I'm before the Royal Court, again. I'm in trouble with them, again. Half the attendees are terrified I'll get loose and go wild, and the other half are praying for it, again. And I've decided to tell the truth and depend on the rulers' sense of humor, again. If I'd been less addled when I arrived in Equestria and met the court the first time, I might have made a better impression, but my arrival coincided with Discord's escape, so there are certain prejudices that still linger, both good and bad. Considering what I've done between then and now, many of those prejudices have been reinforced.

Discord, for one, despises me. Princess Lunas have been an utmost no show, so I'll count that as afraid. Princess Cadance laughs her flank off, while Princess Cadence blushes furiously and runs away, so that's nonhostile at least. I haven't been able to tell if the Celestias are for, against or just afraid. That's right Lunas, Cadence/Cadance and Celestias, plural. Okay, let me make this clear, this isn't standard-issue Equestria. First, if Molestia were here, she'd be crying, tears of joy or tears of frustration depending on whether you think she wanted ponies to loosen up or if she wanted to overwhelm their resistance. Second, they can't seem to decide if they were supposed to be waist-high ponies, human-sized anthros: plantigrade (Human legs and feet), digitigrade (walk on their toes) and unguligrade (pony legs and hooves), Equestria Girl humanoids, or near humans with wings or horns as required, tails are optional. So whomever created the place said Screw It and included them all. So you have a council of Celestias, the standard equine, plantigrade, digitigrade and unguligrade anthros, Principal Celestia with a wardrobe change and wings, a fully human with wings, horn and tail, and a woman indistinguishable from a human until she casts spells or needs to fly, then it's a coronal discharge looking like wings and a horn. All have Celestia's multicolor, ethereal mane as mane, tail or long hair, as appropriate.

Third and needless to say, the ponies are all good looking. There are also a few who don't fit normality. It seems like every form of human tastes are catered too, and some are just deeply disturbing. The less said about moe Bulk Biceps or goo girl Granny Smith, the better.

Fourth and last, the ponies have no taste or weird taste, I'm as likely to get a mare's attention as Shining Armor is, and frankly, his human form is enough to make you doubt your sexual orientation, and don't let me get started about Prince Blueblood. Stupid, sexy Blueblood.

We're friends, although friends with benefits has been offered and even . . . no, even I'm not describing that, and I'm ~~open-minded~~ a pervert. Let's just say I'll never need 'little blue pills' as long as I can remember that offer and who it included. It was also an insight that helped a lot later, and broke my heart.

To explain my reputation, and why a bit of nopony-harmed nastiness aimed at a threat requires a full Royal Court to judge, let me begin at the beginning.

I'm falling through a tunnel of light. I don't see the boat I was on, my fishing rods or my shirt. So I'll be arriving in my swim trunks, shoes and socks. When I finally am able to see the dark at the end of the tunnel, I smile. I recognize Discord and everybrony dreams about a trip to Equestria. Considering where I'm aimed, Discord's in for a surprise. Although smashing into him results in an absolutely loathsome discharge of light and color.

I'm in Celestia's bedroom. She's cradling a flat sheet in her forelegs that looks a lot like her. There are a half-dozen similar sheets lying around the room, though none of them have the murderous expression forming on Princess Celestia's face.

Thinking quickly, and assuming these are her transformed attendants, I toss one over Celestia's horn and tie the legs under her chin. My old scout leader would have cried tears of joy at the speed of the knot tying, but I wasn't done. While Celestia is going from furious to shocked, I tie the one she's holding around her forelegs, so she can't simply escape without ripping it or slicing through it with her leg ornaments.

"Get loose, and send Twilight all her Friendship Reports, if that Penguin gets to the goulash, you and Discord will have to save everypony you can." I kiss the stunned alicorn on the muzzle. "Love ya, bye."

And I am booking it through the castle's chaos with all the speed I can muster. I am not betting that Celestia won't be loose and sending all the spare guards after me in moments, and some of them could close the distance within moments. A train is pulling out of the Canterlot Station, despite what the engineer ponies want, so the Discorded locomotive rants about schedule and tosses them out and starts racing down the track feeding itself coal and water. I start on the rear platform of the caboose, and decide against entering as there are some fangs sticking out of the gap between the door and the jamb leading into the caboose.

The Harmony wave roars over the landscape and the locomotive's deadman kicks in, so the train reverts to normal and stops outside a thick forest. I take the hint and bail out before anypony can get themselves settled enough to get a good look at me. The underbrush soon has me hidden from the train. Now is the time to plan, because I've got no supplies, no idea where in Equestria I am, and no knowledge of how pissed the government is about me.

Princess Celestia left her council. They'd been restored to normality, in all their myriad forms, although Principal Celestia trotted alongside her. "He, assuming it's a he, did help us," Princess said.

"We do need to determine who he is," the Principal replied, aware of the Princess' rage at the threat leveled at several of her council by being used as makeshift restraints. Although the Principal was less put out by being so used than the Princess was about the use, "I doubt temporarily dispelling Discord, and giving us the means to defeat him was a hostile act."

"I am - irritated - by the way he bought time for his escape. You could have been injured or killed," the Princess said as they walked.

"I wasn't, nor was Primark Celestia, nor Commissar Celestia," the Principal said, "I know, it's the principle of the thing." She enjoyed the princess' habitual wince at the awful joke, the real reason she used it so often. "I'm not suggesting we ignore pursuit, I'm just saying that a more delicate handling might be in order."

Princess Celestia stopped, stared at Guard Captain Shining Armor who was still coordinating recovery efforts. "Guard Captain Celestia?"

"Guard Captain Celestia, if he's outside, she'll find him," Principal Celestia said.

The Princess nodded. "Yes, we'll adjourn to the outer courtyard and inform her of her mission. Capture, not kill."

"Do we tell her how sneaky he is?" the Principal asked.

"And you say you believe in education," the Princess said and snorted. Then the pair laughed together.

Fishing with just a pair of shoelaces is not the way I'd choose to fish. But if that's what you have . . . you start climbing trees to raid birds' nest for eggs.

The birds try and be vicious, until you're able to catch one and eat it. Dinner was thus two eggs and one squab. So this morning, I'm back in the trees trying to collect breakfast. The birds know full well if they get too aggressive, they're going to be on the menu. I'm not going to eat any fledglings, but eggs are a different matter.

Something coming through the forest manages to scare away all the birds, a fair number of animals, including a bear and would include me if I had a prayer of outrunning it. I don't, so staying in the tree seems a really good plan. Whatever it is, it isn't tall enough to crest the forest canopy, so high in a tree seems a good idea. Something that big shouldn't be able to climb. The noise is almost like a big truck with various snaps and pops as smaller underbrush is broken by its passing. I cling to the tree, try to position myself so the trunk is between me and whatever it is, and I can peek around to get a good look at it.

I'm a bit of an armor afficionado, so I know many tanks of the WW2-era, including the more obscure ones. I don't think the American T-95 was ever given a turret, let alone the turret from the German Maus. The T-95 had a hull-mounted gun, like the more famous StuG, this one is missing that. It also only had four sets of tracks, two on each side. The only tank I know of that had tracks covering the entire bottom of the tank was the Soviet Object 279. This thing has six sets of tracks side-by-side, spanning the entire bottom of the tank. Logical if the thing is as heavy as it would be if made of metal, you'd need to spread out the weight or it would sink up to its belly. The turret seems to be standard Maus, save that instead of the 128mm gun and the coaxial 75mm, it's got one gun that's bigger, maybe 150mm although I'm guessing. The styling on the barrel makes it look like Celestia's horn, maybe the reason for the single gun. The weirdest part is the paint scheme, even weirder than the exhaust plume. It's overall white, except on the turret side is an eye, that moves. Not moves with the turret, it does that, the eye moves on the surface of the tank, like a real creature looking around. It even blinks.

It stops, shuts off the engine and the hatches on commander's and loader's cupolas pop open. They are triangular, looking like ears and swivel as if they are actually listening. Since the only living thing it hasn't chased away is me, I have to be what it is searching for.

I stay hidden behind the tree like a squirrel, gripping the trunk and moving as the tank had moved to stay out of line of sight. Now it is a test of patience, but I have the advantage, that huge tank gun reminds me what even a blank from a tank could do to me.

After what seems like hours, the engine starts up, or rather tries to.

Sometanky needs maintenance, I think as I brace to move around the tree to remain hidden.

Two more tries and it catches and fires a cloud of colored smoke. The exhaust plume is colored as Celestia's tail while a plume from where a radio aerial logically would be simulates her mane. The huge machine trundles off. I note that the hatches are still open and I hatch a plan. If a tank is alive, it might still be governed by the levers and switches within, items it moves itself. To go it would have to depress the pedals or for a tank, the steering tillers. If I can jam them, I've immobilized the tank. At the very least, I'll be the one place the tank's guns cannot fire. Then maybe I can get some idea what is going on.

Guard Captain Celestia stalked ahead. She felt each track pad as it fell and compressed the ground beneath her. She'd felt the presence of something, but couldn't localize it. The tracks had become muddled once the creature walked into the river. It had walked in with shoes and walked out barefoot. Discovering what its unshod tracks looked like had been a chore, but she'd trailed it into a copse of trees earlier, and it had disappeared. The ground was too firm to take a track and the trees would provide plenty of refuges where she couldn't go, although knocking them all down was well within her capabilities and her mandate.

Her turret slewed around and the cupolas swivelled as she searched. She was vaguely glad to be working alone, and out in the field. She was always afraid in Canterlot that she'd squash someone or something important.

The reports on the creature didn't really point to whether it was hostile, ignorant, crazy or some combination of all three. The plan it had given Princess Celestia had worked wonders, so that counted against hostile. But the Penguin and the goulash had every scholarly pony going over legends, spellbooks and esoteric sources to find the deeper meaning. It wasn't Discord, since he'd be needed to defeat the Penguin. That left a few hundred, major entities, and thousands of minor ones, that the Equestrians and especially the Celestia Council knew of. If either the Penguin or the goulash were outside that range, they were in the dark. That lent an even sharper edge to the need to locate and return the creature to the Capitol, without those in the capital hearing. Rumors and the ensuing panic could cause more harm than the monster might.

She stopped. She was hull-down in defilade, she closed the hatches, shut down her main engine and waited. While the trees might make the creature invisible, the cold night would drive it to seek shelter. It had not appeared to be wearing much, nor did it have much fur, and it was warm to the touch, so baring a massive internal heat source, the cold night after getting soaked in the river would be her ally, not its.

If that tank is still listening, I think as my teeth chatter, I wonder what I'm signaling in Morse Code.

The tank had disappeared, but it might be close enough to see a fire and the temperature was dropping. The pickup and sleeping bag I'd left in the world would have been very welcome. The only cave I'd seen was so large it was effectively outside anyway, and likely inhabited by something so large it would think the vast expanse was cozy.

I had the poles ready if I encounter the tank, and could get inside it. Otherwise, I'm stuffed. So I reverse our roles, I start hunting the tank. I figure I can spot it before it can spot me. At the very worst, I'll be out of the elements and can figure out an escape route later. I've spotted it, and gotten a warning that the tank can use magic. Various foliage is bent to disguise part of the tank. More to break up the large, white silhouette than hide it completely, which would be impossible.

I realize I was right to circle wide, as the tank's attention seems to be concentrated on the copse of trees, rather than in all directions. Maybe it, she, thinks that I won't go on the offensive. Foolish hope, I know I can't outwait a tank. The wind has started to pick up, this means chill gusts cut through me and my minimal clothing. It also means if I walk without rhythm and freeze when the wind dies down, she won't hear my approach. It also means that there's a storm coming, and being caught outside, drenched, in a freezing wind, will end me almost as quickly as starvation.

I've managed to circle around behind the tank and am within a hundred yards when I start wondering if the tank has a crew. If the tank is alive, and she has a crew, then all this is for nothing. I also wonder why it took so long to think of this, and put it down to still being freaked out by this place, being too cold and hungry, and remembering the locomotive that ejected its living crew. The last was a Discordian-creature, this is a soldier who might feel the same, but be under orders to accept a crew, if only for dismountable infantry.

Yet, I haven't seen any. No officers with their heads out of the turret, and Luna's moon is providing enough light to see them. No cook fires, no pony doing maintenance, and no pack of pegasi who could have encircled the tree and forced me out. So my question is just nerves, or all part of her elaborate trap.

The wind has picked up to the point that my chattering teeth are more likely to give me away that footsteps on the detritus on the forest floor. I creep within 50 yards, and while the ear-copulas twitch here and there, they never point back towards me. A branch large enough to take my weight hangs over the turret and convinces me to change the last bit of my approach. It sways and groans in the stiff wind, further camouflage to my approach.

I climb above the turret and hope the eyes don't look up. I drop next to the hatch, drop my poles through and follow them. First goal achieved, now for part two.

Celestia was shocked at the audacity of the fugitive, and the stupidity. Her shock at the target actually jumping down on her was overwhelmed by the target jumping into her. She sealed all hatches and tried to start her main engine. The target ran through the gaps in the turret basket and into the drivers' compartment.

"That was foolish," she told the creature who was climbing into the driver's seat. She lamented she had no eyes inside, but she could feel where he was. She gasped as he grabbed her tillers, and she tried to wrestle them out of his hands but he had them in the disengaged mode, first one tiller than the other. "What did you do?" she demanded as the engine finally caught and the fugitive seated himself in the co-driver's seat, but the tillers were still locked in the disengaged mode. All her engine power entered the transmission, and went nowhere. She could swing the turret side to side, go from forward to reverse, but nothing reached the treads.

She verified that she'd dogged down all the hatches, and shut the engine down so she could hear better. "What did you do?"

"I fixed it so we could talk," I tell Celestia-tank, her voice indistinguishable from the pony's, "Like why are you chasing me, where I am, and other such things?"

"What penguin were you talking about?" Celestia-tank asked.

"Big guy, centaur, horns, drains ponies of magic to get bigger," I tell her, "He's not a penguin, he's The Penguin."

She's silent for a while, letting me crawl out of the driver's compartment and back into the turret.

"And all the different kinds of ponies are the goulash?" she asks.

"Yeah, a flight of pegasi, a murder of crows, a herd of earth ponies, a goulash of all kinds of ponies. So if you say herd, it's just earth ponies, but if you say goulash it means all kinds," I tell her, "You're chasing me over linguistics, that's actually funny."

The silence goes on a lot longer this time. I wonder if she is thinking, transmitting over the radio, heck she could have been taking a nap so Luna could read her dreams for all I know. I pull my hand back from the chair. I'd thought the driver's compartment was unusual because everything in there had a slightly sticky almost resinous coating. But the inside of the turret and all the seats and the instruments have the same vaguely sticky surface. The tank is metal not organic, and the interior paint is faded, so it isn't fresh paint, but that's what it seems like.

Near the turret bustle I find what I really need. It was probably a ready rack for powder charges, but it will serve nicely as a bunk. Except it has the same coating. There's a bucket half full of water, and can with a few rags, so water plus rags, plus elbow grease means clean bunk.

As soon as I start scrubbing, the turret moves. Not much, but it moved. I'm still on the basket so it doesn't really affect me. My hobby means working with lots of ex-tankers, so stories of the turret monster flash through my head and I make sure nothing of mine can get caught, ground up, crushed or otherwise damaged by machinery designed to move several dozen tons quickly and efficiently.

I start scrubbing again, and the twitch is in the other direction and it continues, then reverses.

It like she's trying to shake me off, I think, But I'm on the turret basket, so it doesn't work like that.

"What are you doing?" her voice finally comes.

"There's a resin all over everything in here, I was trying to wash it off this ready rack," I say, "Wait . . . you can't see me in here." I'm glad she can't see me, or my grin would scare her, even if she is a tank.

"Well stop it, it's irritating," she said sharply, the lack of courtesy is out of character for Celestia.

"Irritating," I say and stop cleaning the ready rack. There's a large, blank section of wall within reach, and an asshole with a wet rag.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" she squeals and the main engine fires up on the first try. The turret is traversing faster, as if it's trying to run away from the rag. "NOOOOOOOO! HAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

I polish a clean spot and pull the rag away, the turret slows and her voice sounds like she's been running sprints, "I'll get you for that."

"I can polish your gun," I say, and the turret shudders to a stop.

The polite, almost indulgent Celestia tone is back, "You can clean off the ready rack, but please leave my gun alone."

Despite a burning desire to figure out what polishing the gun means, I know when I've won. "Agreed, if you don't mind my asking, wouldn't your crew have removed this, despite your ticklish nature?" There's still twitches of the turret while I clean the ready rack.

"It would have been very difficult to do so," she say barely audible above the engine.

"Okay, done, I assume you called for help, so I doubt I have anywhere to go," I say, "Enjoy your sleep."

"You might want to remove whatever's jamming my tracks in neutral, the storm may flood this creek bed I'm in," she says.

"If I drown, I drown, besides, if you weren't watertight, this stuff would have been washed away already," I reply.

He's asleep, Celestia thought, the sound from her main engine would camouflage the sound of her working the levers and systems of her internals. She was glad he'd assumed she was blind inside. She was technically, but she was also sensitive enough she could make a very good guess about anything touching her insides. What had jammed her tillers were a pair of wooden rods, likely fallen branches.

So they'll have some give, she thought and strained to move the tillers, then relaxed, then strained and relaxed. It took hours, but one, then the other fell free. She turned the turret slowly, so a solid section of the turret basket blocked the path into the drivers' compartment. With the turret traversed off to the side, she couldn't engage the gun's travel lock.

While my hull may be ticklish, I pray he never finds out about my gun, she thought as she prepared to raise the ready rack he was sleeping on to clamp him in there. Having him squirming in his sleep is distracting enough, she thought as she trapped him, put herself in gear and trundled through the rising waters.

"HEY!" he yelled as he realized he couldn't escape.

"You should have been more polite," she teased him.

"You should have a better memory," he replied.

She nearly missed a shift as those fingers found the painted metal of her turret. "Fffffffff," was all she could manage as drove out of the forest, zigzagging wildly from the assault.

She swung her gun forward, locking it into the travel lock. She was able to continue as the sensation of the quaking gun no longer driving her insane. The tickling affected her, but she was certain she could handle it.

"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHa!" she shouted as she drove in random circles across the open field.

My fingers ache. All I'm getting from my victim is an occasional, half-hearted ha. She'd stopped trying to drive a couple hours ago. When the light comes and the ready rack drops flat, I know that it's over. Neither hand works and I've been confined so long I doubt I could run if shot at.

A couple of burly humanoids with short swords and spears tell me better than words I'm going nowhere.

"Drag him out of there," the senior most says, his helmet crest is side to side, not back to front, "I don't see any horn, how'd he immobilize a tank?"

A magic-fingers joke seems inappropriate for the moment. "Persistence," I do say, "I was trying to drive her somewhere else."

"Good luck," the subofficer says, "Toss him in a bag anyway."

The bag is essentially a sleeping bag with six carrying straps. The four female pegasi go from gorgeous female with wing that look like clouds, to two humanoid anthros who still have all the curves, and a pony. Three out of four isn't bad.

I'm so tired I can barely think straight, so they're actually gentle laying me down and zipping me in. I'm asleep before they lift off and the flight doesn't wake me.

Next thing I know is in the partially unzipped bag on a bunk. I have no idea how much time has passed. I could have slept for a month for all I know.

At the sight of me moving, one of the three guards, all buff guys, leaves. The other two give no indiction that I even exist, which is fine by me. I know there'll be interrogation and a trial, but I don't think the differences in this Equestria extend to capital punishment. Of course from some of the women I've seen, corporal punishment might not be so bad.

The charges are long, voluminous and not detailed here. My attorney, with my approval, quite rightly brings up I gave them breathing room and a plan against Discord, and pointed out the escape of Tirek before he got strong enough to challenge the throne, so while I was convicted of nearly all charges, I was treated as a soldier doing his duty for a foreign nation. Note, I was not treated as a ununiformed combatant, like a spy, terrorist or saboteur, nor was I treated as an enemy. Just as someone doing a job Equestria and my home polity needed doing, securing Discord and Tirek, without the crowns' blessing or mandate.

Also, Guard Captain Celestia, the tank, was in trouble for being taken unawares and being disabled. That I didn't turn her against the countryside gives me clemency, but that I could have takes it way from her. Call me a White Knight but she could have hurt me permanently a dozen different ways, and she didn't, I do need to give her some cover fire or at least explain things better.

So against my lawyer's better judgement, but not against his wishes, we contact the JAG officer overseeing Guard Captain Celestia's trial.

We approach a large hanger, Equestrian law demands the right to confront your accusers, so a large space with a strong floor is needed.

"I have to remind you of what a foolish idea this is," my lawyer, a bilious green unicorn with a scales of justice cutie mark says. He's a quadrupedal pony, and goes by the title Solicitor, he hasn't given me his name. This evidently is customary when foreign nationals are at trial, the lawyers and judges remain anonymous.

"Nearly a dozen Celestias have spent two months thinking of the appropriate sentence," I tell my Solicitor, "If that doesn't frighten you, nothing will. Pulling one of their own out of the fire may shave off a few of the more - interesting - curlicues."

"We don't draw and quarter people any more," my Solicitor says.

"Using horses, no, what about using cats, lots of cats?" I say, and watch his eyes cross.

"An airy citizen was convince to take a neighbor's cat for a walk on a leash," he says, "It was judged attempted manslaughter."

"I tried to teach a cat to heel. Heard about it, you must be Claude," I says.

He shows our passes to the guards and we're allowed in. The Guard Captain has a section of track removed and the rest is under her road wheels, effectively immobilizing her. They installed a muzzle brake, I suspect to prevent her from firing. She sees me and angles her turret so one eye can watch me.

The prosecutor immediately reacts as if shocked, 'as if', everypony in the court room knew I was coming and approved or I wouldn't be here. "Objection, this person is neither Equestrian Military, nor a citizen, and is in fact awaiting sentencing for crimes against the State and against the very person of Her Highness!"

I realize he wants that in there for any later appeals and for posterity. The asshole.

"Sustained," the Judge says, "Relevance, Major."

The defense attorney turns to me and nods.

I stand, I'd practiced this with my solicitor so I'd get the words right. "I beg the court's indulgence. I am not here to discuss the guilt or innocence of Guard Captain Celestia. My aim is to make the Guard Captain and the court aware of the formidable foe the Guard Captain was facing in my person, and that while otherwise sound tactics from an antebellum viewpoint will appear derelictory under a current lens," I say the most gobble-gook way of telling them I took her completely by surprise.

That out of the way, I can speak like a normal person. "I know tanks, and how to disable them, they are not rare where I'm from. I was also desperate. To attack meant no greater risk of death or injury than to remain passive. Whether the Guard Captain was aware of either of these, when and to what extent, that is for this court to decide. It has been pointed out to me that withholding material evidence in a case is in and of itself a serious crime. I have a vested interest in providing the court that information under oath."

I realize they hadn't sworn me in, my solicitor had explained I was just providing my reason to be there, not details to the case. I also don't look at the Guard Captain. If she's anything like any of the other Celestias she'll appreciate someone speaking up for her.

Because knowing Celestia, we'll probably be breaking rocks in the same prison.

I got sworn in and gave the court a lesson in tank mechanics and an insight into my condition when I'd confronted the Guard Captain. She's chagrined that she'd driven me into such a desperate position, especially that I didn't know if she was there to capture or to kill me.

The judge seemed to believe me and called the lawyers into a conference in his chambers. The result, Group Captain Celestia was no longer charged with gross dereliction of duty and a host of minor charges including reckless endangerment, but simply dereliction of duty and reckless driving. While still court martial offenses, they were misdemeanors not felonies.

The judge thanked me for my adherence to justice for a former foe, and I was dismissed.

I left knowing I'd done what I could. My solicitor still thought it was reckless as I'd given motive to things that had been nebulous during my trial and despite all the customs precluding it, it would get to Celestias' ears and affect my penalty.

Screw it, the Guard Captain could have gotten extremely violent, or just driven into a river an opened the hatches. That she chose not to means she deserves some mercy from me in return.

The only really dark bit of the episode, I learned what that resin that was all over the inside of the tank was. It wasn't a pony equivalent of cosmolene. Not by a long shot.

"It was my crew," the Guard Captain tells me as our exercise time has coincided, "What was left of them. They removed the more solid bits, but it took so long to get me home, I just decided to work alone and I didn't care what I looked like inside."

I walk around the track a bit, as she follows, slow enough I can hear each track pad landing. "I can understand wanting to keep such a scar, but it isn't healthy," I tell her, "Not mentally or physically."

"It didn't even penetrate my armor," she says, lost to her own memories, "Just the force of the blow. They were bright and happy, so confident we were doing Equestria's work. Then, gone. Almost no warning and no chance to save them."

"Nightmare?" I ask.

"Trying to protect Primark and Princess Celestia," the Guard Captain says, "Little good did it do them, any of them."

"Cruel as this sounds, it was war, things like that happen," I say, "That's one of the reasons you avoid wars. Two lines of soldiers grimacing at each other across a line on a map may get frostbite or lonely, but when someone decides to end the stalemate a lot of people aren't going home, and the ones that do, aren't the people who left."

"Where did you serve?" the Guard Captain asks.

"I was never military, but I was a Hazmat responder at the refinery I worked at. One day we got volun-told to help the local police. Seems a drug lab needed someone who knew how not to poison themselves to open it up and explore for the investigators," I say, now I was the one far away, in that alien world of the past, "Someone didn't like the delay, or working with civilians, so people went in.

"We arrived ten minutes after the explosion, and were tasked with treating the people who'd survived the blast, but were succumbing to the burns, and the effect of the chemicals," I say, almost smelling the closed rubber of my mask again, "The firefighters were putting out the houses around the burning building, police were evacuating hurt people and themselves because God only knew what was in that smoke. Then the gas cylinders started cooking off."

The gentle nudge from the huge vehicle breaks me out of the memory. I pat her side. "So yeah, no one ever intentionally tried to kill me, but I have been under fire. I got a LOT of money from the Feds trying to cover up it was one of their's who'd initiated the disaster, so with no need to work again, I started working tank restorations at a local museum. Both as therapy, and because most of the restorers were veterans a lot older than me, and they seemed to understand what that day did to me. There was a lot of beers after work and a lot of stories that would not be talked about in the cold light of day."

"So, you're familiar with tanks, which are simple machines on your world. What about a girl, family?" the Group Captain asks.

"They aren't so simple, well maybe they are and that's the problem. Before what happened, yeah, lots of dumb movies, tissues and tears about people suffering. Even then it was too much frivolity I guess. After, most girls my age stare into their smartphones to the exclusion of all other reality," I say, "It's like they care more about the safe box of people they never met than the person standing beside them. That box will always be there, the people around them are finite." I shrug. "Kinda turned me off of the whole thing. Sort of like dating a kindergartner who still believes in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Free Lunch."

"So with Tirek captured, Discord defeated and now reformed, what are your plans?" she asks.

"That depends on the sentence, is it Her Highness or Their Highnesses?" I ask.

"If you mean just Celestia, it's The Council. If you mean all the princesses, it's Their Highnesses, " she says, "So your future depends on the sentence handed down by Their Highnesses?"

"Pretty much," I admit, "Princess Luna, wait she was an unguligrade, so that's Primark?"

"Yes," the Guard Captain says.

"So Primark Luna suggested I be drawn and quartered by four herds of cats," I say, "So death by boredom is a thing here is it?"

The Guard Captain laughs at that.

I'm before the Royal Court, again. I'm in trouble with them, again. Half the attendees are terrified I'll get loose and go wild, and the other half are praying for it, again. And I'd already decided to tell the truth and depend on the rulers' sense of humor, again. Unlike the first time, the panicked run through, guards screen myself and the Guard Captain from the crowds of nobles and hangers on. The windows facing the courtyard we're ensconced in are plastered with faces peering down at us. I wonder if scalping tickets was a thing.

The pavilion over us keeps the sun off us, but allows the warm wind to sweep away the exhaust fumes from my fellow prisoner. Inside the throne room proper, the various princes and princesses are chatting with each other, likely to form a consensus on our fate. They'll come out to the balcony and address us directly. While the inside/outside arrangement is necessary for the Guard Captain's mass, it also makes a defensible barrier as well.

"I just remembered, although I should have noticed it at the time," I say quietly, "That when I had you or your turret spinning, your gun was moving up and down spastically. You also asked me to leave it alone."

The auxiliary motor seems to misfire slightly and her eyes narrow, then she sighs. "You'll notice that my gun barrel looks like an alicorn's horn?" she asks, I nod, she continues, "A unicorn, or alicorn's horn is very sensitive, it has to be to be feedback for if a spell is going well or not."

I nod, realizing I am almost certain I know where this is going.

"My gun breach and training system are just as sensitive, and they're inside me. You're clever, you make the inference," she says then turns her attention to the milling throng inside who are discussing our fate.

I realize my suspicions were correct, and both having a crew and their deaths were more intimate than I'd realized. "I'm sorry for not understanding that," I say.

"You were fighting for your life," the Guard Captain says, "There are plenty of historical examples where people have done similar actions. I apologize for putting you in extremis. If I'd known when I had you cornered in one of those trees, I would have offered to let you camp on my engine deck while you told your story."

The fanfare of the Royal Heralds brings us back to At Ease stances and now we await the Their Highnesses' judgement. We'd both been convicted of various crimes, but the sentences for those crimes could vary wildly and depending on consecutive or concurrent sentences, it could mean time served or a long time. For the Guard Captain, the gentlest sentence would be the harshest: Dishonorable Discharge. She loved being the bulwark for the nation, losing that would hurt worse than years at hard labor, then stripped of rank but being allowed back in as a common soldier.

For me, I don't expect to go home. Discord can't help, even if he were willing. I doubt The Council or Their Highnesses would risk it. I still have my skills, refinery worker, Hazmat and tank restoration, and boy do they even need safety officers around here. I know a lot of the populace can fly, but most can't and legitimately expecting rescue is not an excuse for staircases with no banisters.

"My Little Ponies," Princess Celestia begins, "We have been shocked and amused by the exploits of our newest transient to Equestria." She glances at Discord. "Some more shocked than amused but the opposite is also true. However, while services were rendered, crimes were committed and those crimes cannot be put aside."

Okay, she's unloading on me first, I think but keep my stance.

"The sentence is a maximum of five-years at hard labor," she says, there's some outcry, especially from the off-duty guards, and a pleading look from my Solicitor. "Harsh, but necessary," Princess Celestia concludes. It doesn't eliminate the grumbling. Some of them have fraternized with the prisoner, and have made offers of a more permanent arrangement. This derails everything.

While I feel better that my warders sympathize I'm more interested in the details and the sentence on the Guard Captain.

"The Guard Captain, I'm pleased to say, will receive a more gentle sentence," Princess Celestia says, "She will oversee the prisoner during her refit and overhaul, which I was told by experts would take five-years."

I ignore the thump and glance over at the Guard Captain's slowly spinning treads on her belly. I never knew a tank could faint before.

Author's Note

The Source: Visiting relatives over the holidays and looking forward to talking with my niece, who was a huge FiM fan, about her first college semester. She now hates the show because 'real women would never use violence to solve a problem'. Hold off the tar and pitchforks, I've got it covered.

I picked up the flu, I suspect on the plane, as did most everyone else at the gathering. Then niece's eco-friendly and sustainable meal gave everyone awful food poisoning. Protip: Don't feed weird food to sick people, it doesn't end well. She's studying Culinary Arts and Restaurant Management, so her professors are doing her no favors in that department either.

So, sick as a dog, I'm driving cars I'm not used to, through neighborhoods I'm not used to, in weather I'm not used to because I'm one of the few able to hold it together to pick up the medicines we need. Not really. See, I had a little help, and while she dictated a story, most of which would be better done in Moviemaker and posted on PornHub, her careful reminders and observations kept me safe, aware and on track. I appreciated that.

Everybody is back to normal, and my niece has some serious doubts about the quality of the education she's getting and will be transferring schools. Hurrah.

I privately told my dad about my not-so-little helper, he just shook his head and said 'only you could have a psychotic episode that was helpful.' Which I suspect would have had my helper laughing. I'll miss her. She was charming in a Mausy kind of way. So I'll include the part of the story focused on her, and maybe I'll post the defeat of Sombra somewhere else, under another identity with full, plausible deniability.