Twilight was baffled.
“I’m baffled,” she said.
The foremare looked at her, as if to judge whether she was being serious. At length, and in a restrained Trottingham accent, she said:
“It’s a picket line, Your Highness.”
Twilight took in the scene. Near the main entrance to Ponyville Station, six ponies stood blinking in the bright late-summer sunshine and taking occasional gulps from what looked like an empty brazier, but proved on further inspection to be a very large punch urn. They were all wearing little badges, though Twilight couldn’t quite make out what they said. She turned her attention to the large placard the mare at the near end was holding. It had apparently not been produced by anyone who understood graphic design. Or indeed eye care.
“FAIR DEAL NOW!” the placard insisted, in bright pink type on a blue background. Above this, in a sort of dull copper colour and in a completely different italic font, were the letters N. E. I. G. H. Underneath had been added “We demand the right to work!” This last line was in the sort of faux-script typeface you’d find on the more saccharine kind of birthday card and was light green, or possibly dark turquoise. It was hard to tell without risking the kind of headache Twilight generally associated with reference books that lacked indexes or bibliographies.
“But you’re not working,” Twilight pointed out. “You’re on strike.”
The earth pony waved a hoof dismissively. “My name is Slam Door,” she said. “I, together with my colleagues over there and many more you don’t see here—”
“How many more?” cut in Twilight.
The other pony wobbled a bit. “Many more,” she insisted. “We represent the Northern Equestrian Iron Guided Horses union.”
Suddenly the text on the badges resolved itself. “NEIGH WAY OR NO WAY,” it said.
“And as you say, we are on strike,” continued the foremare.
“Why?”
Slam made a face. “I would have thought it was obvious,” she said curtly. “Equestrian Railways is an absolute joke of an organisation. We’re supposed to be entering the modern age here, stored-magic glow-tubes instead of firefly-lamps, that kind of thing. And yet what do we have?”
“I don’t know,” said Twilight, entirely honestly. “What do you have?”
The foremare looked at her, her head cocked slightly to one side as if to say, “You, uh, might want to sit down. This is gonna take a while.” When Twilight failed to take the hint and sit down, the foremare shrugged and got going anyway.
“Let’s start off with the network itself,” said Slam. “It’s not up to scratch, and that’s putting it mildly.”
Twilight hadn’t meant to get annoyed, but this was too much already. It was hot out here and the ground was hard and she was tired and there were a million and one other things she had to get done. Well, more than one other thing, at least. She supposed she could delegate some of the more trivial and tedious of them to Starlight Glimmer. Starlight liked doing jobs nopony much thought needed doing. That was one reason running the School of Friendship had appealed to her so much.
“But the ER network goes everywherethese days!” Twilight said irritably. “Even to Griffonstone!”
Despite the merciless sun, the temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees, and Twilight realised just too late the mistake she had made.
“No. It. Doesn’t. It goes most of the way to Griffonstone. And then it stops, in the middle of nowhere, so ponies have to trek over a mountain range for the last few miles. What sort of a railway does that? No, don’t bother to answer that,” she added as she saw Twilight open her mouth. “I’ll tell you what sort. A poor sort. The same happens at Our Town—”
“There are reasons for that one!” snapped Twilight.
“Yeah, sure, when it was still your friend’s creepy cult community and she was probably going to hypnotise all the workers or something. But now? The line still ends on top of a cliff five miles from the town. Our Town is an okay kind of place now, so I hear, but I haven’t seen any signs of a transport upgrade.”
“Even so,” said Twilight, trying to keep her annoyance in check, “you must admit that the railway goes close to most places.”
Slam Door grimaced. “Well, if you call that close. Though that brings me on to the next problem. Why in the name of all things apples is the intercity network entirely single track? Manehattan has its Overhead Railway. We can’t even manage two tracks in empty country. There isn't even a turntable! The trains reach the end of the line and then have to reverse all the way back! Isn’t this supposed to be the age of express passenger transport?”
“Well, yes—”
“It seems pretty ridiculous in a modern society to have it so that trains can’t even pass.” The foremare stopped for a moment, apparently thinking about what she had just said. “Though it’s not a problem for now. Seeing as we currently only have about three trains anyway!” Another pause while she gathered herself and once again remembered where she was and who she was talking to. “Your Highness.”
Twilight attempted one of those deep breaths that Cadance had taught her, all those years ago before her ascension. It nearly worked. Meaning that it calmed her down in herself, but didn’t make the problem go away. In this case, unfortunately, the problem was not one confined to Twilight’s own head.
“And then there’s the matter of rolling stock.”
Twilight took a moment to realise what Slam Door had meant. After a giddy couple of seconds in which she had visions of cows and sheep sprawling all over the line, it came to her.
“Locomotives, coaches, flatcars and so on?”
“Exactly, Princess. Considering the size and reach of the Equestrian Railways network, we feel that there is an acute – and, dare I say, chronic – shortage of such available to us. If I may give a few examples?”
Twilight wondered what would happen if she said no. After all, she was the sole and undisputed monarch of Equestria these days. She had a horrible feeling that it would not make a blind bit of difference. Instead, she merely nodded in what she hoped Princess Celestia would have considered an appropriately regal manner.
“Thank you. As you doubtless are aware, the Friendship Express is the backbone of the network. While it is a relatively new design and indubitably spacious for passengers, it has been built in inadequate numbers at the ER workshops in Vanhoover and Fillydelphia.”
“How inadequate are we talking here?”
“Right now? One. The facility at Manehattan,” she added to forestall the question Twilight was already opening her mouth to ask, “has been out of action for more than six months now owing to supplier difficulties.”
“Supplier diffi—”
“The specification calls for some very demanding design features. Making a locomotive operate safely at high speed but look like something a foal would grow out of playing with before starting school isn’t a walk in the park.”
“But do we really have no other classes of locomotive available?” queried Twilight.
“Yes and no, if you’ll pardon the expression, Princess.”
“Meaning?”
“The Manehattan trains are differently gauged, so converting any of those would be prohibitively expensive. The Crystal Empire Flyer has made it out of the Far North just once – and it broke down on the way back. Twice. There are a very few of the old pony-hauled expresses from the early days still around. I believe you and your friends travelled on one of the last of those when you visited Appleloosa to help plant some trees.”
Twilight decided that putting Slam right on exactly how that visit had gone would be far more trouble than it was worth. Instead, she asked:
“You say they’re still around – I haven’t seen any since our trip. Where are they, exactly?”
The foremare looked left and right and beckoned Twilight closer. Her answer came in a whisper so quiet Twilight could barely hear.
“They’re in the Strategic Reserve.”
“The what? I’ve never heard of the Strategic Reserve!” exclaimed Twilight.
Slam cringed. “Shh, not so loud! That’s the whole point!”
At this, Twilight lost her temper entirely. “WE ARE RIGHTWISE MONARCH OF ALL EQUESTRIA,” she boomed. “THOU ART SORELY TRYING OUR ROYAL PATIENCE.”
Once the echoes had died down, without even a flicker, the foremare continued.
“In any case, Your Highness, even with a full complement of fully trained earth pony stallions for haulage, these trains are slow by modern standards. You are doubtless aware that many ponies call them Trotters – and trains should be Gallopers at least. A symptom, if I may say so, of the chronic underinvestment that has plagued us for a long time now.”
“Have you considered using non-pony haulage?” asked Twilight brightly. Now that we have peace with the Dragonlands, thanks to Dragon Lord Ember’s reforms, we are starting to see dragons coming to Equestria for work. It strikes me that one dragon could haul a train like this much faster. And perhaps even airborne, in the style of the royal pegasus chariots.”
Slam Door’s frown gained a frown of its own. “The ponies I represent do not believe that style of Dragon Only Operation is safe. Imagine an airborne DOO train where the dragon tired or became ill. You’d be risking the safety of everypony aboard.”
Twilight thought for a moment. “Then maybe the trains would be faster if they carried a lighter load?” she suggested. “I believe that trains to non-pony lands have had to carry a minimum of two fully armed and equipped members of the Royal Guard for protection and defence for many years. Surely we no longer need that in these times of inter-species peace?”
“Keep the Royal Guard on the train!” roared the foremare, the sheer volume of her cry causing a couple of nearby picketers to jerk their heads up. “Passengers feel safer, and are safer, with trained and equipped security and backup in case of emergency.”
Twilight blushed as she realised she was mentally pacing in circles; or perhaps it was just her head that was going round and round. She knew the foremare was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t think of anything more to say. Unfortunately for her, the other pony could.
“There’s also the subject of fare-dodging,” said the foremare. She coughed.
Twilight felt suddenly attacked, but she wasn’t sure why. At least, not until Slam spoke again.
“We have signs up at stations saying that you need to have a ticket before boarding the train.”
“You can’t object to that, surely?”
“Of course not. But, begging your pardon, Princess, that is the problem. The signs don’t say ‘unless you can teleport’ in small print at the end.” She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly.
Twilight felt even more attacked now – and, she reflected uncomfortably, Slam had a point. She recalled the multiple times that she, sometimes with her friends in tow, had zapped aboard a train – even a moving one, which was doubtless another infringement of some rule or other – without stopping to purchase a ticket. Princess Celestia’s leadership lessons had left her in no doubt that just because she was royalty she wasn’t exempt from standing in line like everypony else.
She collected herself. “All right,” she said. “I’ll ask Parliament to look into it at their next session.”
“That’s not until the other side of Hearth’s Warming,” pointed out the foremare, rather testily Twilight thought. She hoped the union official hadn’t seen her rolling her eyes. Instead, she took a deep, steady and above all calm breath – this one felt rather more successful – and carried on as if nothing untoward had happened.
“I’ll make a note,” she said. Once upon a time, she reflected, she would have found it intolerable not to make that note instantly—but many things had changed. She waited for the foremare to continue her list of grievances, assuming there would be more to come. To her surprise, the union pony changed tack.
“Besides,” added Slam Door with a triumphant expression, “we can’t possibly delay the strike now. Once ponies start training for the Running of the Leaves, nopony much would notice. Transport is a mess at festival time anyway; that’s why airships are in such demand. And it’s too cold after that. Nopony wants to be out in the ice and snow.”
Twilight stayed silent, hoping that the foremare would—well, mostly hoping that she’d just finish, so that she, Twilight, could consider all the issues. Preferably in a nice warm corner of her castle. Preferably with a very large box of chocolates. Preferably accompanied by an even larger bottle of wine. And preferably... no, not preferably, absolutely away from anypony else at all.
The foremare struck a dramatic pose. One forehoof pointed into down the track towards some indeterminate point many miles hence. Her eyes burned with righteous intensity. Her chin jutted out and she stared into the distance, or at least a point slightly beyond the back of Twilight's head. Her eyes were unblinking. Her frown had returned with a vengeance.
Twilight still said nothing. Slam held the pose. Twilight continued to say nothing. Her companion's eyes began to take on a look of pleading. Twilight raised one eyebrow. Sweat was pouring off Slam's face. At length, the foremare struck a less dramatic pose, winced slightly in the manner of one whose muscles haven’t done anything as silly as that for quite some time, and finally she spoke.
“You see, Princess,” said Slam Door, “we must strike while the iron is hot.”
Author's Note
Slam Door's panicky reaction to Twilight's mention of the "Strategic Reserve" was inspired by a famous urban myth concerning Britain's real-world railways.
