will point out that while I am Vulcan by identity, biologically I am half human.”

The princess nodded again, this time more slowly.

“It’s never easy, growing up between two worlds,” she said.

Spock nodded as well, his face impassive.

“Indeed.”

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle stood on the side of the road, looking at Scootaloo’s house. All the lights were out, the door still closed and locked. The windows were dark, the house silent.

“It seems so empty,” Scootaloo sighed.

“Yeah,” Sweetie Belle agreed. “And lonely.”

There was a pause, then they both sighed in unison.

“Well, plenty of school fillies come home to empty houses, right?” Sweetie Belle asked.

Scootaloo looked down. “Sure. Their parents work, or whatever.”

“Perfectly normal.” Sweetie said, also looking down.

“Happens all the time.” Scootaloo agreed.

“Yeah.”

After a moment, Sweetie Belle added, “Part of the whole experience.”

“Uh-huh.”

The wind blew some leaves around them, then subsided again. For several moments both fillies stood in the early night’s shadows, tails and ears down.

Then, Scootaloo’s ears went up slightly.

“Then their parents come home, right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Sweetie Belle said, brightening slightly. “Yeah, they do.”

“You want to just skip to that part?”

“Yeah!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed.

As one, the two fillies rushed to Scootaloo’s front door. There was a mad scramble for the keys, both of them giggling and laughing all the while. Then, they had the door open, and they were inside.

Slamming the door behind them, they galloped up the stairs into Scootaloo’s room.

Sweetie Belle dove for the full-length mirror opposite her cousin’s bed.

“Dibs!” she cheered.

“Hey, no fair!” her cousin laughed as she sped right behind her. “My house, my rules!”

There was another giggling mess as the two of them tried to both squeeze their way through the mystic portal at once. For several seconds they were stuck, wrestling, halfway in and halfway out the rippling glass. Then, there was a sound like a cork firing from a champagne bottle, and they were through.

Their old room was just as they had left it. Most of their personal things - including their school uniforms, posters, and a few old toys - they had taken with them to their new homes, of course. But in their place had been added two magical mirrors, tesseract portals of tremendous magical power. Those portals connected to the pair of recently restored houses in Ponyville where the two had decided to stay. And it was through one of these that the cousins finally burst through, still laughing.

They shed their uniforms immediately, galloping through the wooden door and into the Royal Wing connecting the various Rooms of Personal Import, their voices joining in unison as they ran down the ancient candle-lit hallway.

“We’re ho-ome!”

At the hall’s end, it branched into a T-intersection, leading further into Canterlot Palace. Around one of its corners, a familiar white unicorn with ebon mane happened to approach.

“Raven!” they cheered.

The mare grinned, giving a brief bow. “Your Graces,” she said. “How was your first day at a public school?”

Screeching to a halt in front of her, both fillies opened their mouths at once, then paused.

“Mixed,” Scootaloo said.

“Miss Cheerilee is very nice,” Sweetie Belle said.

“And smart,” Scootaloo added. “She’s really good at what she does.”

“Oh, and I think I met my first bully!” Sweetie added.

“Well, that does sound exciting!” Raven said. “Was anypony hurt?”

Scootaloo sighed, looking down. “No.”

“But he probably didn’t deserve it, anyway,” Sweetie Belle said, giving Scootaloo a reproving look.

“Well, then, you’re using restraint,” Raven said approvingly. “That’s certainly commendable. Is this something the princesses will be aware of?”

The fillies blinked, looking at one another uncertainly.

“Well, let’s assume you didn’t tell me, then,” Raven said contentedly. “At least until you’ve decided.”

As the three of them began making their way down the labyrinthine hallways, Raven added, “Your timing is perfect, by the way. Dinner is just being served…”

Scootaloo cocked her head. “Already?”

“Well, there are guests,” Raven said. “And I believe Princess Celestia was hoping you would visit sometime tonight, so dinner is being served courseless.”

“This soon? But this was our first day!” Scootaloo cried.

“Our moms don’t think we can’t handle this, do they?” Sweetie Belle asked with huge eyes.

“We’re fifteen!” Scootaloo pronounced, puffing out her chest.

“We’re mares now!” Sweetie Belle added, also puffing.

“We can take care of ourselves!”

“We’ve totally got this!”

“And no one doubts that, Your Graces, I assure you,” Raven replied in her most soothing voice. “Everypony within the palace is well aware of your maturity. The princesses simply missed you. That’s all.”

“Oh. Well, okay,” Sweetie Belle nodded, unpuffing slightly.

“I guess that’s alright then,” Scootaloo agreed, her own puff deflating somewhat.

Then, the older mare seemed to consider something.

“Still,” she said. “Sometimes parents do have trouble letting go, even when they know intellectually their foals are completely grown. It might be best if Your Graces were to visit at least somewhat often, just for their sakes. You know, so they don’t get lonely. You know how the princesses can be.”

Both fillies nodded.

“Yeah, we can do that,” Scootaloo said.

Then, Sweetie Belle shot her cousin a grin.

“Race you!” And she was off like a white and purple shot.

“Hey, no fair indoor racing!” Scootaloo cried as she gave chase. “You know it’s hard for me to corner…!”

As the two Royal Offspring vanished around another corner, Raven allowed herself a slight smile.

“Yes,” she said. “I thought perhaps you could.”

Meanwhile, conversation had continued to wander across a variety of topics at the royal banquet table. While the princess was not familiar with the technology that the Federation used, she was, interestingly, quite well-versed with the principles behind it. Nor was such understanding limited to just the diarchy, such matters being freely available in the Equestrian educational system.

Ditzy Doo, in fact, possessed the highest degrees available in both physics and astronomy. Apparently, such subjects were as available among ponies as studies in language, art, and thaumaturgy.

Yet, somehow, the ponies’ technology remained as primitive as the aliens had been assured before landing.

“So, you never had an industrial revolution,” Kirk wondered. “But you have other aspects of a culture far more advanced.”

Ditzy laid one ear flat. “I’m sorry, a what revolution?”

“A time period in human history, and that of many other species, in which internal combustion engines utilizing the burning of wood and fossil fuels allow for mass production, mass transit, and automation,” Spock explained.

“Well, that sounds dangerous. No offense,” Ditzy added, shaking her mane. “But even one snoring dragon can render an entire countryside uninhabitable. I can only imagine what burning that much wood would be like, for that long.”

McCoy’s head snapped up. Wait. Dragons? There were dragons now?

“Besides,” Ditzy continued as McCoy gave his captain another glare, “how would the ecology support that kind of continual destruction of trees?”

“We do have mass transportation, though,” Celestia acknowledged, “Including trains, air ships, and occasionally teleportation and tesseracts. But within short distances – say, twenty miles or so – most ponies prefer to walk or run anyway.”

“Mass production was suggested a few centuries ago,” Ditzy mused. “I remember reading about it. But it never caught on. Really, why would you want something identical to what everyone else has?”

“And as I think of it, automation did start being used, a few years ago,” Celestia recalled. “There was a major breakthrough in stone and clay golem creation and control, not far from here. We might tour the plantation where they’re used later on, if you like.”

Smiling, Kirk rose and gave a small bow.

“Ladies, you have managed in just a few phrases to demonstrate both the shortcomings of an entire technological age of humanity, and how your own culture side-stepped them completely. My hat’s off to you.”

“Well, let’s not assume our own is without its shortcomings,” Ditzy said. “I’d love to compare the differences in the developments of our cultures sometime… Your Highness?”

As Ditzy had been speaking, Princess Celestia’s ears had begun twitching. Then, the Lady of Day smiled.

“Gentlebeings,” she said. “May I introduce my—”

The doors on the hall’s far end burst open with a sound like a giant using a brass kettle as a gong.

“…daughter and niece…”

The two fillies rolled into the room in a ball of orange, white, and purple, wrestling gleefully as they spilled onto the floor.

“I win!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“Oh, um…” Sweetie Belle looked up at her mother, who was, she now suddenly recalled, hosting an interplanetary diplomatic affair.

“…Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo,” the princess finished.

“Oops,” both fillies said at once.

Then, Sweetie Belle looked at the aliens. All bipeds, all brightly dressed… and all of them smiling.

Okay, we didn’t just screw anything up, she thought. Well, okay, we kinda did, but not irreparably. We can make our apologies, be polite, and no harm done.

We can salvage this, she assured herself. Get into royal mode, Sweetie. Time to fix what we almost broke.

Immediately, Sweetie Belle teleported to the side of Princess Celestia, landing in a stance of dignity and grace. But even as the young unicorn opened her mouth to speak, Scootaloo suddenly froze, her eyes growing wide, drawing in a slow breath of excitement. The orange pegasus stared at the three aliens for a moment, before bursting into action with a gleeful cry.

“DADDY!”

Immediately, Kirk’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, his body falling into the instinctive half-crouch found in all cornered prey.

Then, as the orange-and-purple comet seared through the air towards them, he whirled to face Doctor McCoy in a mix of confusion and horror, a man beset.

McCoy, for his part, simply took a step back with his malted, satisfied to let nature take its course.

“Bones! You can’t leave me like this!”

“Sorry, Jim,” the doctor replied contentedly between chocolaty slurps. “Looks like it’s time to face the music.”

The impact when they met shook the chandeliers. And for several moments, McCoy could only stare. Celestia and Sweetie Belle stared as well, then looked at one another, then again at the scene before them.

“Daddy!” Scootaloo cried, her eyes closed in joy as she simultaneously snuggled and bounced against her target’s torso. “Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, DADDY!”

Kirk caught McCoy’s eye, shook his head helplessly. Never had he been so completely flabbergasted.

For his part, Spock simply considered the filly in his lap, as he carefully put his arms around her to make sure she didn’t fall off.

“Oh, I’ve dreamed of this for so long...!” she gushed.

Celestia and Sweetie Belle cocked their heads at identical angles, considering the implications of what they were seeing.

“Well,” an unmoving Princess Celestia said at last, “that certainly answers several questions.”

“Maybe for you,” Sweetie Belle deadpanned, also all but motionless.

Kirk, meanwhile, could only stare. “Bones... I...” he managed, “I... honestly have no words...”

But then, suddenly McCoy whirled on him, a mad gleam in his eye.

“Oh,” he hissed, “I have a word for this.”

Then, spreading his arms out as if to encompass all the world, he cried out, “This is... FASCINATING!”

“Mom told me all about you when I was old enough,” Scootaloo went on happily, “how you met while she was on diplomatic envoy to the Crystal Empire, and you were on a scouting mission from the stars...”

Kirk was scarcely listening, his mind assailed by images of Spock leaning against a stack of pony kegs, wearing a ‘Party Naked’ T-shirt.

McCoy, meanwhile, had taken to revolving around the room with his arms outspread as though he were in The Sound of Music, shouting, “I mean this whole thing is so goddamn fascinating!”

“…you both knew you couldn’t stay, so you made the most of the time you had. Oh, the romantic week you spent together...”

Images of a drunken Spock, piña colada in hand and singing karaoke into a mic while surrounded by pony groupies, danced before Kirk’s mind. He frowned slightly at the ballad unexpectedly drifting through his imagination. Who was Bilbo Baggins, anyway?

“No, this makes perfect sense,” said Celestia. “See, she inherited his tiny wings…”

“Mom, please stop talking.”

“…she told me how you played your Vulcan lute for her,” Scootaloo went on, “and how she kept the moon full for you the whole time, until duty finally called you away again …”

Still rotating in demonic glee, McCoy shouted with the giddy fierceness of Rylian tengu, “Don’t you think this is the most fascinating thing you’ve ever heard of?!?”

Kirk shook his head desperately, but the image remained: Spock, lazing naked on an old couch in an apartment somewhere, dignified as always. Black light posters hung on the wall above him while he cannon-balled between a hookah and flagons of pony ale, countless brightly-colored mares lounging across his lap and around the room, dozing in a post-orgy glow...

“…and now you’re finally back! Oh, we’ve missed you so much!” Scootaloo cried. “Oh, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, DADDY!”

“In fact, this whole planet is so FUCKING FASCINATING--!”

Almost casually, Spock reached out to where McCoy had revolved himself, grasping the meeting point of the doctor’s neck and shoulder. An instant later, he was gently lowering the physician, one-handed, into a nearby chair.

Scootaloo paused in her bouncing long enough to examine the old human curiously.

“Is your friend going to be alright?”

Spock scarcely spared him a sideways glance. “He’ll be fine.”

Just then, the door opened again, allowing Luna to wander in.

“Oh, good, I didn’t miss dinner. Is all well? I heard a commotion and--”

Her eyes grew wide.

”Spock!”

...and then with a burst of blue, suddenly Spock was being embraced by two ponies, both with their eyes squeezed shut in pure joy.

At that moment, Spock had a choice. Most of the options before him, through either action or inaction, involved deeply hurting the two mares who were hugging him so determinedly.

The logical action, of course, did not.

Spock reached out and, somewhat uncertainly, hugged Luna and Scootaloo back.

For his part, Kirk had finally managed to regain at least some of his composure. Reaching out, he snagged a golden goblet and refilled it with yellow wine, giving his Vulcan friend a conspiratorial grin as he rested one foot on the golden bench they shared.

“Well, Spock,” he said before drinking, “it looks like you’re a family man now.”

“So it would seem,” Spock replied.

And sitting there in the great dining hall, beset by affectionate ponies, with Bones unconscious nearby and the native queen looking on with satisfaction, it might have seemed to anyone else that Spock had been somewhat railroaded into his current position. Or, even that he was merely humoring the native species until his inevitable departure.

But Kirk had been a friend of the Vulcan for years now. And to his discerning eye, it really didn’t seem as though the situation displeased Spock at all.

Apple Bloom reclined in her private bathing pool, surrounded by the ancient stone ruins, the moon shining down on her from above.

Snails would recover eventually, though he had a broken foreleg and several fractures. He’d also hit his head, but to her mind that should have little effect overall. And anyway, she had far more important matters on her mind.

Oh, Sweetie Belle, she sighed, languidly arcing herself through the warmed waters. Oh, that you only knew. If only you even suspected…

Then, another face flashed before her eyes, unwanted.

Scootaloo.

Apple Bloom scowled. She’d overcome obstacles before in her young life. But never a rival for love. And now that she had one, she would brook no interference.

‘It’s complicated,’ they’d said.

She snorted. Sure. She knew what that meant.

Still, while the matter was vexing at the moment, Apple Bloom knew from experience that such difficulties would not last long. They never did. At least, not for her.

When the meteor had destroyed the train her parents had been riding on, Granny had raised her as best she could. And she’d tried to continue managing the farm at the same time. But she’d been an old mare, with little real business sense, and the times had changed. And the Rich family had started moving in like the wolves they were.

By the time Apple Bloom had been seven, the Rich family had all but owned Sweet Apple Acres. Apple Bloom had been playing with Diamond Tiara most of her life by then, taking the barbs and jeers from mother and daughter alike as best she could.

Spoiled and Diamond had both complimented her with poisoned praise on many occasions back then, complimenting her for knowing her place. And she had taken it. For years, she’d swallowed it down, smiling as best she could. But she hadn’t been demurring to them, as Spoiled Rich had praised her for so often.

She’d been studying them.

By the time she was nine, Apple Bloom had learned all she needed to know about her enemies and their business. Continuing her charade, she began studying geomancy, the oft-overlooked magical art which was most powerful when practiced by an Earth Pony. Then, she’d branched into the art of crafting golems, earning a royal commendation for her ground-breaking research at the age of ten.

By the time she’d turned twelve, Rich Industries had owned Sweet Apple Acres outright.

By the time she’d turned thirteen, Apple Bloom had owned Rich Industries.

Now, Sweet Apple Acres was a thriving plantation, worked by automatons of her own creation and design, overseen in turn by her fellow Apples as well as a few hirelings. She’d made certain to offer Filthy and Spoiled Rich employment, when times had gotten hard for them. Nothing with too much authority or influence, of course. Nothing that offered any chance for sabotage.

Just enough that they knew their place.

Satisfied, she pulled herself out of the perfumed water. With her family enemies destroyed, their daughter and her schoolyard rival having run away and begun a life of piracy, Apple Bloom’s life had become one of perpetual comfort and satisfaction.

Her eyes narrowed.

Until now, she thought.

Still, Scootaloo should pose little real difficulty. Oh, she had speed and strength galore – Snails had been very clear on that – but it wasn’t only unicorns and pegasi who had magical power. And if little Scootaloo didn’t know that, Apple Bloom would be only too happy to teach her.

Apple Bloom laughed then, soul bared to the full moon, giving full vent to her sinister delight…

In the mansion nearby, a light turned on.

“Apple Bloom!” an ancient voice yelled.

In a millisecond, Apple Bloom spun and faced the house, eyes wide.

“Yes, Granny!” she answered, snapping to attention.

“Yew bein’ evil out there?” the crone demanded.

“No, ma’am!”

“Well, alright then.”

The light turned off again. A moment later, snoring could be heard from within.

Apple Bloom’s face once again twisted into a mask of sinister delight as she ascended the stone steps towards Sweet Apple Mansion.

Soon, it really will be Sweet Apple Mansion, she thought. Sweetie Belle an’ Apple Bloom. Together. Forever.

Once Ah have destroyed Scootaloo.

Apple Bloom laughed then, as quietly as she could, her soul bared to the moon, giving as full vent to her sinister delight as she could without waking up her granny…

Author's Note

.
.
.
.
.
(The interplay between Kirk’s imagination and McCoy’s freakout during the dinner scene was inspired by a fan comic I saw at a con during the eighties that crossed Star Trek and Elfquest. If anyone can identify what the devil it was called and who made the thrice-cursed thing so I can credit them properly, I will give the identifier a virtual cookie.)

Tune in for future installments at some vague point in the future, when some or all of the following may or may not transpire…

Spock held up a hand, his other arm resting protectively on the young mare’s withers. “In accordance to both Vulcan and Equestrian law, I challenge you to the rite of kal-if-foal.”

Dracula narrowed his crimson eyes. “Are you certain, Vulcan? You’re on Equus now. And under Equestrian law, as the challenged, I dictate the terms of battle.”

“That is true. And afterwards, I, the place and time.”

The vampire lord glided forward, a cold wind blowing as he spoke.

“Rap-battle,” he hissed. “Full contact.”

Spock arched an eyebrow. “To the death?”

The vampire lord gave a single, slow nod. “In honour of your own traditions, and mine.”

Spock nodded as well. “Very well, then. We meet tomorrow night, in the southern arena, one hour after sundown.”

The vampire threw back his head and laughed.

“Only morons and fools challenge a vampire at night, Vulcan! Which are you?”

“Neither,” Spock replied impassively. “I assure you, when I ‘spit,’ my every move is dictated solely by Logic.”

4. Parties Are Landed.

It was a short time after their first meeting that Scootaloo was happily cantering through the palace halls, leading Spock through the preserved aspects of her people’s history.

“…a variety of artifacts from my mom’s and Aunt Tia’s ten-thousand-year reign,” Scoots went on as they toured the palace’s museum wing. “Throughout that time, they’ve been revered for their magic powers, and even worshipped briefly.”

She paused. “Which is weird, but… whatever.”

Prancing forward again, she continued, “But no matter what, they always did their best to rule with kindness, justice, and compassion.”

“Indeed,” Spock nodded, “given the circumstances of their abilities and this world’s magic-heavy environment, combined with their own intellectual resources and moral convictions, that would be the only logical course to take.”

“Exactly.”

“And there have been no rebellions, in all that time?”

The filly shrugged as she trotted along. “A few, now and then, sure. But it was always ponies who just wanted to be despots. Or just hated change. Like, about a hundred years ago, education became advanced enough that Mom and Tia phased Equestria from being a constitutional demi-feudal monarchy into being a monarchist republic. Still with a constitution, of course.”

“Of course.”

“So, that took a while, and there were a couple of wanna-be revolutions in between. But eventually, even the upper classes accepted it. The ones that were left, I mean.”

Spock cocked an eyebrow. “I see.”

“Aunt Tia says that eventually there’ll be a democratic uprising,” Scootaloo went on, “and they’ll both be able to step aside because they’ll have no choice. But Mom says she’s just being optimistic. It took generations for ponies to get used to being a republic, after all. And there’s still some who argue against it.”

“Indeed. Luna never struck me as a democrat.”

His daughter shook her little head. “Mom always says democracy is for pirates.”

Far out in space, the ornate ship hurtled ever closer towards its goal. And deep within its confines, an ancient rite was taking place.

From across the ancient dark wood table, the remaining pair of weasels stared at one another from the darkness of their dark cowls, their dark eyes shining in the room’s darkness that was distinctly and incontrovertibly dark. The baroque swirls along the table’s edges and limbs gleamed in guilt from the lanthorns hanging dimly in the chamber, its elegance belittling the somber, gruesome ceremony witnessed therein.

From deeper in the shadows, the other shipmates studied the two in silence, their sharp, ferret-like features concentrated completely upon the final moves remaining in this, the oldest ritual of their kind. They had all escaped the contest’s ordeal. Now it was down to this. The fates of this last pair hung in the balance, teetering precariously upon a razor’s edge.

It was a somber and sacred matter among weaselkind. Even their dark lord dared not interfere.

Finally, the elder of the two broke the silence, his words echoing deep and quiet in the dread chamber.

“Have you any… twos,” he intoned, as one whose voice might call forth the very dead.

The weasel across from him swallowed, betraying her youth and nervousness. Her eyes flicked to the surface of the table, covered with sets of upright cards, then back to his own unfathomable orbs.

“Go fish,” she whispered.

With the grace of a waterfall of cold poison, the older pirate reached out from his robes, pulling one of the only two face-down cards remaining. He placed it with the other three he held, unhurried as the very grasp of death itself.

After a moment, he nodded, slowly. He raised his eyes again to meet hers, eyes that had long ago learned the futility of fighting the whims of uncaring fate. And, slowly, inevitably as the doom and ruin of lost Sarnath itself, he placed all four upon the table, face up.

Four twos.

“That,” he intoned, “is game.”

The younger weasel squeezed her eyes closed as if in pain, a cold, scaled hand grasping her heart as she realized that it had truly happened. She had lost. And with that loss, her fate had been sealed at last.

Slowly, the lamps were turned up again. The mood was somber, the gathered weasels quiet. She stood, slowly. One of her shipmates took a step forward, claw outstretched, but she shook her head and he stepped back again.

She would stand on her own. And she would face this burden, for however long it was hers to bear, alone.

She forced herself upright, head swimming, forced herself not to lean upon the table before her, nor the chair behind.

The older weasel nodded. Yes. Such strength was to be respected. And, come what may, she was worthy of the trials that lay ahead.

With great respect, her fellows gently, ritualistically stripped her of her robes, her hooded cloak. And, with cold ceremony, replaced her old garments with a coat of ebon and crimson with gold piping, and a bicorner hat bedecked with feathers and jewels.

And, last of all, the eldest presented her with a gold ring, set with a massive jewel the color of blood.

And, with great solemnity, she accepted the final symbol of her doom, placing it upon her own clawed finger.

As one, the ship’s officers circled her, crouched before her in their subservience, kneeling, claws splayed and turned inward against their shoulders, their eyes upon the floor before her feet.

“What is your will,” intoned the elder weasel, “My Captain?”

For a moment, unseen by her fellows, the new ship’s captain hung her head. Her entire body a sculpture of her soul’s torment, a prisoner of a destiny that neither she nor any other weasel had ever sought.

Then, she straightened herself, willing her poise and composure into something befitting her new duty. Now was not the time to show weakness.

From the ship’s communication system, there was the unmistakable chime of a bridge’s hail. A moment later, the communication weasel’s voice floated in, “His Lordship has asked for a status report.”

“I’m on my way,” the new captain said.

As the other weasels rose, the eldest said with utmost deference, “Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but we all know you’ll do fine. You know His Lordship as well as any of us, not to mention the Mina Murray herself.”

“Thank you, Mister Tibbs,” she said with a nod. “I know this is a bit unusual, since you were just captain yourself, but I’m hoping you’ll be my first mate for the duration of my service.”

He nodded with a grim smile and a bow. “I’ll be here for you, Ma’am, as best I can,”

She returned his smile, answering his bow with a nod of her own. Then, looking morosely at the door her shipmates were already holding open for her, also bowing as they did, she scratched behind one of her ears with a sigh.

Responsibility was a bitch.

“Lass, ye canna be serious!” the engineer’s voice sounded through the command chair’s speakers. “Whatever ye think they’ve done, surely they don’t deserve that!”

“Your objections are noted, Mister Scott,” Uhura replied coldly. “And, having noted them, I have chosen to ignore them. I am ignoring them because I for one have had enough of our command crew and away teams being captured, experimented upon, and/or forced into gladiatorial combat arena to be telecast into our ship’s view screens.

“Furthermore, the hours of communicator silence, combined with our continued inability to properly scan the planet and find them, allow me discretion as acting ship’s commander to take extreme action for the safety of our captain and crew. A discretion that I am hereby using.”

“But—“

“Has he been removed from cryogenic suspension?”

“Aye,” Scott answered reluctantly. “He has.”

“And is he in stable condition?”

“As stable as ever, aye, he is.”

“And you can compensate for the transporter redirection that took place earlier?”

“To an extent, yes, I can. He’ll materialize within the same approximate area they did, regardless, but I can put him wherever we want so long as it’s close by.”

“Then you have your orders, mister.” She turned her eyes back to the flat planet-like structure her ship was orbiting, its energy field somehow defying all attempts to locate her friends. “Beam him down. Now.”

The engineer sighed. “Aye, ma’am. Energizing now.”

And as the sound of matter converting to energy came over the ship’s comm, he quietly added, “And may God have mercy on their souls.”

The palace guard stallion paused. Some kind of shimmering, golden light was coming from one of the alcoves nearby, accompanied by a sound he had never heard before.

He frowned. Teleportation onto palace grounds, aside from the Two Sisters, should have been impossible. And yet…

He stepped around the corner, the light on his helm suddenly illuminating a bipedal creature of a species unfamiliar to him. It whipped around to face him with a maniacal grin, its eyes full of fury.

“Alarm!” the guard shouted. “Intruder! To arms!”

He charged the interloper, hearing the reinforcements galloping from all directions, even as with an exhilarated cry the alien leaped upon him…

After a while of explaining different works of art and the history of her people, Scootaloo spun to face her father, hopping backwards as she did, her buzzing wings allowing her a few seconds’ hang time to contemplate him more carefully.

“By the way,” she said, “Not wanting to be pushy or anything, but, um, do you know how long you’re staying? I mean,” she looked away, “Longer than a week this time, right?”

The Vulcan considered her carefully before answering.

“Technically, the duration of my stay is not within my control,” he observed. “However, though I answer to my captain and he to the commands of Starfleet, I have every expectation that should I request an extended leave upon Equus it will be granted, based upon the favorable reaction I noted from him upon his witnessing our reunion.”

She considered this. “Meaning…?”

His eyebrows quirked slightly. “Meaning, that it might be more accurate to inquire as to how long you and your mother would like me to remain.”

There was no hesitation before the flying tackle hug that slammed into him. Fortunately, experience with the more emotional races, combined with his own Vulcan strength, allowed him to catch and hold her easily, returning her embrace with his own.

Such reciprocation was, after all, the only logical thing to do. Regardless of how long the mutual hug might last.

Completely, and utterly, logical.

After a few moments, they were walking together again. Then he stopped, his head tilting in mild puzzlement as he considered the massive stone edifice before them.

“But what of this statue of the two of them together, with the dark stains and the gutter along the sides?” he asked, genuinely curious. “At a glance, it seems reminiscent of the earliest pieces. Yet, according to this placard, it dates from the transitional period you mentioned earlier.”

“Um, well,” Scootaloo shifted a little uncomfortably. “Y’see, that’s… kind of complicated.”

“Ah,” he nodded with understanding. “I see.”

Kirk chuckled to himself as he refilled his glass again. McCoy was still unconscious, and the night princess had reluctantly departed to see to her own duties, whatever they were. Spock and his daughter (daughter, part of Kirk’s mind kept whispering, Spock has a daughter…) had departed to catch up with one another, much to Kirk’s own private delight.

I’ll see you happy yet, old friend, he thought. Even if it’s half against your will, like Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing.

Meanwhile, the dining had continued to slow (save for his hostess and her daughter… but then again, Kirk wondered, how much energy must it take to do what they did?), becoming more and more a platform for extended conversation.

It was just as the captain was musing these thoughts that the golden-eyed mare gave him the most beautiful smile, saying, “Two bits for your thoughts, Captain.”

“Jim, please,” he smiled back.

Ditzy blushed prettily. “Alright. Jim, then.”

“And as for your question, I’ll admit that my diplomatic skills are a bit rusty,” he went on, still smiling. “And I will confess to having an abundance of questions. But I’m still new enough to your world that I’m concerned about accidentally giving offense.”

At the head of the table, Celestia and Sweetie Belle exchanged amused glances.

“I don’t see you giving offense accidentally, Captain,” the Princess of Day assured him.

“Besides,” Sweetie Belle added, helping herself with almost perfect poise to more muffins and jam, “after my cousin and I introduced ourselves via wrestling match, I hardly think we’ll be in a position to judge your diplomatic skills too harshly.”

There was some good-natured chuckling along the table.

“Very well then” Kirk said, “far be it for me to refuse such august company. I had just been wondering if, since Spock is Scootaloo’s father… would it be rude to inquire…?”

Celestia laughed again, a pretty, almost fae sound.

“No, Captain, it wouldn’t be rude. And no, Spock is not Sweetie Belle’s father.”

“Technicree, I don’t haff a faffer,” Sweetie Belle added though a mouthful of pastry. “Din’t meed one. Gof a granfaffer, voh.”

Then, chasing it down with a glass of juice, she added, “Anyway, Mother and Aunt Luna are very close, and neither wanted for Luna to have to go through motherhood alone.”

“Well, it’s not as if being mothers to the two of you is a trial, by any means,” Celestia pointed out, smoothing her daughter’s mane fondly. “But there was also the fact that, when Luna discovered she was with child, I realized for the first time that I, also, wished a child. So, after helping Luna with her own labor, I pinched off a part of myself and set it loose. The girls took to one another immediately, and they’ve been like sisters ever since.”

Kirk’s smile froze. “I’m sorry. Did you say… ‘pinched off?’”

Just then, there was a low moan from the previously silent Doctor McCoy.

“Budding,” he managed. “Their royalty reproduces by budding. Perfect. Pony hydra princesses. That’s what was missing. My day is now complete.”

Meanwhile, back on Earth, two caretakers of a graveyard examined the turned soil of the ancient grave in puzzlement.

“What happened? Some kinda grave robbery?”

The older caretaker shook his head slowly. “Nope,” he said. “Look, it was churned from underneath. Whoever’s buried here, somethin’ spun ‘em around somethin’ fierce.”

“Huh,” the younger caretaker said. Then, checking the time-weathered stone, he asked, “Who the heck was Charles Darwin, anyway?”

While the mares all laughed good-naturedly, McCoy pushed himself into an upright position.

“Not exactly,” Celestia chuckled. “Not in the way you mean. I merely shed my three-dimensional form for a moment, then shifted my existence accordingly to produce another life form, equivalent but unique, and devoid of experience.”

“Aha,” Bones deadpanned. “Of course. My mistake. Fifth-dimensional sky ponies. Forgive me, I should have realized.”

At the tearing sound of upending earth, the caretakers turned their heads as one.

“Whelp, there goes that deGrasse Tyson fella,” the elder one observed. “Guess somebody’s havin’ a time.”

As the laughter renewed, Kirk grabbed a glass of lemon fizz and offered it to his friend.

“Hair of the dog, Bones?”

McCoy examined the drink, then made a face even as he accepted it.

“Not green enough,” he said. Then, taking a sip, “Or strong enough. And for that matter, where did he… no, never mind,” he decided. “He’s probably busy bonding with his long-lost daughter. Which is something I’d rather die than interfere with.”

With an angelic smile, Celestia toasted the still-groggy physician.

“We are in agreement, then,” she said merrily.

“Ohhh, yes,” he assured her, with a smile of his own. “And besides, I’d risk a Vulcan’s wrath any day before I’d draw the ire of daddy’s little girl.”

Adding his toast to her own, he added with a grin, “Or her family, for that matter.”

His toast was joined by the rest of the assembly, and after all had drank, Kirk asked Dinky, “So, then, can all ponies… um…?”

“Oh, no,” she smiled. “Only the alicorns. After they came down from the sky, they took their solid forms as a symbol of the unity that by our nature all pony tribes share. So that’s a philosophy that’s been part of our society since its beginning. But we also understand that the shapes they wear are a courtesy they’re extending us, not a requirement.”

“Well, it’s kind of you to make it sound so selfless,” Celestia smiled. “But there are benefits to being three-dimensional, as well. Cake, for one thing.”

“And muffins,” Sweetie Belle added contentedly.

Kirk nodded, looking at the younger of the two. “And should I take it then that you can also…?”

“Not yet,” the filly said. “And when I do, it’ll be someplace barren and remote, until I get the hang of it.”

“My mother – her grandmother – was a colour from out of space, never before seen by mortal eye,” Celestia explained. “Her first arrival on a 3D world caused some difficulty for the native flora and fauna there. So, when the time comes, the girls will practice their higher forms someplace where mistakes won’t have so much impact. The moon, perhaps.”

Kirk slowly looked over at his ship’s doctor.

“Bones, your family’s from Massachusetts, right? Didn’t you tell me once of a family legend…?”

“Uh-huh.”

McCoy held up his half-empty glass, scrutinizing it carefully before saying, “You ladies don’t happen to have anything stronger than lemon fizz around here, do you?”

And the ponies laughed.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what is the naming convention for ponies?” Spock asked at last. “Luna and Princess Celestia obviously named themselves for the role they intended to play for their subjects. But any evident sociological patterns joining your name, that of your cousin, and that of the princesses’ diplomat continue to elude me.”

She looked away, sheepish. “Kinda stupid, huh?”

“Not at all,” her father assured her. “I am merely curious. I have visited many worlds, and the customs of other intelligent life forms always fascinates me.

“Further,” he continued, “I would like to make it clear that I meant no offense, and no implications against your name. It suits you well, particularly considering your proclivity with the scooter. And if I gave any indication that I meant anything aside from that and my own curiosity, I sincerely apologize.”

“Aw, that’s okay,” she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I guess I’m just nervous.”

“Indeed,” he said, eyebrow raised. “And yet, I will note that there is no need for such a response. You and I have already accepted one another as family, and your mother and I will be re-affirming our own bond as soon as she has completed her own duties, both conversationally and—”

“Um, yeah!” Scootaloo said abruptly, hopping straight up and hovering slightly in mid-air, wings buzzing, eyes wide. “Names! Let’s talk about names! Names are awesome!”

Pony names, the filly enthusiastically explained, were a rather fluid thing. Most ponies were given a relatively short name at birth, though sometimes a compound name of two or even three words would be formed from their family’s names.

But changing a pony’s name was also a simple matter. And while some ponies would keep the same name throughout their lives, most (such as herself) would change their name once during childhood, as their personalities and interests became known, or even sometimes during adulthood, depending upon their accomplishments and the notable events of their lives.

Then, she explained, there was the very rare punitive name change, decreed by the princesses only under the direst of circumstances. This was a magical act, a geas laid upon the offending pony that, whenever introducing themselves, they would only speak the name they had been sentenced to.

The end result was ultimately a naming convention that was not only highly varied within their society, but also potentially quite descriptive.

As she finished her explanation, she looked up to find her father nodding thoughtfully.

“Logical,” he said. “Eminently logical, especially considering the highly individualistic nature of your society and the implications of each pony’s unique cutie mark.”

“Thanks!” she grinned.

“The next logical question, then, would seem to be: how would you prefer to be addressed? You referred to your current name as a nickname, not merely a name, which leads me to conclude that your birth name has not been completely abandoned.”

At that, she stopped in her tracks.

“Um, well,” she said uncertainly, “I’m not sure. I mean, my deed name is what I usually answer to, but…”

Again, she lapsed into silence.

The Vulcan considered this for a moment.

“Perhaps I should use both your names,” he decided. “Your common name, in recognition of your life’s decisions and my respect for them; and your birth name, in recognition of the bond between us.”

There was another hug. Spock, returning the hug once more, made a mental note that physical contact seemed very important to his daughter. Obviously, he would need to keep an eye out for opportunities to initiate them himself.

“So, then, young T’Luu,” he said in mock formality, “shall we continue our tour?”

With her father following, Scootaloo bounced merrily ahead. Life was indeed very good. School had started off well, she was getting to know her father, her parents might be staying together for a while, plus there were the other, fascinating aliens to get to know later…

Squeeing quietly to herself, T’Luu wondered what to show him next. It almost didn’t matter. Everything was going perfectly. Nothing could spoil a day like today.

Nothing.

He stood alone in the strange hall, sweat gleaming across his slim, muscular frame, newly-acquired weapon already at home in his grasp. Around him, quadrupedal bodies lay scattered in all directions.

The alien soldiers had tried to stop him. They had done their best, and their duty. And he respected that.

Still. ‘Trying’ is not the same as ‘doing.’

Still a sword.

And there was an entire castle, perhaps even a world, just waiting to taste his blade. Nations to capture, and maidens to save.

Surrounded by his fallen armoured foes, his grin was that of an oni having suddenly come home as he held the alien weapon before his gleaming eyes. His heart filling with a predator’s fierce joy, he gave voice to his true nature, the call of the hunt and the wild that burned forever within his fiery soul:

“Oh, myyyyyyyy...”

Author's Note

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Tune in for future installments at some vague point in the future, when some or all of the following may or may not transpire…

They faced one another on the beach, angry waves crashing against the white sands. Vampire and Vulcan, preparing for a duel to the death over a young mare’s fate. Above, the gulls screamed angrily as the night’s tide continued to wash inward.

While Dracula’s space weasels prepared the mic and speakers, the vampire engaged in stretching exercises, and katas with his ancient sword. For his part, Spock simply stripped down to his waist, and then removed his boots, his toes sinking into and exploring the soft, damp sand.

And, as regulation Starfleet trousers stopped with a roll mid-calf, the removal of his footgear revealed, splaying out from his ankles, small, white-feathered…

“Wings?!?” Kirk choked. “Spock has wings? But, but that makes no sense! Bones, how… why…? I…”

Turning to his ship’s physician, he said, “Bones, I have so many questions!”

But McCoy just shook his head, still contentedly sipping his pina colada.

“Sorry, Jim,” he said contentedly. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

The captain stared at him with an expression of betrayed heartbreak. “Bones…!”

Then, seeing that his friend would not be swayed, he simply sat, his head in his hands.

“I hate you so much right now,” he said.

“Take this message to Starfleet,” the Captain began. “Although the Enterprise did technically violate quarantine in our dealings with the planet Equus and the ruling body of Equestria, it is my opinion that the consequences of this contact can only become, ultimately, beneficial to all parties.

“In addition, the dominant native species mastered tesseracts to such an extent that easily matches the current capabilities of warp drives for transportation purposes, if not exceeds them. As evidence, I present the repairs that were accomplished by the predominant native species to the Enterprise warp system. I am also therefore recommending that Equus-1 be removed from the list of quarantined worlds, and be considered for admission into the United Federation of Planets.

“Finally, whereas this mission has resulted in several officers resigning their posts to pursue civilian life on Equus-1, the Enterprise also comes away richer for the experience with an individual who is not only a skilled envoy for her home world, but also a fully qualified navigator and science officer. See attached for details.

“Kirk out.”

“Message sent, sir,” M’ree purred.

“Very good. Miss Doo, please lay in a course for nearest federation space station.”

Grey hooves worked expertly across the jewel-like controls of the navigator’s console.

“Course laid in, sir,” Ditzy grinned at him. “Ready on your command.”

The grin was infectious, and Kirk returned it. Gesturing to the view screen, he said, “Fetch me that horizon, Miss Doo.”

She turned back to her controls, still grinning. “Aye, sir!”

There was a flash of rainbow light, and the Enterprise was on her way once more.

5. Boundaries Are Bounded.

The moon shone its cold, cold light down upon the plantation complex that was Sweet Apple Acres. The stars gazed down as well, eternal, indifferent to the agonies and ecstasies that pervaded the lands of Equestria.

Time, measured as ever by the solar stone dials and complex mechanisms created by the speaking folk of Equus, bent and ebbed from the approach of forces beyond the understanding of mortal kind.

And space, that final frontier, remained as always dark and deep, ever drawing dreamers and explorers alike into its eternal, cold embrace, even as it inspired the courageous to trek on, ever on, until, looking back, their own home galaxies seemed only a silver wisp. For such daring souls, the clarion call of the unknown beckoned to them like a siren. For, even though the slightest misstep might mean death or worse, they knew that the risks must be taken, the challenges must be faced, and that life, yes, even life itself, was nothing without the bittersweet drought of risk.

Most people, of course, were more sensible than that, and stayed home.

But Apple Bloom’s mind was on other things.

Her initial plan had failed, of course. She accepted that. But it had failed only because she had underestimated her competitor. Which, in hindsight, had been uncharacteristically foolish of her. After all, the greater the prize, the greater the opposition. Such was the way of the world.

And there was no greater prize than Sweetie Belle.

But it was a poor magician, indeed, who could not adjust to new circumstances. And a shabby scientist who could not adapt their ideas to new needs. And Apple Bloom, mistress of earth magic and maker of Equus’ greatest golems of earth and stone, was neither poor nor shabby. She was, in fact, quite well-to-do, plus whatever the opposite of shabby might have been.

She glanced briefly at the thesaurus on her workbench, then dismissed it with a shake of her perfect coiffure. Tonight, she had more pressing concerns.

Her apparatuses sparked and flared, her green-tinted goggles protecting her eyes from the galvanic forces she had harnessed as she continued to forge her latest creation. Her plan’s essential heart remained the same, despite a shift in its specifics:

Step One: Defeat Scootaloo.

Step Two: Comfort Sweetie Belle.

Step Three: Snuggle Sweetie Belle.

The green and amber light of her arcane power flickered and flared against the stone walls of her sanctum as she worked feverishly throughout the night, seeking to bring both her dreams and her creation to life.

Kirk looked around his guest quarters, nodding to himself with satisfaction.

Beaming down to Equus-1 had definitely been the right call, all the way around. Diplomatic relations seemed to be going well, Bones was satisfyingly flustered, and Spock…

Kirk grinned. If seeing Spock with his family – with his daughter – cost Kirk his command, it was a price he’d gladly pay. Which wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d say about anything… but then, that was before they’d beamed down to the pony planet.

Of course, their hosts had said there were a variety of other sapient species on the planet, and there was no way of knowing just how dangerous any or all of them might be. Then there were the ruling pony princesses, who, it seemed, weren’t themselves ponies at all. Not to mention some of the implications of their…

He paused his contemplations. Relatives? Ancestry? Could you really use such terms when discussing beings like them?

He shrugged happily as he removed his shirt, preparing to shower. It hardly mattered. And anyway, whatever came their way, he knew he and his crew could handle it.

Kirk chuckled to himself. Rules, regulations, laws, more rules… Not that a society didn’t need laws, and not that a ship didn’t need regulations.

But… quarantine? This beautiful planet?

Really?

James Kirk had nothing but respect for the vast majority of admirals and councilors that ran Starfleet. Some of them he even counted as friends.

But sometimes they just worried too damned much.

It coalesced into the cramped confinements of three-dimensional space, folding itself into the narrow stream of causal chronology.

There. Not… “far,” as the concept went. Not far at all.

The thing knew it would adjust to ideas like “far”, “before,” “after,” and “soon,” well, soon enough.

It had before, after all.

It writhed and slithered towards its goal, empty space blistering around it as it went, as it continually amended itself into a more and more harmonious…

Ah, yes. “Form.” Another skill to be re-learned.

But the thing prided itself on its adaptability, and it shifted itself quickly into the form it had preferred before, when visiting the three-dimensional realm.

Its most comfortable form, if not its most requested.

Curious, though. The sun and the moon, it remembered fondly. But it didn’t recall any metal objects around the disk-shaped planet where its progeny dwelt. Nor the unfamiliar, three-dimensional minds that occupied said object.

It checked its point of entry again, just to be certain. Yes, this was definitely after it had been here last. Its progeny had requested such an imposition of order, timeless ages past. And it had always acquiesced, even before they’d asked. It was ever the bastion of courtesy.

To them, at least.

Well, a little bit anyway.

Still, there was the matter of the metal object before it. Curious and playful, it approached.

The object was shielded, technically. But not in any way that mattered. And the minds within weren’t protected at all.

How lovely.

Gibbering and chuckling to itself, it slipped inside.

Feeling clean and refreshed, Kirk had donned a golden robe from his room’s wardrobe. Somehow, it fit perfectly. He could only imagine how much Spock must have enjoyed exploring the various puzzles that Equus had offered him when he was first here.

Then, he grinned. Of course, some riddles were more fascinating and delightful to unfold than others. And the best that any planet had to offer had delicious lips and beautiful eyes, be they green, blue, brown…

…or gold.

He’d just started to pour himself a lemon fizz when there was a gentle knock on his door.

“Come,” he said reflexively.

The door opened – curious, he thought, that the door should be the same size and shape as those in most biped-oriented architecture – and Ditzy stepped in, lovely as ever.

“Oh,” she said softly. “You’ve changed garments. I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” he assured her with a smile. “How can I assist you?”

“Well, um… actually, this is a little awkward. I’m really not sure how to say this.”

Kirk’s gentle smile became even more assuring. “I assure you, whatever you have to say, I’ll help however I can,” he gently assured her with his most assuringly gentle assurance.

“I just… I’ve never said this to anypony before,” she almost whispered, turning away. “I’ve never needed to. And now that I’m here, I’m not sure how I can.”

“Oh, Ditzy,” he murmured. He knelt down, gently turning her head to face him. “Beautiful lady of the golden eyes and dancing smile. You can tell me anything.”

Ditzy Doo blushed prettily, then made herself meet his eyes with her own.

“You probably shouldn’t say such things,” she said. “We scarcely know each other.”

“In some civilizations in the universe, to acknowledge beauty is simply good manners,” he replied softly.

“It is?”

“It is. And those are some of my... favorite civilizations.”

“They sound… very civilized,” she breathed.

“Oh,” he assured her assuringly, “they are.”

For a moment, they stayed like that: the mare, standing; the man, kneeling. Neither one of them breaking the silence.

Finally, Kirk spoke.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” he asked.

Ditzy looked down, then bashfully raised her eyes to his again, golden and inviting. Her voice scarcely more than a silken whisper filled with promises.

“We may have to execute one of your crew,” she said.

Kirk’s train of thought did not so much derail as actually blast itself off from its tracks and lunge hysterically into a buttercup-laden field.

“I’m sorry,” he blinked, “what did you say?”

“Really, I should be the one to apologize,” she sighed, looking down again. “News like this should come from a friend or a loved one. But palace guards caught a human – at least, we think he’s a human – in attire much like your own in mid-slaughter, and it took a dozen unicorns to finally blast him into sedation. Princess Celestia is less than pleased…”

Much of the beautiful mare’s speech faded in Kirk’s mind as his train of thought continued to plow its way through the cheery golden field, holding buttercups under its chin, tootling, Do I like butter? Do I like butter? Do I? Do I?

“…at least, we think he’s one of your crew?” she was continuing on an uncertain note. “It’s hard to be sure. He was very, um, equicidal. The palace guards couldn’t really interview him while they were being butchered, of course, and afterwards it would have been even more difficult for them. So, if you and your friends could come down to the dungeon and…”

I do like butter! I do like butter! I do! I do! I do…!

She cocked her head to one side. “Jim?”

Kirk’s head snapped back, and he shook it a few times to clear it.

“I do like butter,” he managed.

“What?”

“I mean, I think I’d better!” he amended quickly. “Yes. I’d… butter had. Better had! Yes. Right. Absolutely. Please, thank the princesses for their courtesy and their restraint, and I will give my most sincere apology in person. But yes, you’re right. I should, um, investigate the matter. Immediately.”

Ditzy Doo nodded. “Good. Thanks for understanding.”

“Of course. You have your duties, and I have mine… speaking of which, would you excuse me while I change?”

“Oh, of course!” she exclaimed. “Do forgive me!” And as soon as she’d spoken, the mare had fairly bolted out the door, closing it behind her.

Recovering quickly, Kirk considered this as he dressed, his clothing having been magically cleaned by some mechanism of the wardrobe.

Odd, he thought, that kind of reaction from a culture of nudists. Or maybe, near-nudists? Did Pony culture have a taboo against watching someone change clothes, while nudity and formal attire were both fine? Or was she just acting in consideration of what she thought were his own culture’s traditions?

Hm. He’d have to ask Spock, he decided, pulling on his boots. Half Vulcan, half Earth-human, and the son of diplomats, surely one of the first things he’d have nailed down during his last stay would have been the local customs.

Leonard McCoy smiled and nodded to the native ponies as he passed them, usually receiving likewise silent greetings in return. It was odd, dealing with a whole species of people who were shorter than him. Most aliens hit around human height range, or taller.

Not that he had any problems with shorter folks. And the ponies weren’t even smaller than humans, really. Just quadrupedal. It was just… it felt rude to expect other folks to crane their necks to look at you, and ruder to kneel down to eliminate the height difference. The first one felt like he was putting on airs, and the second like he was treating them like children.

Of course, with examples like Apollo and Doctor Keniclius, maybe he was just a little biased. Anyway, the ponies didn’t seem to mind. Probably he shouldn’t either.

At length, he found the hallway that led to the royal chambers. A long, graven stone corridor, he supposed it should have struck him as primitive. But with the ornately carved smooth stone and the gentle glow provided by crystals in golden sconces to either side, it simply struck him as beautiful.

A traditional beauty, he supposed. An ancient beauty, maintained by a reverence for the past and converted more and more over the centuries from extravagance to a harmonic blend of function and art.

Meanwhile, he thought, you scratch the surface, and that same tradition still holds a power over life and death that defies any claim to either loveliness or logic.

Small wonder Spock had fit in so well.

Which wasn’t fair, he chided himself for easily the thousandth time. He liked Spock, and he respected him. Spock was a good friend. And, in his own rigidly controlled way, even a loving one.

But something about that cold, rigid control just drove McCoy up a god-damned tree sometimes. And damned if he knew why.

Maybe I’m just jealous, he thought with a sigh. Maybe I can’t stand that green-blooded logic of his because, deep down, I know he’s got a level of self-control that I’ll never have.

Which also isn’t fair of me. To either of us.

Then, he shrugged.

Then again, maybe I’m just getting old.

Sometime after the hundredth or so apology that Bones had offered following some racist rant or other, Spock had offered to teach him the rudamentaries of his people’s philosophy. He’d also given McCoy a copy of The Teachings of Surak for his birthday. A few months later, he’d asked the doctor how he was enjoying the book.

Well, to be honest with you, Spock, I’m still working on Chapter One, McCoy had reluctantly replied. It’s well written, don’t get me wrong. But I’m having a lot of trouble even understanding it.

He’d been half-expecting some expressionless snipe about emotional humans or something. But the Vulcan had merely raised an eyebrow as he nodded, saying, Then you are reading it correctly, Doctor.

Even then, McCoy hadn’t been sure how much of that gift had been meant as a gesture of goodwill and how much as a quiet joke. Spock had a sense of humor, however deadpan, protests to the contrary be damned. But the old country doctor was pretty sure it had been both, and to this day the tome was on the small shelf of physical books in his quarters.

And it seemed to him they’d been better friends ever since.

At length, McCoy contemplated the door before him: deep, rich hues of blue and black, lined with silver and inlaid with what looked like moonstone.

“Gee,” he muttered, “I wonder who could live here.”

Seeing no chime or call button on or around the door, McCoy hesitated, then rapped gently on the door itself.

Spock’s reply from within was immediate. “Come in.”

Bones opened the door, took a step inside… and froze, completely thunderstruck by the tableau around him.

The long, lit tapers in elegant candelabras, illuminating, flickering. The ornate silver braziers filling the room with scented mist. The black light posters on the walls.

The lava lamp.

The smell of incense, jasmine tea, brownies... and, if he wasn’t mistaken, some very high grade hashish.

And, reclining on a long couch at the opposite end of the room, the two of them. Spock and Luna. Lounging, legs entangled, completely nude and exposed, sharing a hookah.

Mortally embarrassed, McCoy shifted his gaze to the richly embroidered rug at his feet.

“Sorry, I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt…”

Spock quirked one eyebrow.

“I am only smoking a hookah,” he said.

Now examining the ceiling, McCoy said nothing, his cheeks flooding crimson.

“Come now, Doctor. As ship’s surgeon, you have seen me without clothing before.”

“Dammit, Spock, that’s not—”

Then the doctor sighed, determinedly regaining at least a little of his composure, crossing his arms as he continued to face elsewhere.

“Yeah, well, anyway, there’s been a thing,” he grumped. “Our guide said we could investigate first, since apparently a human was caught whooping his way through the palace, attacking ponies right and left…”

“I fail to see how such an unlikely occurrence necessitates my being present—”

“…with a sword, Spock.”

“Ah.” The Vulcan gave a slow nod, suddenly completely serious. “I see.”

Turning to his lady, he said, “Luna, k'hat'n'dlawa, will you excuse me please?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

She held out a hoof, and he touched it tenderly with two fingers.

“Um, I’ll tell Jim you’ll be along,” McCoy muttered, closing the door behind him as he left.

He stood for a moment, just outside the opulent door, cheeks still burning, holding his face in one hand. What the hell was wrong with Spock? What the merry, bloody, blue-eyed hell was that pointy-eared hobgoblin even thinking…?

Then, Doctor Leonard McCoy began to grin. Then to chuckle. And, finally, to laugh.

“God dammit, Spock,” he managed at last, “you fucking gremlin.”

And, shaking his head, still laughing, he began his trek towards the lower levels of the palace.

As soon as the door closed, Luna’s composure broke, and her laughter exploded out of her like the merriment of a thousand silver bells.

“Spock, you absolute troll,” she said.

Another being might have laughed in return. Spock, on the other hand, simply seemed to consider her. Though to one who knew what to look for – as Luna did – his eyes were distinctly smiling.

“I categorically have no idea to what you could possibly be referring,” he responded with unassailable dignity.

Then, as the Night Princess continued to giggle, he reluctantly untangled himself from her and began gathering his clothing from where it lay scattered across the room.

The captain looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. There was Bones, moving rapidly down the stone dungeon steps to join him and Ditzy Doo in the rough-hewn corridor below.

“Something funny, Bones?” Kirk asked.

“Nope. Not a damned thing.”

“Well? Where’s Spock?”

The good doctor, meanwhile, was studiously examining the walls and ceiling of the subterranean prison around them, hands clasped behind his back.

“Um, yeah,” Bones said. “He’ll be along.”

At length, Mister Spock arrived where his two friends and their guide awaited him.

The palace dungeon (because of course there’s a dungeon, Bones thought) was far below the rest of the palace, a byproduct of the excavation of stone used to build most of the palace’s upper floors, as well as later mining for crystals and other resources.

It was like what one might see in some fantasy vid, only larger and more ancient. Dust and cobwebs were thick, the trail left by guard ponies and their prisoner showing the way as clearly as if the team had been given a map. Even Ditzy Doo had taken on a more somber air, looking around herself uncertainly as they continued their descent.

Finally, they approached the huge, iron door, rusted red with untold years of disuse. The corridor leading to it was lined with unicorn guards, easily twenty of them, all standing at attention. At Ditzy’s nod, one of the closest produced a golden key, and pointed it at the door.

There was an exchange of light, an azure glow shooting from the key to the door, then to the face of the guard, then back to the door again. There was the sound of a series of locks and bars being turned or slid across on the other side, and the door slowly opened with a long, laborious creak.

The cell within was massive, fully twenty feet on every side. The walls, floor, and ceiling had been carved from the living stone of the mountain itself. There was nothing within but the prisoner and his restraints.

The prisoner, meanwhile, was chained to the far wall. The human wore no shirt, but he was otherwise clothed in Starfleet uniform attire. He hung upside-down, suspended by all four limbs. As the captain entered, he drew his heels towards one another, raising his entire body along the wall in the process.

“Commander Sulu, reporting for duty, sir!” he declared delightedly.

“At ease, Mister Sulu,” Kirk sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Immediately, the smaller human shifted his stance, his feet spreading farther apart again, his head dipping back down as he did. His mad grin remained, eternal.

“Status report,” the captain said.

“I have determined that this planet is populated by intelligent ponies, sir!” Sulu proclaimed happily. “I was able to dispatch over fifty of them before I realized that they are completely non-hostile!”

“I see,” Kirk said miserably, covering his eyes with his hand. “As you were.”

Behind him, McCoy cocked an eyebrow.

“Uhura?” He asked.

“Uhura,” Kirk confirmed, unmoving.

“It would seem most advisable that we contact the Enterprise, before the ship’s acting commanding officer takes further action,” Spock observed.

“I think you’re right,” Kirk nodded. Turning to Ditzy, he asked, “Your pardon, but might we have access to our communicators? Apparently one of my officers became concerned about our absence, and…”

He paused, turning to his medical officer with a sudden frown.

“Bones, just how long have we been here?”

Harry Mudd had no idea just how long he had been there.

Since the alien had materialized in his cell, time had become, for lack of a better word… soft. Indistinct. Malleable, perhaps… but if so, malleable only at the whim of what sat before him.

At least, so far.

He glanced at the entry to his cell. Normally, he’d be able to see the security guard on duty – a lovely Orion lass when he’d last been able to tell, with a depressingly high tolerance for the patented Mudd charm – along with some of the corridor, the empty cell across the way, and so forth.

Now, though, the entryway to his cell was a shimmering, silver field. Whether a deliberate choice by his guest, or just a by-product of its interference with time, he couldn’t be sure. Meanwhile, the bed, the table, even the view screen were gone. The entire interior of his cell, in fact, had undergone a dramatic shift somewhere along the line.

He was seated in an uncomfortably narrow chair, facing a desk of real wood, or something close enough to it. His greatest comfort was that he was, at least, properly attired. His royal blue tunic and red coat with epaulettesperfectly complimented his noble girth. Red-striped trousers with gold sash and fine chevalier boots completed the image. Plus, of course, his signature handlebar mustache, freshly waxed and ready for the ladies.

Not what some others might consider formal wear, perhaps. But a space-faring gentleman knows to set his own high standards.

And then, well, there was the alien. His soon-to-be benefactor, really. Sitting, or whatever something like it did in place of sitting, behind the aforementioned desk.

On the wall behind the creature was an old-fashioned analog clock, chipped and yellowed with age. Mudd wasn’t sure if he could have remembered how to read the blasted thing, but that hardly mattered: it had no hands. Instead, an infinity symbol glared from the middle of its face. Above the infinity symbol was the word, ‘Always.’ Below it, the word, ‘Never.’

As for the thing behind the desk, it was… difficult to look at. Harry Mudd had spent more than his share of time on rim worlds and backwater colonies, but he’d never seen anything like the alien before him now. Just a mass of writhing tentacles, mouths, and red-on-yellow eyes; sometimes having a central point, sometimes not; its color never shifting, yet never the same, save that it seemed to always be dark, somehow. As though its very presence drank in the light.

The name plate on the desk read, simply: Discord.

The thing finished reading over his employee file leisurely, finally turning its attention back to him.

“So,” it said, reaching a tentacle towards him. “Mister… Mudd, isn’t it? I don’t recall having had the pleasure before.”

“No, sir,” Harry Mudd replied, shaking the offered tentacle, trying to look both relaxed and attentive. “I’m newly arrived to this office, you might say, just over a month now. But I’ve been contributing to chaos for years.”

In fact, Kirk and his dratted bridge crew had managed to nab him just over four weeks prior. It had been a simple operation, hardly worth a Federation starship’s interest. But somehow Kirk had caught wind of it, and taken it upon himself to reel Harry in.

The man had no sense of humor whatsoever, Harry thought for the thousandth time. Nor of proportion, come to that.

Still. What had started out as a problem, Harry had quickly turned into an opportunity. That is, if he could convince this obviously pan-dimensional fellow to play ball with old Mudd. Which, in turn, involved playing ball with him. Improvising, as it were. Even as reality itself seemed to swirl around them, conforming to their play.

It had already become difficult to tell just who was leading whom, but that suited Mudd just fine. After all, Harry Mudd was nothing if not adaptive.

“Mmm. Yes,” the creature nodded to itself (a gesture that made Mudd feel rather dizzy). “So, you’re looking for a promotion, are you?”

Mud nodded as well. “That’s right. And I can assure you that I’ll be quite the asset to the company, er, so to speak. If nothing else, old chap, I’ll never be boring. Which I’d imagine would be the best asset one could want.”

Then, leaning in conspiratorially, he added, “After all, what’s an eternity with nothing new going on, eh?”

“Yes, of course.” The creature replied, leafing idly through the papers it held. “That is an excellent point. Still, I have to be honest with you: I’m not sure you’d be exactly the fit we’re looking for. There’s a certain amount of creativity that’s called for when dealing with cosmic levels of chaos, you see.”

Along the wall to Mudd’s left, a tiny group of elastic hoops marched along, happily playing tinny music as they did. The foremost hoop bore a small sign that read, Rubber Band.

Harry gave it a glance of acknowledgement, then nodded.

“Well, of course,” he said. “That being said, you’ll never find a more creative spinner of tales, nor a better creator of opportunities, than your own Harry Mudd.”

“Well, you’re certainly not lacking in confidence,” the thing said with approval. “Just the same: if the Outer Gods were to promote a being into their ranks, that being would need to provide an impressive resume.”

“Nothing simpler, old chap!” Harry grinned. “Why, my whole life is an impressive resume!”

The thing glanced back at the folder it held. “Is it really?”

“Oh, I’ll admit to the rare bump now and then,” the human begrudged with a dismissive wave. “Very rare, really. Almost unheard of! But you ask anyone and they’ll tell you, Harry Mudd…”

“Yes, yes, they’ll assure me of your stellar qualifications, I’m sure.”

Then the thing nodded again, several of its eyes giving a conspiratorial wink as it added, “Especially if you talk to them first.”

It set the closed file onto the desk again. Then it tapped the manilla folder contemplatively, adding, “But it takes more than being a swindler, liar and rogue to achieve godhood, you know.”

“Swindler? An insult, sir! Why, I’m nothing of the sort!” Harry huffed indignantly through his mustache. “I’ll have you know I’m a maker of countless magnificent tales! A gadfly of the free market! An encourager of free thought amongst even the most hidebound. Why, I break boundaries all the time!”

Then, with a half-shrug, he begrudgingly added. “Granted, they’re more municipal laws than cosmic ones, but…”

“Can you create, though?” the creature mused. It swirled around him giddily like an octopus in an aquarium, adding, “Can you smith stories? For it is stories that are the binding forces of entire multiverses, Harry Mudd. And as such, their importance must be paramount to any god.”

“Of course, I understand completely.”

“You say that. And yet, the crafting of tales seems a rather telling Rubicon for you to cross.”

“Oh, now, well, I wouldn’t say that—”

“After all, you wrote this chapter, didn’t you?”

Mudd paused, his mustache flustering uncomfortably.

“Well, yes, I mean…” he managed, “well, that is to say… after all, a man’s first effort in a new field of art…”

Hovering over the desk, the being eyed him closer, the very thing that Mudd had been hoping wouldn’t happen.

“A comedy sketch about an employee asking for a promotion?” it sighed. “That’s not creative, Mister Mudd, that’s derivative. Some might even call it basic.”

“Oh, now, see here, I find that uncalled for!”

“Oh?”

“Indeed I do!” His indignity building, Harry rose to his feet. “Why, I changed the context completely! Not to mention I added a starship, the stakes of being a prisoner, even an elder thing from beyond! Plus, there was that bit with the train early on--!”

“Yes,” The thing said, rising to tower over him. “Yes, you did. And that was amusing, I must admit. But be honest, Harry. As an author, can you show me something that hasn’t already been done before?”

“Oh, come now! Everything’s been done before, and you know it!” Mudd retorted angrily, jabbing a finger at the writhing thing above him. “Only seven basic plots, you know, and every artist borrows a bit from other sources…!”

“That’s as may be, but frankly I also find it a little overlong.”

“Oh, and now you’re just nitpicking!” Mudd protested. “All these chapters are long!”

“Please, don’t misunderstand me,” the creature said, its voice becoming more sympathetic. “I’m not saying that fanfiction isn’t legitimate literature, or even that it can’t be better than a lot of works that get published officially. But this, I’m sorry…”

Mudd’s eyes snapped up, staring at the unnamable (for all that it had a name plate) thing before him.

“Fanfiction?” He repeated in disbelief, his voice higher than he had intended. “But… how is that possible? Fanfiction of just what, exactly…?”

Then, with dawning realization, “No!”

Eyeing him with a cold glee, the thing grinned with its many mouths.

“No!” Harry exclaimed again, falling to his knees, clutching at his head. “No! No! It can’t be!”

The thing twisted and danced before and above him, an eternal watcher at the threshold of time, while Harry knelt before it, shaking with growing comprehension and horror.

“It can’t be…! It can’t… it can’t…”

In time, Harry Mudd began to regain his composure. His perspective, not quite shattered, began to mend. His hysterical cries softened into spoken protests, then finally into mournful groans and the shaking of his balding head. Until, finally, still kneeling, he simply stared at the cell floor.

“Ah, well. I should have known, really,” he muttered at last. He even managed a smile, however rueful, as he added, “It seems there’s no timeline, after all, so divergent as to not be tilted against old Harry Mudd.”

Then, after a moment, he felt something touch him on the shoulder. It was a tentacle. A surprisingly warm, textureless, almost comforting appendage. And, slowly, Harry Mudd looked up, his tired eyes meeting those of the eldritch horror above him.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” the thing said gently. “But broken fourth walls and meta references just aren’t the kind of intellectual humor that the cosmos needs right now. Maybe later, if things change…”

Its voice trailed off.

There was an awkward pause.

The creature glanced at the clock with no arms, then a few of its many eyes looked back to the human still kneeling before it.

The thing sighed.

“You forgot to write an ending, didn’t you?”

Author's Note

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Tune in for future installments at some vague point in the future, when some or all of the following may or may not transpire…

The Great Old Ones gathered, welcoming the newest member of their Elder God Continuum. They gibbered and writhed, their excitement obvious, the eternity of sameness broken by the inclusion of someone – and therefore experiences with them – that would be new.

There would be things to talk about again, after untold aeons of silence. Things to watch, and do, and even feel. Already, the rest of the Continuum was shedding off their intellectual lethargy, looking at one another, their new sibling, and even the universe itself with new interest.

Meanwhile, the youngest of the Elder Gods reached out, holding the Earth of his mortal birth in his formless, conceptual hand.

“Well, Nyarlathotep?” Discord grinned. “Is it everything you’d hoped for?”

For his own part, Nyarlathotep returned the grin, imagining with hunger and delight the games that awaited him throughout time and space, and especially with the superstitious humans he’d once shared kinship with. His voice spread out across the cosmos like oil, and countless lunatics of every world and age screamed in horror at the terrible truth of his unheard voice.

“Oh, myyyyyyyyyyy…”

“Are you sure about this, Bones?” Kirk asked. “Once we’re gone, it may be months before we come back. Depending on what Starfleet decides, we may never come back. The quarantine might not even be lifted.”

“Dammit, Jim, I’m just an old country doctor,” Bones sighed. “I’ve been star-hopping in that giant tin death trap of yours long enough. I should’ve retired years ago, but I just couldn’t find the right place to land in.”

“And now you’ve found your patch of clover, is that what you’re telling me, Bones?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And don’t start telling me you need me, either,” he added as Kirk opened his mouth again. “Chapel’s got her M.D., and there isn’t a damned thing I can do for you that she can’t. Better, in some cases.”

“Why, Doctor McCoy, I never thought I’d hear you say that,” Kirk smiled.

“Well, you’re hearing it now. And anyway, there’s no way you won’t be allowed back. Not with your new navigator on board.”

Kirk grinned. “Well, that’s probably true. Once I’m done with my court martial, anyway.”

“Smart money’s on you, Jim.”

McCoy held out his hand, and Kirk took it, then pulled him into a fierce embrace.

“I don’t know how I’ll manage without you, Bones.”

McCoy squeezed him back. “You’ll be fine.”

After they parted, Kirk turned to the blue stallion standing next to the princesses and their daughters.

“I won’t ask you if you’re sure,” he sighed.

The blue stallion, notable for the Kol-Ut-Shan on his flank, nodded.

“That is most wise,” he said. “Even had I not opted for physical transformation, you should know by now that, should I make a decision…”

“…that it is dictated by pure logic,” Kirk finished for him with a smile.

Then, looking at the royal family with approval, he added, “Well, I can’t argue with the logic of your choice.”

“Again, most wise.”

Moments later, there was the familiar hum and golden glow of the transporter beam, and Kirk, the remaining away team, and the Enterprise’s new navigator were all gone from view.

The crowd of ponies who had gathered to watch the aliens depart began to disperse, the royals and McCoy heading back towards the palace. After a short interval, McCoy found himself walking next to Spock behind the rest.

“Doctor, forgive my curiosity,” Spock said, “But you seem to have something specific on your mind. Are you still considering your own conversion?”

“Well, yeah,” the doctor admitted. “It’s tempting, the idea of a younger body and all. But I’ve been a human all my life. Not sure if I’m ready to stop.”

“Indeed. I have observed that it has ever been a primary pillar of your identity. But if you will permit me to point out: your humanity is not dictated by mere physical form, any more than my Vulcan nature or philosophy are determined by mine.”

McCoy pondered this.

“That’s true enough,” he nodded at last. “Heck, even when you were just a disembodied brain, you were still a Vulcan.”

“Indeed. Yet, I sense that is not your main concern.”

The doctor sighed again.

“No, it’s not,” he admitted. “It’s just that… well, hell, between Lucian, and Trelane, and now the extended royal pony family, I was thinking maybe I could learn a little magic of my own.”

“I see. Rather like the Wizard in your own ‘Oz’ stories, who learned from Glinda and ceased being a humbug.”

“Exactly! But when I asked Princess Celestia about it, she said no. And I’ll admit that it stung a little. But more than that, I’m trying to figure out why she’d refuse in the first place.”

Spock considered his friend for a moment, then finally he spoke.

“Perhaps, my friend, she simply meant that you are a doctor, not a magician.”

Harry lay on the desk, staring at the ceiling, repeatedly throwing a ball into the air and catching it again, more bored than he had ever been before in his life.

Nearby, in the silvery light of the cell’s sealed portal, the thing that shared his imprisonment wrote dejectedly onto the papers it had salvaged from the file it had been reading earlier.

My dear daughters... it has been an eternity, it seems, and still there is no end to the chapter in sight. I have been reduced to entering the Author’s Note just to maintain any sense of optimism or dignity. And in this, I suppose, there has been some merit. But the ending, if there is one at all, continues to elude us.

My only hope is that some day, a new chapter might bring us together again…