My legs pounded out a rhythm as I charged along towards my next destination. Generally I only did one run a day, but I’d been cooped up for weeks and the chance to really stretch my legs had been too good to resist. Although when I’d heard what my destination was going to be I had really wanted to pilot an actual ship instead…

“Discord, I’m going to an actual space station,” I’d stated, trying to make my case to the boss. “I’d cause way less of a commotion if I went there in an actual spaceship.”

“You just want to do trench runs,” snorted my boss. Damn draconequus knew me well.

“I mean yeah, who wouldn’t,” I replied, chuckling. “But seriously, I’m headed to an O’Neill cylinder. That sucker is rotating at God’s own speed, at least on the outer edge. Way safer, and easier, for me to fly a ship in through the docking port.”

“Sorry James,” Discord replied, and though he was denying me I could still see he liked the idea. “The idea of the Pony Express is to introduce a little extra chaos to a universe. Not throw the entire plate of spaghetti at it. The horseshoes I gave you will land you there just fine.”

“Fine,” I huffed, with an eloquent roll of my eyes. “What’s the package and who on the station is it going to?”

Discord told me and it was a full minute before my belly laughs stopped echoing down the halls of the Pony Express building.

“Oh dear sweet baby Buddha on a rocket powered pogo stick,” I laughed, holding my aching sides. “Oh Discord, you bastard. He’s gonna love it!”

That had been a subjective hour or so ago and my legs were just starting to feel that nice burn when I got the sense that my destination was approaching. The interdimensional space I traveled through didn’t have road signs, but I always did have a good sense of when I was ready to pop back out in the “real” world again.

Sure enough, about a minute later I saw the five mile long shadow of the mighty station and I realized I wasn’t exactly sure where I should try to land. I knew where the command center was, but landing there would cause everyone to absolutely freak the fuck out. I knew roughly where the fusion reactors were, and planned to stay well away from those, but that still left around thirty square miles to try to pick a landing at.

The station began to loom close, and I couldn’t stop and go around without risking popping into that reality prematurely; and without a spacesuit I’d definitely be “popping” if that happened. Taking a deep breath I picked a spot midway between what I thought was the command area and the set of big, honking solar panels the place had sticking out at right angles from the station.

“Discord, if this screws up Derpy is gonna take a strip off both our hides,” I said to no one in particular, as I bore in and used my earth pony magic to part the dimensional wall just inside the station itself.

In the next moment, I realized one of the other reasons I had been Discord’s first recruit to his little chaos spreading scheme. My forward momentum, combined with rotational speed of the station, did exactly what I’d been afraid it would. Namely, utterly messing up any possibility of a nice, safe and sane landing and turning me into a cannonball of chaos.

Instead of touching down in a nice corridor somewhere, with lots of room to slow down from my ground eating canter, I was instead treated to a tumbling kaleidoscope of light and dark as my materialization spun me across various rooms and passageways in the station. Some lit, some not, some occupied, some not, and I could hear various cries of surprise and outrage as I barrelled past several blurs of people.

I finally came to rest in a soft pile of something, on my back with my ass way up above my spinning head.

“Londo?” a feminine voice asked, “Is that— oh!”

I felt a slim arm wrap around my barrel, and a moment later I was pulled up against a very well developed chest.

“Londo, I didn’t know you had pets!” the woman exclaimed, running her hands across my fur and stroking my mane, while my mind struggled to catch up with everything. “She’s so soft! What is she?”

Ponies are strong, proud creatures, capable of great fortitude and mental toughness that can carry them through the darkest times, but they… er, we, are also extremely vulnerable in other ways.

Such as having our bellies rubbed and our ears scratched. My brain had almost finished its reboot cycle when a delicate hand started scritching right behind my ear, sending my conscious mind into a happy fugue state.

“What the devil are you talking about, Cassandra?” asked a deep male voice, whose name I knew but didn’t have the brain power to recall just then. “I don’t have any pets. Except for Vir, of course. Though he is much more a moon-faced assassin of joy than a pet.”

“Well, this isn’t a doll, or a stuffed toy,” demanded the woman, now using her other hand to seal my fate by rubbing my belly.

“Lights!” commanded the male voice, and I was instantly blinded by intense radiance. From the cries of dismay in the room, I wasn’t the only one who thought things were a little too bright.

“Computer, reduce illumination to thirty percent standard,” ordered the male voice, sighing in satisfaction as things shifted from utterly blinding to something akin to a moonlit night. The burst of radiance had also had the effect of causing the woman to stop pushing my “off” buttons while clearing my head at the same time, giving me the chance to scoot a short distance away.

“Great Maker, what is that?” asked a stoutly built man in a white dressing gown, an outstretched finger pointing at me.

“I don’t know, but it’s very cute,” pouted the woman, snatching me back up against her ample, and naked, bosom.

“Cassandra, put the creature down and back away from it,” said the man, his magnificent crest of black hair bobbing as he stepped over to a nearby desk to pull out what looked like a small handgun.

“Don’t you dare hurt it,” the woman, named Cassandra apparently, shot back in a wheedling tone. “I want one.”

“Ack!” I gasped, as the woman pulled me in even tighter. “Air!”

That did it. Cassandra dropped me and scampered out of the bed like I was red hot.

“It talks!” she yelled, pointing at me as she joined the barely dressed Londo.

“Sorry to drop in unannounced, Mr. Ambassador,” I wheezed, clearing my throat before adding, “I screwed up my entry vector and crash landed in your quarters. My apologies.”

“How do you know me?” Londo asked, lowering his weapon slightly. “My apologies as well, but I am not familiar with your species.”

“Everyone knows Londo Mollari, Ambassador of the Centauri Republic,” I replied, making sure to pronounce it “tar-e” as opposed to “tor-e” as most humans did. Never mind that I used to be human, but from what I remembered of Babylon 5, Londo was never immune to flattery, praise, or recognition of his star nation as a valid player in interstellar affairs.

“My name is James Allens, resident of the Diarchy of Equestria and currently working for its courier service,” I continued, hoping to extricate myself as cleanly as possible from the minor pickle I was in.

On the plus side, I had landed in Green Sector, which was the station’s diplomatic core. On the down side, I had also landed amongst multiple aliens who could be very alien. The silver lining was, it also meant there was lots of security in the area, the problem was that I had to get out of Londo’s quarters before I could get ahold of them.

“Diarchy of Equestria? Can’t say that I’ve heard of it,” Londo replied, frowning. “Are you here to present diplomatic credentials to the League of Non-Aligned Worlds? Commander Sheridan should have notified me.”

“He didn’t know I was coming,” I admitted, getting up onto my hooves a little unsteadily on the soft bed and making sure my saddlebags were still in place. “I’m just here to deliver a package and then I’m off.”

“I see… “ Londo replied, his voice trailing off.

A lot of people viewed Mollari as a lightweight in diplomatic affairs. A braggart determined to end his days with wine, women, and song, but I’d seen the show. I knew that behind the facade that Londo showed the universe, there was the shrewd and calculating mind of a grandmaster of the game. Someone who had both the will to play and the ruthlessness to sacrifice whatever it took to ensure his Republic was returned to its former glory.

“Give me a moment,” Londo said after a moment or two, gesturing for me to stay put, while he tucked away his weapon. “How large is this ‘Diarchy of Equestria’, of yours?”

“It’s just a single star system,” I admitted, trying to put Equestria in terms he could relate to. “But as you can see, ponies are capable of travelling far and wide.”

“Really?” Londo commented, motioning his companion back to the bed. She hesitated a bit before approaching me again, but seemed to get over it. “What sort of technology does your ship use?”

“Ship?” I laughed, as Cassandra’s hand settled gently on my withers again. I didn’t mind. As long as she was close to me it was very unlikely Londo was going to reconsider putting his gun away. “I mean, a ship would have been nice, but I didn’t need one to get here.”

“Your species does not require spaceships?” Londo asked, affably. “Impressive. Either way, it must have taken you a while to get here. Would you like something to eat?”

“Thanks, but I had a pretty good lunch before leaving, and if I can find my recipient quickly enough, I should be home in time for dinner,” I answered, my own mind working now. What was Londo up to?

“You are going to reach your homeworld, from Babylon 5, in time for dinner?” Londo half asked, half stated, before adding, “On behalf of the Centauri Republic, I would like to open diplomatic relations with your people. Perhaps a trade agreement?”

Cassandra’s hand was stroking the forequarters of my back. It wasn’t as good as ear scritches, but it was nice, though not nice enough to keep me from realizing what Londo was doing. The sly bugger was pumping me for information, AND trying to get a lock on an apparently new technology for space travel from a previously unknown species.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m just a delivery pony,” I replied, sliding out from under Cassandra’s hand to land lightly on the floor, deck… whatever.

“At least allow me to send a diplomatic note back with you,” Londo begged. “You did say you were a courier, no?”

“No, I mean yes. I mean… I guess that would be okay,” I said, a little confused. Though it did sort of make sense. Londo was a diplomat after all, and even if Celestia and Luna never would be actually having relations with the Centauri, it would make Londo happy and having somewhere I could have a pit stop could be handy.

“Excellent!” Londo declared, before punching a button on a console and yelling, “Vir! Get in here! Bring the Seal of the Centaurum with you!”

“Londo,” complained a tired voice from the other end. “I’m not bringing in the Seal just so you can impress your date.”

“I am entertaining a new species!” Londo shot back, puffing out his chest. “The Great Maker has seen fit to bless the Centauri with a new friend.”

Well, damn. After that, there was no way I could just up and leave. Twilight would have my head if I screwed up the chance for new friendships for ponykind. I mean, in my heart of hearts, I was still human, but pretty much the rest of me was all pony. Which meant cultivating capital ‘F’ friendship.

Less than a minute later another half dressed Centauri male rushed into the room, an individual I recognized from the show as Vir Cotto, Londo’s very put upon assistant. As the two of them began to hammer out a note for me to carry back to the Princesses, I felt Cassandra’s hand toying with my mane again.

“Isn’t that just like men?” she asked, sliding down to the floor so she could sit beside me. “They shower us with gifts and flattery, right up until the next shiny toy shows up and then they ignore us.”

“Sorry about that,” I replied, leaning into her a bit with an unspoken offer of comfort. It wasn’t her fault I’d disrupted her evening.

“It’s okay, I got paid up front,” Cassandra replied, ruffling my mane a bit. “Plus I got to meet you, you little cutie.”

I blushed, and she and I sat like that for several minutes while Londo and Vir debated on the correct language to use, and the back and forth between the two was fun to watch. Londo would say he was going to use a phrase, Vir would make a usually common sense objection, then Londo would overrule him, followed by Londo restating the phrase, often following some or all of Vir’s objection.

The pair of them were just printing off a hardcopy of the finished note, when the door to the room chimed.

“Londo, it’s station security,” called a voice through an intercom. “We’ve received a report of an unknown species in your stateroom and the station’s internal sensors confirm it. Please let us in.”

“No need, Mr. Allan,” Londo replied, his eyes shooting over to Cassandra, who had a very smug look on her face. “I am in the middle of a diplomatic session on behalf of the Centauri Republic, and I believe the station charter states that I can prohibit entry to my stateroom as it constitutes a legal enclave of the Republic.”

“Except in matters of station safe— Uh…” Allan’s voice paused. “Ambassador Kosh? What are you doing here?”

The door quite literally disappeared with a “whooshing” sound and the mottled green and black encounter suit of the Vorlon ambassador filled the space where the door had been.

“There is… an Agent of Chaos here,” he stated simply, and as everyone looked on in shock something invisible grabbed onto my throat and lifted me into the air. “You… should not be here.”

“Just… doing my job!” I gasped out, struggling uselessly against Kosh’s telekinetic grip.

“Kosh! Put it down. We can handle things,” the fellow in charge of the security detail said, his gaze flipping back and forth between the two of us.

“We have things well in hand,” Molari added, drawing himself up as well as he could, still in his dressing gown. “Kosh, please put the pony down.”

“He should not be here,” was all Kosh said, and I felt his grip tighten around my throat, cutting off my air.

“Put the pony down now, Ambassador!” Allans demanded, taking aim at the Vorlon, never mind that Kosh could probably melt everyone down to their shoes if he really wanted to.

Me, I just struggled as much as I could, fighting for air. Things were starting to look bad when I felt a hand shove something into one of my saddlebags.

“There!” Londo stated, stepping back from me. “The pony is now carrying a diplomatic note from the Centauri Republic to the Diarchy of Equestria. As such she is now a diplomatic courier and her person is sacrosanct under the Babylon Treaty. I demand you release her!”

Kosh waited for a moment longer before letting me go.

I was about to protest my manhandling… Vorlon-handling? By Kosh, when I realized why he was so pissed about me. Kosh was a Vorlon, basically a guardian of Order, and I worked for literally the Lord of Chaos. So while I might not be in league with the Shadows, or doing anything evil like what Morden was likely up to at that very moment, I was still what Kosh had accused me of being. Specifically, an agent of chaos. Something that was anathema to him.

“Look, let me make my delivery in peace, and I’ll be on my way,” I said, a bit roughly. “I’ll even do it with station security present so there won’t be any shenanigans.”

“Do not return,” Kosh warned, turning and ghosting back down the corridor as everyone scrambled to get out of his way.

“Thanks,” I said, looking back at Mollari. From somewhere he’d managed to shrug into a black jacket covered in various bits of gold and silver. What they meant, I had no idea, but a couple of them looked like awards and such.

“Just let your rulers know that their couriers will be safe under Centauri protection,” Londo beamed back. The man was insufferable, but he’d done me a solid favor.

“Excuse me… uh, Ma’am?” the head of the security detail interjected, hesitantly. “If you could come with us, the Commander would like a word with you.”

“I’d kinda hoped to avoid that, but I guess at this point being quiet and discreet is right out the airlock,” I sighed, stepping up to the man, who had “Allan” on his nametag. “Take me to your leader, and if you could ask Mr. Garibaldi to join us I’d be grateful.”

“Garibaldi?” Allan asked, tilting his head in confusion. “Why?”

“He’s the recipient of the package I’m carrying.”

“...And that’s why I’m here and what I do,” I finished explaining to Commander Sheridan, who was shaking his head in wonder at the idea of a human turned stallion turned pregnant mare, flitting about the multiverse delivering packages.

“You honestly expect us to believe that all of this,” Ivanova shot back, waving her arms around to indicate all of the vast station around us, “and all of us, are part of some sort of entertainment program? That we aren’t real? That nothing we’ve done over the past year and change matters because we don’t really exist?”

“Whoa whoa whoa, there,” I cautioned, holding up a hoof to stop the fiery Russian. “We are all stories in the end. All of us, everywhere. The stories of our lives and times are part of existence, and sometimes the more powerful ones bleed through to other realms. To people and places who could never know our stories except as works of fiction.”

It was a good reply, I thought. One I’d practiced several times.

“As long as no one tries to stick me with some bearded hero type as a love interest,” Ivanova groused, and I had to hide a smile as the face of Marcus swam into my mind’s eye.

“Wait, so if we’re a story,” Sheridan said, a smile suffusing his face as he turned his attention from his second in command back to me. “You know how it all turns out! You know how we get through all of this. What’s going on at Z’ha’dum. What happened with President Clark. Nightwatch. All of it.”

“No,” I stated simply, and it hurt seeing the sudden pain that crossed Sheridan’s face. It was only there for a moment, but we were practically touching noses just then.

“Why not?” Sheridan begged. “What you know could save billions of lives! Even if the details are a little off, you telling us our story could change everything for the better!”

“What I know, is a version of your story,” I replied, as gently as I could. “The stories I know of Babylon 5 were written as a narrative. A visual novel, not a historical record. If I tell you the story I know, it could have you looking for the wrong things in the wrong places. Yes, it may be right about things, but it could also be very wrong.”

“But—” Sheridan began.

“But life in the universe exists because the universe is a certain way,” I continued, grimacing ruefully. “Your story is the way it is, because your universe is a certain way. My telling you my version of this place, would be like changing the mass of the proton. A small change, but one that would doom it as we know it.”

Sheridan nodded as what I was saying got through to him.

“So we’re on our own. No shortcuts,” he stated, pulling back a bit. “So, can we expect other couriers like you?”

“Probably, now that I’ve blazed the—” I began, before being interrupted myself by the bald headed countenance of one Michael Garibaldi, Head of Station Security.

“Hey, what’s up?” the powerfully built man asked, as he strode into the room. Garibaldi paused in shock for a moment as he spotted me, before his face broke into a wide grin. “Holy crap. An original fourth generation My Little Pony figure? And life sized too! Damn. Where did you get him from?”

“Her,” Sheridan replied, smiling. The command trio of the station loved nothing better than pulling fast ones on each other and all of them were able to think on their feet. I kept silent for the moment, letting Ivanova and Sheridan draw their friend in.

“You got me a mare? I mean how? The last series using life model decoys was pretty decent, but folks said the writing went downhill after season 9,” Garibaldi scooped me up, grunting a bit at the weight. “Damn, she feels totally lifelike. How did you guys even find out I used to have a collection of these?”

“Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Garibaldi,” I said, completely deadpan.

“Hey nice… wait a minute,” Garibaldi paused, still holding me under one arm, but running his other hand over my body. “It’s warm… and breathing? Holy Shit!”

Next thing I knew I was in Sheridan’s lap, where I’d landed after Garibaldi had reflexively flung me away, staring down the barrel of his now drawn weapon.

“Michael… “ Sheridan began, trying to head off the chief’s understandable reaction.

“First off, I’m real,” I said, being sure to make no sudden motions. “Secondly, I come in peace. Thirdly, on behalf of Discord and the Pony Express, I have a delivery for you.”

“You’re… real,” Garibaldi replied, looking around at the rest of the room. All he saw were his friends and coworkers smiling and nodding that yes, I was indeed real. “How?”

“Mr. Garibaldi,” I announced, stepping carefully off Sheridan’s lap. Leaping off might have had… unfortunate consequences. “The following is an exception from EarthForce regulation, paragraph forty-seven, subsection nineteen, clause nine ‘A’, under the index listing ‘S.U.A.E.I’. By the authority invested in me, by Discord, and as an official agent of the Pony Express, I have a package for you.”

“What?” Garibaldi asked, ever eloquent. Ivanova and Sheridan’s eyes had both lit up in anticipation as they immediately recognized my reference.

“I have a package for you,” I summarized, stepping back up to him. “Right saddlebag.”

Wordlessly, the big man opened up the flap and drew out a shoebox sized package. There was a flurry of motion and off came the wrapping, along with the top of the box.

“Is… is that what I think it is?” he asked, his eyes wide in wonder. “I can get anything that’s preserved or packaged. But this? Wow.”

“Micheal, what is it?” Sheridan asked, leaning forward.

“C’mon, spill,” Ivanova likewise demanded. “What did the pony get you?”

“Eggs. A dozen grade-A extra large eggs,” Garibaldi replied, lifting out the styrofoam container for everyone to see as tears shone in his eyes. “I haven’t seen a fresh egg in over two years. How?”

“Sometimes a little chaos is a good thing,” I answered, smiling enigmatically.

Author's Note

One of the best shows on television ever. Utterly ground breaking in its format and pioneering use of CGI, which to be fair, has not aged well.

The title of this chapter refers to a moment where Garibaldi complains about the food they have on the station and the response he is given is "EarthForce regulation, paragraph forty-seven, subsection nineteen, clause nine ‘A’, under the index listing ‘S.U.A.E.I’"

Shut Up And Eat It.