Night Sentinel expected, even hoped, to wake up in his bunk in the Equestrian embassy of his hometown, Dōkutsu City. He would realize that it was all just a dream, shake it off with a chuckle, go about his day and give the entire experience no more thought than to ask Luna what she meant by it once he had the chance.

Night Sentinel woke up alone, in an underground hotel in another universe. He felt the gentle sting of crudely bandaged slashes and the aches of fresh bruises, gifted by the swarm of absurd monsters ripped from his nightmares. (Literally. His parents fed him ground mantid chowder as punishment as a pup. He would have nightmares for three nights of the mantises returning the favor.)

Reflexively, he sent a few clicks out and listened to them bounce off the walls. All his belongings, all the furniture, and all the ramshackle alarms he had set up lay undisturbed, just as he left them. He heard no unusual sounds, smelled no suspicious smells. Nothing had changed. Satisfied, he turned on the lamp on the bedside cabinet, flinched, and frantically jammed the button until the light softened to its lowest setting.

"Stupid diurnals and their tiny suns", he grumbled as he dragged himself out of bed, rubbing the pain out of his eyes. There was a plain white clock on the wall. Assuming that this world’s timekeeping systems worked the same as Equestrian ones, it was two O'Clock. Morning or afternoon, he didn't know which.

He trudged over to the narrow table next to the door and fiddled with the coffee machine. Between the half-remembered instructions Night had read in the user's manual yesterday and the machine's user-friendly design, he swiftly had a cup of jasmine tea brewing, with block of honey waiting to be stirred in.

As he waited for the machine to do its job, he smelled the air and grimaced. He needed a shower. Badly. He guessed that the side door on the rightmost wall led to a bathroom, and he was correct. It was a very nice bathroom.

The bathtub had water jets. The shower had a bench. The trash can had no bottom. Instead it had a shute, winding down into a darkness so thick that even his eyes couldn't penetrate further than thirty feet. He tossed a wet towel down and listened. It rustled against the sides as it descended, deep enough that he still hadn't heard it hit the bottom after nearly a minute.

Night would have very much liked to know where the trash chutes in this hostel went. But the shower took priority. And it was a very nice shower. The fan was quiet enough for his sensitive ears, but still kept the mirrors from fogging up. The soap smelt of fresh mint. He always loved the smell of fresh mint.

There was a door opposite to his room in the bathroom. Three similar, but distinct scents snaked under the door. One of them was snoring. He had no issue with sharing a bathroom with the triplets, so long as they were more courteous than they had been in the barracks.

The Salt Lick barracks. It seemed so far away now. In a way, he supposed, it was. He had been very upset at the three of them for setting off that device, not just for how it hurt his ears but how Swift Wind had been affected. She hadn’t been just startled: she had been terrified. Afraid for her life. There had to be a story behind that sort of reaction, but Night wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

Nevertheless, Night had never been one to hold a grudge when it wasn’t to his advantage. Given the circumstances, infighting would very much not be to their advantage.

There was a gentle *knock* *knock* *knock* at the door. A golem floated patiently on the other side. Night snapped back to reality, and the implications of the past thirty-six hours came crashing back down. Stuck squatting in an alien hotel manned by magical servants who had no magic, and inhabited by a lanky, hairless ape-thing who blinked around like a ghost. The Noctis Custodes needed to get back some measure of control, and Night Sentinel was the thestral to do it.

He forced his face into neutral and opened the door.

“Hello, Master! I am-”

“Wait,” Night interrupted, “let me guess… You’re the Concierge, yes?”

The Concierge produced a jaunty flourish of music from thin air. “That is. Correct. Sir! I am here To Provide your Attire For the Afternoon, as Well as to Inquire upon Whether You found The Accommodations to your Liking during your Sleep.” It held out a bag full of plain grey clothing. He experimentally held a few shirts and pants up to his body. It all seemed to fit.

Night rubbed the back of his neck, “It was… alright, I suppose. Though I am curious as to how you got clothes in my size.”

“A common complaint. Rest assured, we did not invade your quarters during your slumber to run yardsticks across your body. The Level One facilities took your measurements, and the measurements of your companions, when you first entered.”

“Oh,” Night grumbled, “well, that’s not creepy at all.”

“I am. Happy. you think So, Sir!”

He sighed. Before, the auton’s unflappably chipper disposition had been unsettling. Now it was just irritating. “Look, was there anything else you wanted?”

“Yes, Sir. I wish to offer to escort you to the dining hall for a meal. It is common for guests to desire nourishment after a long rest period, after all!”

“Thanks, but no. I’m not hungry right now,” he lied.

“Very well. Feel free to Roam The grounds as you See fit. If you Require assistance, simply clap Three times and a Hospitality Unit will arrive posthaste! Have a good. Afternoon. Sir!”

Night patiently waited for it to amble out of the hallway. Once it did, he ducked back into his room and locked the door. He smacked his head and berated himself for letting his guard down. This is still unknown territory, he thought, I can’t relax here.

Swift Wind was alone in her room, asleep; He heard her while he was in the hall. Luna and First Response were still unaccounted for. Alright, first thing’s first, he thought, Check up on the Princess and the Medic, then run recon. We need to know the layout of the hotel; defensible positions, assets, escape routes, yada yada yada. Luna and the nerds can work out the big picture stuff later. Right now we need to get familiar with this place.

Best not to wake the others, he thought. Night always operated best alone: waking the others up before he finished would only complicate things. Alright, just like casing out a market, The parallel brought unpleasant memories, but it fit. Stay low, stay quiet, get the details, and get out. Easy as pie. He rolled his shoulders and pulled the door open. And this time, I won’t even have to worry about patrolling samurai-

“Howdy there, Pard’ner!”

“GYAAHHAHAOYASEIKŌTAWAGOTOFAKKUKUSO!!” Night scrambled back. The pale creature stood on the other side of the door, almost close enough to press his stubby nose against it. Maker-knew how long he had been standing there. Night had nearly plowed headfirst into his belly.

“Y’all ‘right there, lil’ guy? Didn’ mean t’startle ya!” Sam -Right, he introduced himself last night- said, sporting a wide grin that could feasibly pass as concerned.

Night stammered inarticulately as he searched for an adequate response. Before he could recollect his wits, Sam held up a large, pale, furless hand and said, “Don’ worry, I geddit. Y’all got questions. However, I’mma haf’ta ask y’to keep ‘em to yourself until yer friends wake up. I don’t much like repeating myself.”

That’s fair, Night almost said, before sanity returned to him. “I- do- Are you kidding me?? After the horseapples we’ve gone through from the moment we set foot in this Ō-Inari-forsaken place, you want us to hold our tongues until it suits your timetable?? Are you so conceited that you think we’ll just fall in line like that, or do you think we're just that dense?”

Sam’s face fell into neutrality, with an edge of clinical curiosity. Like a schoolpup examining an especially repulsive insect. After a tense moment, he broke out into hearty laughter. “HAH HA! Ah… I like you.” Night thought he heard Sam’s accent slip away, but it came back immediately. Must be imagining things. “Alright, how’s about a compromise! I’ll give y’all the short version, and y’all’ll tell your friends when they wake up. Sound fair?”

It did sound fair, all things considered. Night wasn’t sure why it sounded so reasonable; he would have liked to wake everypony up himself and start grilling Sam about What The Hay was going on. But… negotiations were all about compromise, weren’t they? And this was a perfectly reasonable compromise. “Yeah… alright, that works.”

Sam beamed. He might have looked a bit self-satisfied, but Night might have been imagining it. “Well, ain’t that dandy? Ev’ryone loves a compromise, don't they?” He stepped back- he and Night had been uncomfortably close until then, Night somehow hadn’t noticed- and gestured down the hallway, “How’s about we walk ‘n talk? You look the type to need t’explore your land before y’all can rest easy on it. I’ll give ya the tour!”

His knee-jerk reaction was to decline. He preferred solitude while he worked; being led around the facility by the hand, especially by somecreature like Sam, grated on his nerves like little else. Yet... Night felt oddly at-ease around Sam, despite all the obvious reasons not to. Something about the way he carried himself, or perhaps the way he spoke, gave off the aura of a simple, good-natured soul looking to do their best to do right by everycreature they met. (Not a literal aura, mind. Sharp as his senses were, they couldn’t actually examine the souls of others.) At the very least, he thought, he’ll be able to fill in the context for some of the things I find down here. Night nodded, “Alright, that sounds fine. Lead the way.” So Sam led the way, and Night followed a half-pace behind his shoulder, down the hall towards the infirmary.

Sam, as he elaborated to Night on the walk, was a Human, native to the planet Earth. Night asked why anyone would name their planet after dirt, he responded, “Well, that’s what it’s made of, ain’t it?” Night couldn’t disagree.

Sam was slightly above average height and mass for his species, he continued, and on the tail end of whatever age category came after ‘young adulthood’ and before ‘middle age’. When Night asked about this ‘Nevada-Utah Confederacy’ that the hostel belonged to, Sam rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Well, it’s all a mite complexicated. Basically, a lil’ city down South found itself a lil’ patch of Manifest Destiny layin’ ‘round, and went around colonising and annexing a bunch of territory, mostly ‘round abouts the Northeastern way. Since most of its new land’s in Nevada and Utah, and since they got a lil’ Confederate Congress goin’ on down in the capital, they started callin’ themselves the ‘N-U-C’. Frankly, I think s’all a buncha hoey. I mean, they gots plenty of land in Cali, why don’t it get t’be in the name?”

“Ummm…” Night ummmed.

“B’sides, ain’t like those states or their names’ve meaned anything for over two centuries! Oh, hey! Look sharp, here’s your friend’s place.” They had arrived at the infirmary. First Response was where they had left her, lying on the bed wrapped in a blanket. Luna had fallen asleep during the night (well, technically during the morning) and was sprawled across a chair like a ragdoll.

Satisfied, Night asked Sam, “What the hay did you give her to make her spaz out last night?”

“Aw, just a lil’ ketamine. Knocked ‘er out right and good so I could get ‘er into the car.”

“And why did this ‘ketamine’ stuff give her seizures when she woke up?”

Sam laughed, waved the accusation off like a fly, “Naw, those weren't seizures. She was just panic’n: higher brain functions take a mite bit to kick in durin’ Emergence. I’ve seen ‘nuff seizures to know one when I see one, and that weren’t no seizure.”

Night mulled over that. It made sense, but… “Hey, weren’t you already gone when she started shake-”

“ALRIGHT, Then!” He interrupted, “Let’s get a move on, how abouts? Tour’s still got a ways to go!” He turned and strode down the hall, towards what must have been the gym. "C'mon now! Hustle up!"

Well, THAT's not suspicious at all, Night thought.

The human's story, sequentially perforated though it was, didn't stop Night from following him through the hostel. He still needed to run reconnaissance; the presence of a tall, jolly simian would not prevent him from assembling a report on the facility. All he had to do was put together a floor plan, make note of defensible positions, catalogue potentially useful substances and/or objects, et cetera. Nothing he hadn't learned to do long before he joined the Guard. It would be simple to humor the human as he rambled and spun tall tales in the meantime.

At least, that was his plan. Night could have easily made a thorough report on the hostel if not for one tiny hitch: Sam was a very good lecturer.

The man put a concentrated effort into making sure that Night Sentinel was an engaged and active listener. Try as he could (and did) to weave through his conversational hooks, Sam kept dragging him into meaningful conversation after meaningful conversation.

He asked Night's opinion and sparked genuinely fascinating conversations from their differences in convictions and values. The fact that the dialogues revolved entirely around nigh-complete nonsense, such as whether mangos were tastier than plums, or whether it was more efficient to direct traffic clockwise or counterclockwise around a roundabout, was completely lost on him until long after they reached a conclusion, by which point Night had no time to object before he was swept up again.

Between the frequent diversions into dialogue of varying degrees of frivolity, and the occasional, admittedly very well performed one-human educational skits (Sam could perform a frighteningly wide range of impressions), Night Sentinel was almost entirely unproductive. He wanted to learn how the hostel performed laundry and dining services so far from civilization, or why it was so well-supplied for such a remote facility. He wanted to learn what room would be the easiest to hold out in should the Princess be attacked; Instead he learned the practical differences between humanity's different kinds of artificial light emitters, and the definition of the word 'aprosexia'. For the first time in his life, Night wished for the company of the insufferable blowhards of high society, who prattled endlessly just to hear their own voice and cared little whether their audience listened or cared.

Night finally found a moment of peace in the library, which happened to be straight across from the exit through the foyer. Rows of bookshelves stacked two ponies high, diligently maintained by another golem (The Librarian, naturally).

Sam brought Night over to the Librarian. “Aight, so! Night Sentry!”

“Sentinel.”

“Whatever. This here robotic research specialist can help ya find all the infor-mah-seeonay you want about humanity, our military power, and how you could defend yerselves against us if we end up dukin’ it out.”

Night nodded, “Alright, good to- Wait What?”

“Wassup?”

“I-” Night reeled at the conversation’s sudden swerve, “Why would I wanna know anything about that?”

Sam looked confused, “Whadda ya mean? That’s th’ whole reason y’all wanted to scope out the place, innit?”

“What? No! I mean- not that I wouldn’t like to know that but- wait- what the hay gave you the idea that I came out here looking for that?”

“Ya think out loud.”

“...”

“...”

“What.”

Sam broke the silence by bending over with laughter. “Ahahaa!!! Oh Sweet Baby Mama of Mercy, the look on your face! Hahahaa!!!” Sam laughed so hard he cried. Night silently scowled at him, totally still. Every so often the human would begin to calm down, only to glance back at Night and his thoroughly irritated glare and plummet right back into hysterics. This cycle repeated several times before Sam was able to collect himself.

“Are you finished?” Night asked.

Sam wiped a tear from his eye with a wheeze and a sigh, and said, “Hoo boy! Man, I haven’t had a laugh that hard since the goddamn McCarran Mess Hall! Fuckin’ hell!”

Night waited for Sam to speak. When it was clear that he wasn’t going to, Night asked, “Well? What made you think that?”

Sam blinked, “Oh, yeah, right. I, uh, didn’t.”

“... What.”

“Think that.” he explained. “I didn’t think that.”

Night gawped, flabbergasted. “Then- what, was that just a random-”

“-A random guess, yeah. I was close, though!”

Night did concede that Sam’s accusation was distantly similar to his actual reason for exploring the hostel. He was still baffled, though. “Then… why? Why would you say that?”

Sam shrugged, “Thought it’d be funny. And I was right.” he broke into a stupid grin, chuckling to himself like Equestria’s most autofellatious village idiot.

Night stood, frozen, flummoxed, watching the human giggle like a fool. He groaned, buried his muzzle in his palms, and said, “Look, I’ll just… I’m gonna go pick some books out for later.”

Sam perked up and called, “Oh! Alright, you do that! Lemme know when y’all’re done, we’ll grab lunch and wait for yer friends t’wake up!”

Night grumbled as he trudged away and through the bookshelves. And to think, he thought, I actually used to be frightened of that buffoon. He shrugged the cloud of annoyance off of his shoulders and stretched his wings back. No matter. Information is what I came here for, and damned if I’m not gonna get it.

He started broad: dictionaries, encyclopedias, textbooks, and so on. Texts to be consulted to find specific subjects for deeper study. Once those were placed in the trolley (courteously provided by the Librarian when it noticed him hefting the dictionaries off the shelf), he racked his brain to remember where the other Custodians lied in their specializations. Medical journals and genealogy studies for First Response. Metalworking, woodworking, and chemistry for Lock, Stock, and Barrel, respectively. Maritime histories and stories for Swift Wind. And finally, as an afterthought, astronomy and astrology books for the Princess. Night had to ask for help finding the astrology guides; they turned out to be kept in the ‘Myths and Folklore’ section of the library, rather than with the sciences. Go figure.

As he strolled out of ‘Myths and Folklore’, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. In the far corner of the library, opposite the entrance, there was a small, dimly lit hallway where the books seemed… off. Not in the sinister or malevolent sense; in that they appeared less well tended than the rest of the library. The shelves, almost exclusively host to small paperback novels, were coated with a thin sheet of dust. The books themselves were worn and scuffed; a far cry from the pristine condition of every other book Night had seen in the entire library. The lights weren’t defective (perhaps Sam’s impromptu lesson on fluorescent lighting wasn’t so useless after all), they were intentionally dimmed to make the shelves less visible. To drive the point home, the sign hanging above the shelves did not have specific, extensive information on the texts within. Only two words:

‘Derivative Shlock.’

One could not have imagined a less inviting pair of bookshelves. Night couldn’t resist.

Well, this was a waste of time.

Normally, when someone put so much effort into discouraging ponies from looking somewhere, it was because that somewhere held something they didn’t want anypony to find. Night assumed this would be the case here. It was not.

Most of the books were trashy fiction novels, clearly marketed to the lowest common denominator. Cheap, awkward romances with characters that couldn’t think their way out of a paper bag; shallow, predictable adventures with dialogue that would make a toddler groan; and ‘science fiction’ that seemed to think that any plot hole could be solved by throwing every vaguely scientific word they could imagine into a blender and pouring the slurry out of the nerdiest character present. The scant few books that didn’t fit this description were no better. Somehow they were worse.

Eventually Night reached his limit, and was about to leave when he spotted something. One book had not been replaced before the reader left, and lay face up on the shelf with the title:

The Completely True Adventures of Courier Six.

Issue 59: Escape from Zion Valley!

Something about the tiny paperback made Night pause. Perhaps it was the cover. It was much better drawn than the much of the other books he had looked at: Front and center, there stood a tall, broad-shouldered human with a dirty-blonde mane, wearing a beige duster over a blotchy vest. He stood atop a steep hill, his face twisted in a sneer of disgust as he pointed an alien, metal-and-wood stick at a horde of primitives. They were swarming up the hill, wielding ramshackle hatchets and spears and strange sticks of their own. Their sticks sprayed fire up the hill, straight at the lone human on the hilltop.

Perhaps it was the title. ‘Courier Six’ didn’t strike him as a name fit for an adventure hero. Postal workers tended to lead less than exciting lives, by and large. The book’s dubious claim of complete biographical honesty only piqued his curiosity.

Perhaps it was the simple fact that, despite being placed alongside such riveting tomes as ‘The Lair of the White Worm’ and ‘Dildo Cay’, it was part of a series at least 59 issues strong. Such longevity implied success.

Either way, Night had to admit he was intrigued. He flipped the book open to a random page and read;

“The Courier stood tall as he stared down the horde of unwashed savages. His cumulonimbus-grey eyes steeled with determination as they bore into the syphilitic-red eyes of his enemies. The leader of the horde, a mongrel-like warchief wearing a gecko skull for a codpiece, pressed the edge of his rusty hatchet into a trembling missionary. He shouted at the Courier in his nonsense language, but the stench of evil wafted through his grueling voice.

The Courier spoke, clear and powerful, “I won’t let you evildoers hurt any more helpless travelers.” The savages flinched away at his pure, righteous voice. “Make peace with whatever dark, pathetic gods you worship, General Gobbledigook.”

The savage leader trembled as silence fell. His hatchet hand twitched, and the Courier reacted instantly and spewed hot lead from his rifle, felling the evil tribals instantly and leaving their hostages completely unharmed. The nearest hostage cried out in joy and fell down at the Courier’s feet.

“Thank you! Thank you so much Courier! You’re the greatest hero to ever live!”

The Courier smiled. “It was nothing, citizen. There is nothing greater in life than saving the innocent and defenseless from the clutches of evil. As I always say, a good man can never-”

“What are you reading?”

Night nearly jumped out of his skin. Sam’s head was hovering inches behind his shoulder. “Ai, Chikushō! Why do you always… do…” Night trailed off. Sam did not look his usual, jolly self. He stared at the small paperback in Night’s hands with a deep intensity, his upper lip curved into a ghost of a sneer. “... is something… wrong?” he asked, tepidly.

He felt the book slide tenderly down and out of his grasp. He looked and it was gone, firmly in Sam’s hands. As the human held the book to his face, ambiguity vanished from his expression. There was only deep, violent contempt. Seconds passed. They felt like hours. Then Sam finally said,

“If you’re looking for information on humanity, you would do well to steer clear of this inflammatory pile of drivel.”

Night blinked. Sam’s accent was gone. This new voice was not like the exaggerated caricatures of earlier. Indescribable, except with vague platitudes like ‘intense’ or ‘neutral’. Night felt the fur on his neck stand up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“These books.” He spit the word like venom. “All of them, steaming piles of lies and blind hero-worship. Nothing but mindless violence and propaganda. They’re barely fit for kindling, much less substantive journalism.” Sam’s expression shifted slightly; less anger and more… regret. “And… they’ve done more harm than good.”

And then, somewhere in Sam’s head, a switch was flipped. “So Y’all’d be best served to give these dime novels a wide berth, s’my advice! We got much better stories than what you’ll find in here. Lemme show you, c’mon!”

Night gaped. His mouth bobbed indecisively, like a dead fish, until he shouted, “Ai, ittai nanida- I mean- what the Hay was that?!?”

Sam turned around and kept walking, backwards. “What was what?”

“That-” Night vaguely gestured around Sam, “That thing you did! With your accent!”

The human slowly blinked once. Twice. “... I have an accent?”

“...You know what, never mind,” Night sighed. Sam the Human was a mystery that would have to remain unsolved. At least until somepony with more time and patience than him decided to unravel it. “You wanted to go get food, right?”

Sam did want to go get food. He pushed Night’s cart of books to the front and told the Librarian to leave them in Night’s room, and led the way to the diner, just outside the library through the foyer. A long bar manned by another robot (The Bartender, naturally) dominated the waiting room where guests were meant to sit until they were summoned into the dining hall proper.

And what a dining hall it was. It didn't quite compare to the ballrooms and Great Halls of his puphood, but it was a near thing. Shining chandeliers hung high above Night’s head, lighting the way along plush red carpets winding between rows of wide, polished, mahogany tables. A grand piano sat in the far corner of the room, and a gentle instrumental track soothingly drifted through the air. A robot directed them to one of the larger tables. Sam plopped into a chair at the far end and Night took a seat in the center.

“So!” Sam chirped, “How ya like the place?”

Night told him that the hostel was pleasant and that he expected to enjoy his stay, though he had a few questions about how the amenities functioned so far remote. Sam opened his mouth to answer when a robot approached the table with a tray of ice water. “Pardon me,” it said, “The rest of The Guests have risen From their sleep. Shall they Be joining you, Sir?”

Sam snatched a glass from the tray and downed several gulps, “*Cough* Yeah, yeah, sure!” It floated away and Sam said, “Figure we can get the introductions outta th’ way and start talk’n ‘bout what y’all’re gonna do next.”

“Yeah,” Night said, “We should put a plan together quick. As nice as this place is, I’d like to start moving towards getting home as soon as First Response is able to… travel…” he trailed off mid-thought. Cogs in his head churned for a second, and something clicked. “HEY!” he accused, “You never told me what happened to First Response last night!”

Sam lazily gulped down the last of his glass before answering, “Yeah, duh. Ya didn’t ask.”

Night sputtered indignantly. “You- you said you would explain what happened!”

“I said I’d answer y’all's questions. Y’aint asked me about what happened t’yer medic last night, so I didn’t tell ya.” he shrugged, “And ya still haven’t asked me, not for nuthin.”

Night wanted to scream. To grab him by the scruff of his collar and shake him for being such a difficult, insufferable imbecile. And if Sam was any less surprised at Night’s frustration, he might’ve actually done it.

“Just,” Night sighed and buried his head in his hands, “Could you please tell me how you found First Response and brought her here?”

Sam hummed, looked up to the sky in contemplation. “Mmmmmmmuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh…... no.”

Blink blink. “What?”

“Not yet. In a minute.”

The urge to maim returned with a vengeance. He forced calm into his voice and asked, “And may I ask why?”

Sam pointed behind him, to the entrance. Night swerved around in his seat just in time to see the rest of the ponies saunter into the dining room, trailing behind a robot who was rattling off a clearly prepared speech about the menu and decor. “Oh.” He groaned and slumped forward, “Yeah ok fine whatever.”

Swift Wind was taking point. She was clearly even less trusting of the hotel than he was: rather than the linen shirts and trousers the rest of the custodians had taken from the hostel staff, a hodgepodge of mismatched plate, chainmail, and gambeson was slapped over her body, patched together from any intact piece of armor she had. The tip of her spear jutted out behind her shoulder, gleaming in the low light of the dining room in what Swift likely imagined was a threatening display. Personally, Night thought it looked amateurish; there was no good way to quickly draw a spear when you sling it onto your back.

The Keys were behind her, and looked a far cry from the dynamic Night had expected. Rather than surly and impatient, Stock-and-Key walked with a light spring in her step and actually seemed to be listening to what the robot had to say about the cocktail menu. In a similar reversal, both Lock and Barrel slouched and dragged their feet behind their sister. They looked like the walking dead, and acted much the same. Apparently Stock was the morning pony of the three.

First Response was awake, but still immobile. She had a wrap of gauze tied around her head, and was being pushed into the room in a wheelchair. Despite everything, she looked in high spirits. The robot pushing her chair repeatedly reminded her to sit still as she frantically asked Barrel to fill her in on what she missed. Night smelled a hint of something bitter in her breath; she might’ve still had some painkillers in her system.

Luna followed behind the robot pushing First Response. She looked marginally better than she had when Night saw her last: The aetherial breeze in which her hair always fluttered had returned, and her coat was smoothed out around her neck and muzzle. Bags hung under her eyes and her jacket was riddled with wrinkles and the occasional dirt stain, but Luna managed to pull these signs of exhaustion into a look of dignified industry. Royalty always has a way of looking royal, Night thought.

Wait, how did they get here so fast? Night turned around to ask Sam, and he was gone. He didn’t scream, though it was a near thing. Before he could turn and ask the other ponies if they had seen where the human went, Night spotted him casually standing next to the entrance, right behind the others.

“Howdy, friends!” he belted as loud as could be called ‘casually’, startling everypony and making Barrel jump into Stocks arms. She yelled something along the lines of “not again” as she slipped away from her brother and let him fall flat on his rump.

“Oh, Goodness Me!” Luna yelped, “I say, dost thou really feel the need to do that?”

Sam fixed Luna with the same innocent look as before, “Do what, ma’am?”

Luna blinked, opened her mouth to object, then closed it with a subtle grimace. “Never mind. You invited us to discuss things, yes?”

“That’s right ‘bout right, Miss Luna!” He sidled up next to Luna and clapped her on the back. Everypony gasped. Swift Wind tried- and failed- to draw her spear. Sam ignored the looks of shock and horror and pranced to the table, “C’mon, y’all! Get y’selves a seat and get y’selves some drinks!”

A sort of numb awe descended on Night as he watched the custodians cautiously exchange looks. None of the custodians, Night included, knew quite how to respond to the human’s conduct. But Luna’s expression was unreadable. Neutral but not apathetic; Interested but not invested. A textbook example of what Night called the ‘Very Serious Diplomacy Face’. Night would have been impressed if it didn’t remind him so much of his father.

Luna politely sat down opposite from Sam’s spot at the table. The other custodians realised that following the princess’s lead was a better idea than standing around gawping like dead fish, so they sat down as well.

Pleasantries were exchanged. Luna’s were flowery and formal, Sam’s were simple and informal, and the Custodians scattered across the divide between the two, unwilling to commit to either one and risk a faux pas. Night ignored the ceremony and retreated into his mind.

He had known pompous Peers who took delight in driving their ‘lessers’ to frustration and fury. He had known indelicate simpletons who effortlessly drove those around them to rage, without ever considering their words or actions could be offensive. Both of these creatures were familiar, and could be understood and navigated.

Sam presented a unique challenge by virtue of somehow being both, at the same time. Night couldn’t make heads or tails of this human. He kept running the memories through his head, trying to find a method to it all. To answer the question that repeated on loop: Why is he the way that he is?

A tingle of magic ran over Night’s muzzle, drawing him back into the present. He looked down and saw a spectral blue hand gently nudging his chin up to look Luna in the face.

“Sergeant, are you alright? You seem out of sorts.”

Sam interjected, “Aw, no need to worry ‘bout him. I was just tellin’ him some old stories from my days on the trail. Must’ve spooked him a lil’ bit.” Luna was skeptical, and made it plainly visible. “Trust me, I’ve seen some serious shit out there. And I am a very good storyteller, ma’am.”

Luna side-eyed Night for confirmation. Night nodded his head and looked away. The time would come to put Sam on the spot, but not now.

The instant a robot floated to their table to take their orders, Lock and Barrel desperately cried out “Coffee!” in unison. Stock snickered at this, drawing venomous looks from both her brothers. Luna, Stock, and First both ordered teas. Night forwent a beverage, and Swift Wind did likewise. Sam leaned in between the robot’s eye stalks and whispered, “Screwdriver” just loud enough for Night to hear.

The robot hovered away towards a barred-off hallway into what smelled like the kitchen. The bars slid away to let it through, then closed behind it. Stock stretched with a sigh and asked, “So… where do we start?”

As one, everypony slid their gazes across the table and stared at Sam expectantly. For his part, he was leaning farther back in his chair than seemed physically possible, and was humming a mindlessly wandering tune to himself as he gently slapped his chest along to the irritatingly inconsistent rhythm. It took a full ten seconds for him to realise the eyes boring into him.

“... What?”

“If you would recall,” Luna said pointedly, “You pledged to elucidate your part in Lieutenant Response’s survival after we were rested.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“... So explain yourself.”

Sam grinned, “Not ‘ntil y’all’re rested.”

Luna blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lookit those two there,” Sam pointed to Lock and Barrel, who were still barely conscious. “I’ll wait until those two get their coffee first; I’d rather not hafta repeat m’self b’cause those two couldn’t get a good night’s sleep.”

“Hey!” Lock objected, “That’s a load of horseapples! We’re awake and aware as any-” A savage yawn surged past his lips, interrupting him, “A- Any- Anypony else!”

Opposite to their sister, Barrel fell asleep upright. A meaty thunk rang out when his head wobbled forward and bashed into the table. The impact startled him awake. “Who-wuh?? I- i mean- Yeah! We’re just fine enough to… to…-” Sleep almost claimed him for Round 2 with the table. Stock jostled him awake and tried to contain her laughter.

Sam lazily pointed in their direction. “Cue-Ee-De.”

Luna nodded slowly after a moment, “Very well, as you wish. I’m sure the wait staff will arrive before any more interruptions spring up.” As the words left her mouth, a steaming teacup and a small dish of sugar cubes were placed in front of her. First Response got her drink with a metal straw, much to her gratitude. Stock savored her tea with both hands, and her brothers immediately guzzled down their coffees black. Sam was brought a tall glass of orange liquid which he left on the table.

It took three more cups of coffee to convince Sam that they were ready to hear his story. Lock was able to keep his composure, but Barrel was visibly vibrating in his seat. Sam tried to claim that Barrel was too wired to pay attention, but Luna put her foot down.

Sam, as he explained, was a scavenger by trade (Though he preferred the term “prospector”) who had recently driven (Barrel thought he had meant ‘driven’ as in carriage driving, which made Sam laugh like one would laugh at an amusingly incorrect pup. He explained that he was driving an ‘automobile’; Luna politely prodded him to stay focused before he could explain what exactly an automobile was) North from his home to trade. Many goods and products, he explained, were worth a lot more here than they were in his home, and vice versa. For example, there was only one water source in the region that was clean enough to serve as a practical, consistent source of drinking water. (Lock raised questions about why all other water sources, such as the giant lake next to the ruins, weren’t drinkable. Luna intervened before Sam could fully swing into a tangent, and politely asked that Lock’s questions wait until later.) Because of this, the people (‘people’ being another word for humans. Apparently they had a lot of names for themselves, but Luna stopped Sam from reciting an exhaustive list.) who owned that water source had a monopoly on water sales, and everyone else (‘everyone’ being a plural inclusive pronoun used by humans, alongside ‘everybody’. First tried to ask about the history of those terms and how they compared to ‘everypony’ and ‘everycreature’. Luna stopped her, much to her disappointment) had to buy from them at a ludicrously high markup. On the flip side, he explained, lumber was plentiful here. Trees grew freely in the hills to the East. Sam, being the enterprising sort he claimed to be, decided to, quote, haul a bunch of water up to them there hills and get m’self some wood on the cheapo.

When Stock asked what kind of wood he planned on getting, Luna’s patience finally broke. “Stop. Please.”

“Hmm?” Sam stopped.

“I… appreciate your consideration for our ignorance of your society,” she nearly let the mask slip but soldiered on, “but I feel that we are losing focus. Could we please move on to how exactly you found Lieutenant Response?”

Sam scoffed and bonked himself upside the head, “Aw, dammit, Sam. Y’gone and done it again! I’m mighty sorry, ma’am, I do have that tendency to ramble on a bit. Like I remember that one time, me and an ol’ buddy of mine were walking down the highway and saw this shack on the side of the road sellin’ used-”

“SAM.”

“Right, right, m’sorry. Anyways,”

Sam eventually managed to meander his way to a relevant explanation. According to him, he drove past the ruins on his way to town and, on a whim, decided to stroll through the ruins and sneak around for some valuable salvage. As he was strolling, he just so happened to find First Response lying unconscious down a sinkhole.

Swift immediately objected. “Wait. You mean to tell us that you were in the dilapidated ruins of an ancient city, literally blanketed in giant insects, because you just so happened to be passing through??”

“Yeah.” Sam replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “The mantises aint too much trouble, ‘long as you stay quiet and only go in at night. Why, did they harass ya on your way out?”

“REGARDLESS,” Luna interjected, “What happened after you found her?”

“Well, she was pretty outta it. Nasty head wound, couldn't move’er own body right. I gave’er a lil’ somethin’ to put’er to sleep, then carried her out as best I could.”

First merely shrugged when asked to confirm. “Hey don’t look at me,” she said, “I don’t remember a thing from after I fell. Heck, I can barely remember last week.”

“Alright,” Luna slowly nodded, “Let us say I believe you. That still does not answer the question of how you found us.”

It turned out that the answer to that question was simple: Blind luck. After securing First, Sam just decided to take her to the nearest civilization, which just happened to be this hostel. In all likelihood, he had arrived just after they did.

Swift asked,“Why did you carry her in yourself? You could’ve left her with the golems and gone back to your water farming without ever meeting us.” Suspicion dripped from her voice like mildew.

Sam laughed quietly, “hoo boy. ‘Water farming’. That’s a good one. Well, y’see lil’ lady, I go up and down these roads a ton. I stop at these hotels enough that I got m’self a level 1 pass back a few years ago. And seeing as how I was the one to find’er, I figured it couldn’t hurt to make sure the deed got done personally.” Sam continued before Swift could pose the obvious follow-up question, “The staff told me ‘bout y’all stayin here as I walked in. I put two-and-two t’gether, figured she was one’a y’all that done got left for dead back there. An’ since y’all’s rooms were on the way to the doc, I figured it would be polite to let y’all know she was safe and sound.”

Everypony processed the human’s story quietly. Night couldn’t find any holes in it. Sam’s… disposition did make his thought process more believable. Or at least, less unbelievable.

“So,” Luna asked, “What do you intend to do now?”

Sam shrugged, grunted noncommittally, “I figure I’ll stick ‘round for a few days. The market on water ain’t goin’ nowhere til spring brings some rain back ‘round this way. B’sides, it ain’t every day I meet honest-to-goodness aliens.” A small smile graced his lips, almost hidden as he took a long sip from his orange beverage. “Who knows, maybe y’all are gonna need some help gettin’ out of a tight spot later. Doesn’t hurt for me to hang around for a while. Does it?”

Luna held eye contact with him; scanning for any hint of deceit or malice behind those shining, impenetrable sunglasses. “... I cannot prohibit you from doing as you please. You have our gratitude for returning our lost mare to us, and we are in your debt.”

Sam blushed, and almost looked embarrassed, “Aw shucks, it weren't no thing. I just did what anyone would’a done.”

This humility was thoroughly rejected by First Response, who took it upon herself to heap all sorts of praise and gratitude upon the human. Sam flushed and squirmed like a pup with a compliment from her schoolyard crush, and met her laurels and honors with equal fervor to refute them. Interrupting this contest of wills, a waiter approached the table asking the ponies and human if anyone would like something to eat, and the prospect of a hot meal put the debate over Sam's heroism or lack thereof to a ceasefire. Swift Wind declined, claiming that her rations would do fine, and Night might have followed suit had not the violent tremors in his belly flared up at the thought of a hot meal.

The revelation that humans were partially carnivorous went over better than Sam seemed to expect. Night wasn't particularly troubled by it; the human's platter of grilled ribs was nowhere near as macabre as the buffet spreads he had seen in the banquets held by his cousins in the Sanguine Court. Luna was similarly unmoved. She remarked how long it had been since she was in the presence of meat eaters, and said no more on the matter. The other custodians, while visibly uncomfortable with sharing a table with something that ate other living beings, noted Luna's nonchalance and opted to keep their objections and concerns to themselves.

As breakfast (or whatever sort of meal one could classify it as) wound down, Sam gave First Response a frighteningly detailed explanation about the etymological history of the words 'everybody' and 'everyone'. First initially had to be reminded that she had asked the question earlier, (her concussion was still impairing her memory) but was quickly enthralled by the breadth of history behind human language. First was frantically demanding that everypony ransack their pockets for a quill and notepad when Night saw an opportunity to retake the initiative.

So he grabbed it. “Actually,” he said, “There’s a lot of books about this stuff in the library.”

First gasped, “This place has a library!”

“Yeah,” Night said, “A pretty big one, even. And a museum. Sammy here gave me a full tour before you wake up; even helped me pick out some books I thought you guys would appreciate. I’d be happy to show you around.”

“I think that sounds lovely, Sergeant.” Luna said, and turned to the human, “And it would certainly save you, Sam, from having to give a second tour to all of us. You do hate to repeat yourself, don’t you?”

Sam’s eyes floated between Luna and Night Sentinel for a moment. He huffed a chuckle, and shot Night a grin. “Indeed I don’t, ma’am. Indeed I don’t.”

First Response chattered excitedly with the triplets, who responded in their own unique ways. Lock humored her, like an older brother does when their little sibling raves and rambles about whatever incomprehensible fascination captivated their attention. Stock chortled, and teased the medic about her enthusiasm for ‘nerd stuff’. Barrel met First’s enthusiasm with equal passion, though about different subjects of study. Swift Wind kept her eyes locked on Sam like a falcon, occasionally flinching away from Barrel when he got a bit too animated.

“By th’way, miss Luna,” Sam said,” before y’all head off to examine the facilities, I had a question.”

“Yes?”

“When’re y’all heading back to y’all home planet?”

And just like that, the jovial atmosphere vanished, and the sobering reality of their situation crashed into the ponies like a runaway train. Luna sat up straighter and told their story. She omitted the finer details, and was both concise and comprehensive as she regaled the human with the events of the last thirty six hours. When all was said and done, there was only one question; one that everyone seated at the table had:

“So, what’re ya gonna do now?”

“Yes indeed.” Luna looked at her custodians meaningfully, “What shall we do next?”

Nopony answered for a long time. “... Um, your highness?” said Stock, “I think I speak for everypony when I say that the ball’s in your court right now.”

“Yeah, Guard Camp didn’t exactly cover the correct response to…” Barrel gestured indistinctly in every direction, “this.”

First gently raised her good hand, “We’ll have to stay here for a while. “Whatever that medicine machine did to me last night, it seems to have realigned the Thoracic vertebrae that broke when I fell. The extra-cerebral blunt trauma I received when I fell is still present, however. I’ll require at least seventy two hours of recuperation, and as much cessation of physical and cognitive exertion during that period as possible.”

“Um…” Barrel said, blinking sheepishly, “in Ponish, please?”

“Her back’s fixed, but she hit ‘er head real bad.” Sam translated, “She’ll hafta sit alone in a dark room for th’next three days doin’ fuck-all.”

First started to object, then nodded and said, “Yeah, basically.”

“Then that gives us three days to plan.” said Luna, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

“...Y’all could go down to Vegas.”

“I’m sorry,” said Luna, “Go where exactly?”

Sam took a long sip from his drink before answering, “S’a big ol’ city down South. Rumor has it that they just got their hands on some fancy new techno-doohickeys that can do all sorts of cool shit. Y’could go down there, ask the guv’ment for help.”

Swift looked skeptical, “And how exactly are we supposed to get to this ‘Vegas’?”

Sam shrugged, “Y’could walk,” he said, “It’s ‘bout 400 miles through the mountains though, so I don’t think that’d be a smart thing. An’ I don’ have the space in m’car for the lotta y’all, so that leaves the train.”

Finally, Night thought, something I can understand. “Where can we catch a train?”

“Closest station’s in New Canaan, up North on th’other side of Salt Lake City.” Sam saw the pale looks of horror around him and held up a reassuring hand, “Don’ worry ‘bout the creepy crawlies. There’s roads what go around the city that’re bug-proofed. Caravans go up and down thataways all th’time.”

Night was, to risk understatement, unenthused by this plan. Setting aside the dubious trustworthiness of the human who proposed it, Night wanted almost nothing less than to take another step towards that accursed ruin. But astonishingly, First Response agreed with the plan. “If Sam says the roads are safe,” she said, “then I trust him. He has no reason to lie to us, right?”

One by one, the other custodians slowly talked themselves into agreeing with her. After all, if First of all ponies was willing to go along with it, then who were they to refuse? She’s the one who got paralized up there, after all. Night knew a decided election when he saw one, and quietly agreed to the plan despite his numerous reservations.

Luna said, “Well, in lieu of any other plan, it is decided. Lieutenant, it is best for you to return to the infirmary to recover. The rest of you are free to do as you please.”

And so the ponies stood up and trickled out. The triplets and First Response were chattering amongst themselves about what they planned to do with the next few days and, in First’s case, bemoaning that her required bed rest would bar her from the library for several days. Swift remained seated and watched Sam like a guard dog until Luna stood up, and Swift stood up with her and followed her out.

Night, who had not yet moved from his seat, felt a tingle run down his spine when Sam leaned over and whispered, “Do you think she thinks she’s being subtle?” He grinned again; It was almost smug, like he knew something Night didn’t.

“Sergeant Sentinel?” Luna called from the bar, “A word, please?”

Night took the opportunity to gracefully exit the scene, and left Sam alone at the table with a wave and an indistinct goodbye, which the human returned. Luna pulled him aside to the bar (currently untended- Night supposed it was too early for such drinks to be served) and said, “You were with the human alone, yes?”

“Yeah,” Night said. “He’s…” Night thought over the last few hours, “odd. He acts like a friendly, harmless oaf most of the time. But he knows so much about so much, and sometimes...” Night remembered the library, how he reacted to gravely to that dime novel, “Sometimes I feel like he’s hiding something. Something about him he doesn’t want us knowing.”

“Sergeant,” said Luna, “Do you trust him?”

Night blinked, more than a little surprised, “Princess? I don’t understand.”

“Sergeant, I ask you this because I regard you as the best judge of character among my custodians. Do you trust him?”

“... I don’t think he’s going to try to hurt us.”

Luna loomed a bit closer to him and jabbed his finger into his chest fluff, “That is not what I asked you. Do not deflect. Do. You. Trust. Him?”

Night’s ears flattened to his skull. For a brief, shining moment, Night thought of her as Princess Luna, rather than ‘just’ Luna. Old, long-smothered habits took over, recomposing him into neutrality. He thought of the others, and their chances of ever returning home. He thought of the great expanse of the desert, stretching across the horizon, no civilization to be found. He thought of Sam, and the paradox between his knowledge and behavior. He was watching them, still sitting at the table, sipping from his drink with an indecipherable grin.

Night answered, “...No. I don’t.”

Author's Note

Hi yes hello happy birthday to me and all that.

Sorry there isn't much action in this chapter. Now that I'm on ADHD medication I'll hopefully start churning out chapters faster than before.

pls like comment subscribe yadda yadda thank you all for reading see you next time.