Sunday, July 26th, 909 AB (The next day)

Coat bristling in frustration, the colt stares balefully at the small metal cross as it refuses to smoothly pass through the obstacle. “This thing sucks!”

“Poor colt,” Solar mockingly sympathizes, “He finally finds something he can’t cheat at and look how he loses his temper.”

“Don’t be a brat,” Starlight scolds from atop his withers as she nips at her stallion’s ear. “You’re supposed to be the adult here.”

“You’re fixating on the lead piece,” Dawn points out. “You need to stop relying on your eyes so much and focus on your aura.”

Cure’s snout scrunches in annoyance even though he knows she’s right. Despite working on his horn dexterity nearly every night for a month he’s only managed to add another two pieces in before he completely bombs the attempt.

“Put a blindfold on him,” Solar suggests.

Cure looks to his left, waggling his brows at the stallion. “Kinky,” he silently mouths, earning a disturbed look in return.

“It’s not a bad suggestion,” Starlight agrees, completely missing the byplay. “That’s how my sire taught me and my sister. We didn’t have one of these,” she nods to the obstacle course, “so he had us use playing cards to make houses, then we would go outside and juggle balls between us to get better at catching moving things. Thankfully they were made of foam; I probably would have had a black eye a few times otherwise.”

“Try it,” Dawn insists with a poke. “Close your eyes and relax.” Cure takes a deep breath and blows out an explosive sigh, nodding in acquiescence. “Don’t pick up any pieces yet. Study the course. Plot out exactly where you’re going to move the pieces and how and when they need to rotate.”

The colt focuses on the box in front of him, ignoring everything else. The course is, essentially, a figure-eight with two dozen obstacles; plates with a plus sign removed from the center for his same-shaped pieces to pass through. For extra difficulty, the plates are not all at the same height, so not only do the pieces need to move along the course and be rotated, but they also must be lifted or lowered, all in a smooth motion between the plates.

He spends a minute simply mapping out the location for the plates, envisioning a piece flowing through them seamlessly. With the course plotted out in his mind he levitates a single piece, tightly wrapping his telekinetic grip around the piece to sandwich the flat sides, careful not to let it extend beyond the arms.

Slower than he feels necessary, he moves the piece to the first plate, keeping the mental image of the entire box and the projected path at the forefront of his mind. The first loop is completed perfectly; he easily keeps the single piece in constant motion. A second joins, then a third, then a forth, and finally a fifth; all parading around the loop with seamless synchronicity.

“Good jo-” Solar calls out, wincing at the immediate *clink* from a piece tapping into a plate. “Sorry!” he immediately says when three scowls all aim in his direction.

Cure sighs again as his shoulders sag in disappointment. Dawn rolls slightly to her left, her whole body leaning against him. His right wing lifts and wraps over her back and around her side without a thought. “Well,” he grumbles, “at least it was an improvement. It’s your turn, babe. Show me how it’s done.”

The orange filly gives him a nod and lights her horn. Six of the pieces start moving through the course, easily navigating the maze and gaining speed as she concentrates. Cure looks up to Starlight and says, “So the Mariner was a hit, just like you said.” Dawn huffs in annoyance, still unhappy that she wasn’t able to be his first date. “I wasn’t sure Drift would be down for dancing, but once she saw me ‘n Glacial do a number she damn near tackled us wanting to go next.”

“I saw!” she excitedly exclaims. “The pictures were amazing! I wish I had thought to suggest hiring a photographer; I bet the girls would have loved to have professional pictures taken in those dresses.”

“Yeah, I’ve two minds on that. I’m kinda glad somepony was able to get a few good ones, but also a bit peeved that they so blatantly invaded our privacy to do so. I mean… we were on a boat in the bay far from shore and everypony else. It’s about as private as you can get while still being outside.”

“You are a public icon,” Solar points out. “Or, at least, ‘Prince Serpentus’ is. If you’re outside and not on private property then it’s perfectly legal for somepony to use a spell to look at you. It’s no different than a pegasus sitting on a cloud and watching you. If you were some random foal being followed like that then it would be harassment. That’s not the case for you, though.”

“I know it’s not illegal. It’s just rude as fudge.” He leans over to nuzzle Dawn, whispering, “Nice job, babe!” when she adds a seventh piece in.

“Those ponies have to earn a living too, Cure,” Starlight gently reminds him. “The fully colored collector’s edition of those inserts were selling for ten bits apiece in Baltimare yesterday.” Sheepishly, she adds, “I… actually bought one myself.”

“What?! Why?”

“I don’t get the paper normally,” she answers with a pout. “Besides, it’s not like I was the only one! They were almost sold out when I got mine, and it was only ten o’clock!”

“Unbelievable.”

“You should be thrilled,” Solar argues. “The whole city adores you, Cure. Tartarus… the whole nation does.”

“Wait till they hear what I did now,” he mumbles.

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Well… remember the projects I mentioned back when I told ya about the whole ‘making it so you can definitely have a colt’ thing?”

Solar takes a moment to think back to the conversation. He recalls Cure insisting that Starlight not share anything he told them, but aside from diseases in general there was only one thing he had specifically cited as working on a cure for. Realization dawns on the red stallion and his eyes widen comically; a reaction mirrored on the mare laying across his withers. “No fucking way.”

Dawn stops her exercise and turns to give her brother a questioning look.

“Yyyyeeeepp,” the colt drawls out. “At least in theory. It’ll have to go through the whole testing process, but I’ve already run hundreds of simulations with my plant.”

Solar’s head tilts in confusion as he asks, “How would you simulate that… no, wait, I don’t even care. Have you told the princess?”

“I plan on telling her tonight. Needless to say, don’t tell anypony. Literally nopony else knows. I’m not even sure how to tell ponies something like that, ya know?”

“Apparently by casually blurting it out in an otherwise mundane conversation,” the stallion dryly remarks.

“I prefer to rip the bandage clean off rather than slowly peeling it away.”

Looking a little queasy, Starlight wearily admits, “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

“Not exactly the reaction I expected,” Cure remarks. “What’s got yer tail in a twist?”

“That’s like… the biggest piece of news ever! Probably even bigger than,” she waves both hooves at him as a whole, “you and the whole being an alicorn thing! It’s going to change everything! EVERY THING!” she more forcefully repeats.

“Eh,” he shrugs, “go big or go home, I always say.”

Dawn looks between the three and demands, “What in the hay are you all talking about?”

Cure waves his wings in circles in the air and, in the best mysterious showpony voice he can conjure, says, “The end of everypony, yet killer of none!”

The filly huffs in annoyance and leans forward to look past him to her brother.

“Aging,” he answers. “He told us he was going to figure out how to stop or ‘cure’ aging.”

“Oh.” She ponders a moment before nodding in approval. “Good job. Now put your wing back. It’s soft and cozy.”

“I know, right?! Wings are like… the bomb-diggity when it comes to hugs. I’ve got a whole scale for it and griffs are right up at the top.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Griffons are the thus far uncontested number one, then the boss lady, then pegasi, ponies and, more than likely, zebras, and most other quadrupedal species are tied for number four, and I suspect dragons are dead last, what with the scales and all. I’m not sure where other creatures fall.

“Avians might be right there with griffs depending on how soft those chest feathers are. Kirin, I suspect, are maybe a tad ahead of unicorns and earth ponies, what with the extra warmth and all and depending on if they have chest scales. Abyssinians could be anywhere on that scale depending on how soft their fur is. Of course, if giant sapient bunnies exist then they could beat everypony out, potentially.”

“What about minotaurs?” Solar teases. “They seemed the huggable sort on the train.”

“Bulls are probably pretty good at giving hugs, what with arms and hands and all. Heifers could possibly be up at the top of the list. I’ll hafta get back to you on that. The whole list is a work in progress.”

Dawn cocks her head to the side in confusion and asks, “Why would heifers be so much better than bulls? They both have arms and hands.”

“Boobs,” he instantly answers. “Heifers have huge, warm, soft pillows built right into the hug zone. You find yourself a heifer with a nice, plush set of milkers and have her give ya a hug right between them puppies and I bet it would ruin hugs from everycreature else for the rest of your life.”

“Poor things,” Starlight sympathizes. “Those have to get in the way all the time. Thank the maker ours aren’t jutting out from our chests like that.”

Cure briefly envisions what a pony would look like with a set of knockers on their chest. While academically interesting to ponder, he quickly comes to the conclusion that it would be really fucking weird and dismisses it out of hoof.

“Ya know, we could test it all out right here and now,” he suggests as he sits up on his haunches. He reaches up with his hooves, grabbing the sides of his snout, and with a sharp twist to the left and an odd “click” sound, detaches the front half of his face. Dawn recoils away and Starlight buries her face in Solar’s mane. Curiosity getting the better of him, the stallion watches in wonder when, instead of some horrific gory mess, the spot where the colt’s muzzle was attached is instead a flat, pitch black layer of an unidentifiable material.

Cure tucks his muzzle under his left wing and withdrawals an ivory white beak, then slaps it in place with a twist to the right, once again clicking into position. The entire swap took less than five seconds. Not being one for half measures, he repeats the performance with his right forehoof, replacing it with a set of dark blue talons, then does his left.

“Do you just keep spare parts on you all the time?!”

The colt gives Solar a perplexed look. “You don’t? That’s really irresponsible of you, Solar.” With a chopping motion he points a talon at his big bro and insists, “You should always be prepared! What the hay is your plan if you wake up one day and yer horn’s gone and you’re sittin there without a spare, huh? Just gonna go around hornless all day?” he asks with a scoff. “Foolish to the extreme, that’s what that is!”

Choosing not to respond to the colt’s ridiculous rant, Solar sighs deeply and rolls his eyes. “You can look,” he tells the girls, “there was nothing to see but a patch of solid black anyhow.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” Cure boasts as they timidly peek at the transforming horned hippogriff. “Did you really think I would… I dunno, have some kinda bloody mess hangin out my face?” he asks as his coat transitions to a mixture of fur and feathers. His ears pin flat against his head and seamlessly blend in as feathers grow over top of them and longer feathers grow from above his hooves and talons.

“Sort of?” Starlight bashfully admits as she takes in his new appearance.

Dawn jabs him in his side with her hoof, growling, “We never know with you, dummy! You could have warned us!”

Playfully smiling as much as one can with a beak, he argues, “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? Now,” he says as he spreads his wings and forelegs wide, “you gonna get a piece of this or what?”

With another annoyed huff the filly sits up and nods.

Cure turns and embraces her from her left side, wrapping his fillyfriend in a warm, all-encompassing hug. With his wings pulling her against his soft chest feathers, he reaches up and gently runs his dulled left talons down the back of her neck through her mane. His right talons carefully run slow circles around her right ear as she melts into the embrace, sighing in contentment. A soft nuzzle of her horn with the side of his beak nearly finishes the filly off, eliciting a happy hum as she grinds her cheek against his flight muscles.

“Wow!” Starlight exclaims, mesmerized by the speed with which the young alicorn subdued the girl.

“Alright, babe, it’s Star’s turn,” he says, prodding the filly with a knuckle. She whines but reluctantly disentangles as the navy mare climbs off her beau. His horn ignites for a split second and, in a flash, an adult sized hippogriff stallion spreads his wings in invitation.

The sight stuns both adult unicorns; gone is the shorter foal and in his place is a tall, muscular stallion with the colt’s immaculately groomed features and enormous, beautiful wings on display. A hint of envy flits through the stallion’s mind only to be immediately quashed and dismissed as ridiculous.

Starlight speechlessly approaches, turning to her right to avoid poking him with her horn. First his left foreleg dips under hers, his thick, powerful muscles effortlessly lifting her front half and pulling her against his chest. His right talons begin slowly petting through her mane, combing down its length to gently massage her scalp and skin. Large wings fold around her, enveloping her in a world of sinful softness, comforting heat, and the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies.

It only takes a few seconds before she is fully laying against him, barely holding back a yawn and nuzzling deeply into his neck. “Oh my stars,” she slurs while brushing her crown against the underside of his beak.

Solar’s discomfort is interrupted when the door swings open to his dam, immediately followed by his sire, strolling in with groceries on their backs. The colt turns his head to the left as the pair enter the living room, headed to the kitchen, and waves his right talons in greeting. Both freeze at the sight of the colt, stunned at the large hippogriff sitting in their living room. With his colors and cutie mark plainly visible it only takes a split second to realize who he is, but his unexpected appearance still stuns them speechless.

“Sweet!” he joyfully calls out, “a larger polling group!” He folds his wings back to reveal the previously obscured and dazed younger mare as he beckons the elder over. “Come get in on this, Mrs. Aura! You two,” he motions between Solar and Haze with a wing, “can go last. Ladies first and all that.”

Trotting up to the princess, Cure rears up to wrap her neck in what’s become their customary greeting. “Howdy, boss. What’s shakin?”

“Good evening, Cure Wave,” she replies as she wraps her wing around him. He settles between her forelegs as she begins, “Quite a fair amount, truth be told. The most important news concerns the samples from the cave.”

Celestia had previously explained that the expedition to the Tree of Harmony had been delayed a week due to an unexpected and particularly violent storm over the Everfree, launching the second week of July instead of the first as was originally planned. Once the storm had cleared up the mission proceeded normally; a platoon of soldiers from Fort McMare, just south of the Detrot, deployed via air transports from the capital on the eighth.

Rather anticlimactically, the cave was found, samples were gathered, and all fifty troops were able to safely withdraw. The only injuries were a twisted fetlock and some bruising that a unicorn suffered when the mare stepped on a slippery patch of moss.

Celestia agreed with and relayed Cure’s suggestion that magic not be used directly during the entire process in case pony magic would somehow light a fuse on any potential traps. Air samples, dirt samples, rock scrapings, moss samples, and tiny cuts off of any vines in the area were gathered and ferried back to McMare for a ten day quarantine and observation, which means that the last week or so is the earliest they are going through legitimate testing.

“I must thank you again for your suggestions regarding quarantine measures. It is quite likely that adherence to them prevented, at the very least, untold number of injuries. A biopsy of one of the vines reacted violently when scanned with unicorn magic. Once the scan started it ballooned in size from barely larger than a kernel of corn to a writhing mass of vines the size of a plum. The entire process took only a few seconds.”

“That sounds bad.”

“Indeed. Fortunately, Dr. Heathland activated the emergency protocols immediately. The sample was incinerated to dust, which was then gathered and placed in warded containment where it has sat for the last three days with no sign of regeneration.”

“Good save, doc,” the colt genuinely cheers. “Any signs of a reaction from the other samples or anything in the cave itself?”

“No. The testing chambers were isolated, both physically and magically, as you suggested. There are additional samples from the vines, but testing will be out on hold for the time being.”

“Was the doctor able to get anything from the scan before the sample went nuts?”

“He was not. He said the results of the scan kept changing even while he was still running it. First it was as if he was scanning himself, then a bowl of oatmeal, and finally a water balloon.”

“Come again?”

“I know,” she sighs. “The spell would not even work on one of those. Clearly Discord’s work in action.”

“Have you considered having non-pony creatures attempt to scan the samples? Maybe griffon, zebra, or minotaur magic has a different flavor, for lack of a better word.”

“Only in passing. I do not believe that to be a feasible option due simply to the fact that anycreature skilled in such magics would either be unavailable, or making them aware of the plunderseeds would be an unacceptably large risk to national security. Though I doubt anycreature could reproduce his work, especially reliably, the risk to ponykind could be immense.”

“We don’t have any that are Equestrian citizens that we can trust?”

“Not with experience in the necessary fields of magic, no. Griffon magic is almost exclusively wind-based, so they lack the capacity for biomancy or chloromancy. Hippogriffs are similar, though they tend to have some proficiency with hydromancy as well. Some zebra shaman are capable of such, but we do not have any with experience. Minotaurs tend to be the most experienced with nature magic, but again, there are none that are Equestrian citizens.

“As you can imagine, specialists in those fields are quite closely monitored. No nation would allow anycreature with those proficiencies to simply take that knowledge and leave. Not without assurances.”

“You don’t say,” he flatly responds.

“Mmhmm. Some are easier to control than others, thankfully. Especially silly little foals,” she innocently comments. When the colt glares up at her chin she rolls slightly to her left and lifts her right forehoof to inspect her golden shoe. “Merely dangle something shiny in front of them,” she says, oscillating it it slowly in front of him, “and, next thing you know, they are doing exactly what you want without even needing to tell them to.” She commiserates with a sigh and refolds her foreleg, “If only it were always so…” she glances down at him and slowly enunciates, “... simple.”

“Think yer reeeeeeeal funny, dontchya?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about, Cure. I was clearly talking about somepony else,” she insists. “Regardless, I do not believe having another creature make an attempt is truly necessary, even if we could find somecreature when the skills that we trust sufficiently. Once the latent magic of the samples is dispersed they should be capable of being scanned like any other plant.”

“You have a way of draining chaos magic?”

“In such small quantities, yes. It will still take a few months before I can be sure it is safe for you to scan the samples, but there is no dire urgency.”

“Huh. I’m surprised you didn’t just have them do that before even making the attempt.”

“With the precautions in place the risk was minimal.”

“If you say so, boss. So I’ll plan to visit Fort McMare sometime early next year?”

“Perhaps sometime after the winter births,” she agrees.

“Works for me. Any idea what the plan is for those? Marchioness Coltifornia’s point about me only helping a few areas is a valid one. I know I can’t do much ‘till I’m older, but…”

“I understand,” she assures him. “A proposal has been put forth to have everymare deemed high enough risk be transported via train to Detrot starting just after New Year’s day. That is several weeks prior to local births starting and, with the staggered due dates, should provide more than sufficient leeway to ensure everymare is able to be seen before labor begins naturally.”

“Why Detrot?”

“Logistics. It is centrally located and is the nexus for the nation’s rail system. There are more hospitals and hotels per capita compared to Canterlot and Fort McMare is nearby to provide guards to ensure everything goes smoothly. Chicoltgo would be a decent option due to the number of hospitals and hotels, but a few factors make it a less optimal choice; colder weather, higher winds, and less convenient rail accessibility in particular.”

“Fair enough. I’ve never actually been to Detrot. I’ve flown past it a couple times, though.”

“Several details need to be worked out before we book your hotel room. I will not allow plans to move forward unless your parents approve.”

“I don’t see them refusing, given the stakes.”

She nods in understanding, saying, “I would not want to presume. If any or all of them wish to accompany you, all of their expenses will be reimbursed as well as any missed wages.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, boss. We’re not exactly struggling anymore, ya know?”

“It is the very least I can do. I do not need to tell you that no matter the expense, it pales in comparison to the value of the services you are providing. Let me know next week, if you could. There are quite a number of logistical issues that will need to be addressed, so the sooner the better.”

“Sure thing. I’ll talk to them tonight. You know, I could always pop out, ask, and come right back.”

“Next week will suffice, Cure. I do not need an answer right this moment.”

“Alright. On the whole baby-makin subject, how’s the distribution of the gender ratio test kits coming along?”

“Very well. The kits should be sent out to Family Planning and Regional Health Authorities across the nation within the next three weeks. On that note, the … I suppose calling them ‘pups’ is no longer accurate. The mice bred using your trees are now themselves being bred. Assuming their pups have no health defects the first round of equine testing will proceed in September. Thus far Director Storm has indicated there have been no abnormalities at all.”

“Sweet. Can’t say I’ve ever been excited to hear about pregnant mice, but hey… the whole last year has been a round of firsts.”

“Indeed. It has been a very busy year for you, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s been nuts, but all and all I got no reason to complain. The folks are happy, my friends are doing great, and I’ve been given the opportunity to help more creatures than I ever thought I would. Hay, I even had my first date just the other day! Thanks for the carriage, by the way,” he says, nuzzling into her left knee. “The thing is friggin sweet lookin and both girls loved it.”

Celestia gently squeezes him in a hug between her forelegs. “You are quite welcome, Cure. I am happy to hear you like it.”

“You bet! The thing is pretty sweet. I need to learn what all the controls do. I’m assuming they’re all defensive, right?”

“Not all of them. There are passive defenses built into it, naturally. There are also more active defenses that will seal the doors, cover the windows, and even deploy a very powerful barrier, but there are also controls to alter the carriage’s appearance with Illusions to appear more mundane and to activate the lightening effect for flight.”

Clapping and wiggling with glee, Cure can’t help but shout, “HA! That’s awesome! I have a friggin James Bond carriage! Oh wow, I know you have no idea what that means, but trust me, that’s like… one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard! Can it go underwater too?!”

Celestia genuinely smiles at the colt’s excitefulness. “Indeed it could. It would be difficult to submerge, assuming the cab is sealed, but the need for breathable air aside, there is no reason why it could not. Not that lack of air would be a significant hindrance for you.”

“Not particularly, no. I don’t plan on testing it, was just curious. Now I just need to put headlights on it, then find a way to have them slide out to reveal repeating crossbows. Drift would freakin lose her marbles if I pulled that off. I bet Red could rig something up.”

“Headlights?”

“Think of a lantern sitting in front of a parabolic reflector so that a vehicle operator can see what’s ahead of them in the dark. I guess it would make more sense to slap a few Light crystals on it with their emission set to frontal arcs, but yeah… same end result. The reflectors would be as much to keep the light from blinding the operator as they are to project the light forwards, I suppose.”

“Ah. It does have interior and exterior lighting switches as well. I would recommend speaking with Captain Forward Stance or First Lieutenant Flowing Quill when you have an opportunity to. They should have a copy of the documentation for you to review.”

“Cool. I’m assuming you saw the pictures from Friday night?”

“Yes. I believe the majority of the nation will have seen them by tomorrow morning. The ones of you dancing on the boat were phenomenal, Cure! I’m sure Misty Twilight and Azure Tiara will be quite eager to drag you to their dance school during your next visit. I understand many of the young fillies are quite jealous that they got to dance with Prince Serpentus before anypony else.”

“Ehh… technically, I wasn’t a prince at the time. That was before I got my crown, which I still absolutely love, by the way. The name, the crown, and the carriage. Three for three, boss.” He reaches back and pokes at her chest with his wingtip. “Ya know, for an old timer you actually can be somewhat cool on occasion.”

“I’ll be sure to add ‘Being Cool’ to my list of achievements.”

“Good. You should be proud. Most folks I know lose that ability by about fifty, so holding into it for an extra two thousand years is a monumental accomplishment!” His playful demeanor becomes suddenly more serious as he says, “So yeah, about those pictures… We did not have a camerapony onboard the ship with us, though it was pointed out to me that I probably should have hired one.”

The mare furrows her brow in thought and says, “Presumably you or your guards would have detected a stowaway, invisible or not. Similarly, I have a difficult time believing you, of all ponies, would not notice a hidden camera of some kind. That means they were taken via a telescoping camera or through a remote viewing spell.”

“I don’t think the tech development is far enough along for that good of a picture with a telephoto lens considering the distance to shore. The ship we were on was larger than anything close to us and the angle of the pictures means they were taken from slightly above us. No pegasi, bats, or griffs got close enough either. How difficult is it to detect when somepony is scrying your position?”

“It depends on what method you employ. This variant,” she projects an Illusion of a spell diagram, “of Detect Magic will not only allow you to sense the spell, but also give you a sense for the direction of the caster. It will only work if you cast it when the spell is active.

“Detecting scrying magic passively is much more difficult. When somepony is using a scrying spell it causes a minor disruption to the magic in the area that is being viewed. There is a very slight increase in the pressure, and the direction from which the pressure originates corresponds to the location of the viewing window. This is why unicorn guards are trained to use my sun’s position relative to the viewing target. The flow of thaumic energy is obscured somewhat by the everpresent energy radiating from it.”

“Huh. I’ll have to see if Dawn or Solar can practice with me to see if we can detect it. Wish I’d known earlier; I was hangin out with them most of the afternoon.”

“I would certainly recommend taking advantage of the coming weeks before he departs for the academy. Do not be surprised when they detect the change more quickly than you. Solar Strike, especially, has had years of experience and at least some training on how to detect alterations to local thaumic currents.

“You will have classes at my school dedicated specifically to hone this ability so that you are more aware of nearby magic use. I recommend you spend some time simply meditating while focusing on the flow of magic passing through your surroundings.”

“Ugh… meditation. That’s probably not something I’m gonna be good at.”

“Really?” she asks in feigned surprise. “It is almost as if you are admitting you lack patience. I would have never expected that.”

“I’ve never claimed to be a patient pony.”

“Indeed, however I meant that I am surprised you would admit a shortcoming of any kind.”

The colt rolls his eyes up at the ancient mare. “Somepony is a bit of a comedian today, huh?” He sits up and noses at the underside of her chin. “What’s got Celestia in a good mood today, hmm?”

A wide, genuine smile crosses the mare’s face as her wings dance and booty wiggles in joy. “I took a certain know-it-all’s advice,” she begins. She wraps him in a hug and rolls to her left, coming to a stop laying more on her back than her side. Cure rolls to his belly and rests his chin on her peytral, surprised to see that her horn passes through the cloud-like surface unimpeded.

It occurs to him that with a meter long spike jutting out of her head she probably doesn’t get to lay like this very often. Her hind legs stretch back and do that wobbly kick move before settling into a position that really highlights how enormous the princess truly is. Cure does no more than glance back at the movement before facing her again, but he figures the distance from the tip of her hind hooves to her snout can’t be any less than four meters.

Of course his brain has to make the moment weird by reminding him that his junk is resting on the Godqueen of Equestria’s soft, warm chest.

She looks around conspiratorially, which is odd given that literally nopony else can even be in the astral realm, and leans close to Cure to whisper. “I snuck out of the castle on Friday night,” she excitedly confesses. “I did not do anything so grandiose as you are likely imagining, but I did make my way to a local tavern and enjoyed a few of those delicious fruity drinks. I even got flirted with!” she nearly squeals while giggling.

“Oh! My! Stars!” he exclaims in his best impression of an excited teenage girl, fluttery wings, bouncing booty, and tail wildly dancing on her belly. “You have to tell me EVE! RY! SINGLE! THING! Mare or stallion? Are they cute? Were you Sunny Skies or Light Beam? Did you shake that booty on the dance floor?”

She adorably giggles as she leans back to lay flat, squeezing him in another foreleg hug. Her wings spread and flatten against the clouds as she wiggles with the colt in her embrace. “I went as Sunny. He is a bright yellow pegasus with a fiery red mane and the most gorgeous ruby eyes! We drank and chatted for a while, then he invited me to dance. I admit, I am somewhat behind the times on modern dances, but he showed me the moves, as it were, and we had such a wonderful evening.”

“Are you meeting him again?”

Celestia deflates a little and quietly laments, “I would like to, but my schedule…”

“Can be adjusted easily enough,” he insists. With a gentle poke to her chest with his hoof he tells her, “The world will not stop if you take a few hours off every week, Celestia. Don’t go trying to use work as an excuse to isolate yourself from society. A society that you’re largely responsible for enabling the existence of, no less. I already know you can go the whole night without sleep easily enough. The big question is going to be how and when you tell him the secret if you do meet again. I’m sure you’ve gone through all this before, though.”

“I have,” she confesses with a sigh. “Many times, in fact. The only thing I can say for sure is that there is no perfect time or way to tell somepony. To my shame, I have found that ponies take the reveal better later rather than sooner.”

“Mmm… I could see that. You mean telling them after you’re intimate is less likely to scare them away, right?”

Her cheeks pink slightly in shame as she slowly nods.

“I’m guessing it’s easier to accept that, despite all the differences, you’re still a pony. It’s the feeling that you’re deceiving them that bugs ya, isn’t it?”

“Very much so, especially when they have trusted me in such a way… to have been deceiving them the whole time makes me feel awful.”

“Probably saps some of the fun outta the act, too,” he suggests. The smallest of nods is her only response.

“Have you ever tried telling them upfront that, due to who you are, you’re wearing a magic disguise and you don’t want to unmask until you know the relationship is serious? Maybe even say you’re famous and, as a result, everypony treats you differently, but you prefer to be treated like anypony else and that makes relationships far more complicated?”

“That is not something I have tried, no.”

“It sucks you have to almost experiment on your own relationships, but I don’t see a good alternative. You know you’ll get a few ponies that will want to play the guessing game when you say you’re famous. You’ll have to have a good way to shut that down if you go that route.”

“I think I would lose interest if I told somepony I was in disguise so I would not be treated differently and their first reaction is to guess at my identity.”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s a sign they’re not going to be a good long term match, seeing as how there’ll be plenty of other times you’re forced to keep secrets. Still, I’m proud of ya, boss. Even if this one doesn’t go anywhere, I’m thrilled to hear you’re going out socially and having fun. If you ever want a wingpony just say the word. I can be there in about an hour, ya know?”

Celestia chuckles at the suggestion; her chest shaking the colt as she snarks, “Oh yes, I am definitely going to ask that a foal not yet ten flies five hundred kilometers to accompany me, mentally older or no. It is sweet of you to suggest, Cure, but I cannot fathom how I would also explain who you are when the time for the revelation finally comes.”

“Fair. I’m not sure how my folks would react to me telling them me and you are gonna go hit a few bars on a Friday night. They know I can’t get drunk, but I bet my dam would still be hesitant. The rest of them would be jealous that they can’t come too.”

“It was nice to go out with ponies that knew my identity. I still feel awful that they witnessed such behavior from their princess. That your sire had to carry me back to the castle like that… I cannot begin to tell you how embarrassing it was to wake up using his side as a pillow.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he demands. “They had fun hanging out with a friend and would happily do it again.”

He catches her tail doing a happy swish as she smiles fondly. “It has been a while since I had ponies I could truly consider friends. Perhaps next time they accompany you to Canterlot we will go out again. I believe I will limit myself to only a couple drinks, though.”

“They’re actually looking to get several of the parents together to go out on August 7th. I know it’s not exactly convenient to fly to Baltimare, but I’m sure you’re welcome to join them. You can crash here and head back in the morning if you’d like. We have spare beds, or me and the girls can all join you in a big cuddle pile.”

A single brow raises in consideration. “I will think about it,” she diplomatically answers.

“Cool. I’ll tell them you’re a maybe. Sorry to change the subject back, but I was going to ask if you had a spell or a device of some kind that will jam scrying attempts.”

“Not on hoof, but I can imbue a detection matrix into something. It may not be one hundred percent reliable, as it may misinterpret other alterations in the area that are not scrying attempts, but it should typically account for that. Perhaps an article of clothing or a piece of jewelry?”

“I can live with a few false positives. What about one of my shoes?”

“They already have a resizing and the adherence imbuements. Your peytral has those and, on the emerald, a tracking enchantment. Your crown has the same, but the jewels are mundane. For such a simple application I could imbue a ruby and send it to swap with one in the snake eyes.”

“That’ll work. Thanks, boss! You’re the best boss I’ve ever had, memories included.”

“And you make a wonderful minion, Cure.”

Cure shrugs his wings and scoots forward a hoof, burying his chin in her fur. “Eh, I’ve been called worse.”

“Not recently, I hope.”

“Not in a while, no. I did just get a new title though.”

She tilts her head to her right to give him a one-eyed curious look.

“I guess, technically, I haven’t gotten the title yet, but you have the honor of being snuggled upon by the future patriarch of House Vita. My great grandsire is going to be the acting patriarch for the time being.”

“Oh! Congratulations, Cure!”

“Thanks! It won’t do me a lot of good given the crown and all, but at least the fam will benefit from it. In theory. The plan is to announce it to everypony at our family reunion next year. A few other things came up yesterday when I visited my grandsire. First off, remember that golf driving range he and I discussed at the castle?”

“I do.”

“We’re going to try a more local market first. Fillydelphia, with a build start just after Winter Wrap Up and, and with a little luck, an open date sometime around the start of August. I’m probably going to hit Fillydelphia and maybe Manehattan to raise some capital for my portion of the buy-in as soon as I get back from the squads competition.”

“Ah, trying to sell your cosmetic services before fall estrus hits?”

“Yep. Lotsa mares wanting a firm, round booty or to shave off a few kilos. I gotta be honest; I’m starting to feel a little guilty selling the deaging treatment. I said back in May that I wouldn’t keep making money off of it once I had a legitimate aging cure. Well… I kinda do, now.”

Celestia rolls back to her left side and sits up, staring down in shock at the colt. “You have a way to reverse aging that does not require your direct involvement?!”

Cure climbs to his haunches, half lays against her right side, and nods. “The process is loosely based on the way my trees produce origin cells. The most effective method would be to implant a small organ that produces stem, err, origin cells along with… well, there’s not really another way to say it… a couple viruses, essentially. Both are benign, though.”

A single raised brow prompts him to continue, “One of the virus’ purpose is to detect cells entering the prophase stage of mitosis, which is basically step one in cell division, and instead of allowing it to progress naturally, adheres to the cell wall. The other side of the virus has protein markers that activate, flagging the replicating cell and attracting a pair of free floating origin cells.

“The origin cells attach to the virus which, at that point, provides the necessary genetic data for them to take over the process and replace the dividing cell with two new, young copies. Once that phase is complete the virus initiates apoptosis in the existing cell, detaches from everything, and dies off.

“And yes, I am very much aware of many, many works of fiction that have almost that exact premise as the prelude to a zombie apocalypse or whatever. The virus doesn’t actually do anything other than mark cells, flag them for replacement with young, healthy clones instead of aged, malfunctioning ones, and trigger cell death once it confirms everything happened the way it’s supposed to.

“It doesn’t actually do anything to alter the cells until origin cells arrive on site, and if that doesn’t happen in an hour or two it simply dies off. It’s not spreadable except by blood transfusion and is stable enough that it should never mutate.

“The other virus is specifically designed to do the same process but only with neurons.”

“Nerve cells?”

“Yep. That’s what the brain is made of. A different approach is required there since those cells don’t go through mitosis. That’s why many brain injuries never really heal.”

“But I have seen ponies recover partially after suffering a stroke,” she argues.

“There is a spontaneous recovery period shortly afterwards. That’s the ideal time to give therapy, too. That’s not so much brain matter healing as it is a reconfiguration of the connective tissue in the brain as it responds to the increase in activity in undamaged sections that are doing their best to respond to the increased workload and compensating for the now damaged areas.

“Either way, the virus will help the brain heal afterwards in a way it can’t now. It won’t suddenly return memories in a badly damaged section of the hippocampus, probably, but other issues like paralysis, aphasia, degraded motor control, and what have you will be fixed over time as the damaged neurons are replaced.”

“That… is AMAZING, Cure!” she exclaims as she snatches him off his haunches and squeezes him against her chest again. “Have you already given your parents this organ?”

Cheek smushed against her neck, Cure shakes his head no. “Not yet. I’ve only tested it in my plant so far. There’s a few other massive benefits, too. It speeds healing from injuries quite a bit, first off. It also does a bang-up job eliminating every form of cancer I’ve introduced to the experiment by detecting incorrectly reproduced cells.

“Finally, it treats every degenerative disease I’ve encountered thus far. It’s not a cure, per se, but it effectively counteracts the degeneration, so… same diff, more or less. The virus is able to identify cancerous or unhealthy cells and uses genetic data from nearby healthy ones to replace them.

“Just so we’re clear, this whole thing is not a fast process. We’re talking months before the patient will start visibly deaging, and it’ll be years for the entire body’s cells to be replaced. It should effectively stop aging, cancer, and whatever disease in its tracks almost immediately, though.”

Done squeezing the life from the colt, Celestia sets him down, her forelegs still wrapped possessively around him. “I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am to hear this, Cure! When do you think you will be able to submit samples and documentation for evaluation?”

“Whenever you want me to. I figured this kinda thing needs to go through more secure channels, given the ripples it’s going to cause. I honestly thought it would be more difficult to pull off, but it was way less complicated than the Viral Trees, in the end. It’s, frankly, shocking how easy it was to create, but I guess I kinda should have expected it given how cow manure my talent is.

“Sorry to say, but you’ll have the far more difficult job of figuring out where to go from here. It would be a heck of a lot easier if this just doubled lifespans or something, but as best I can tell it will be effective immortality. Damn near every creature on the planet is going to want it and if we say no they probably won’t accept that as an answer.”

That reminder of the reality of the situation gets a grimace from the exuberant mare. She takes a deep breath and blows out a long, slow sigh as she considers the situation. “I assume you mean that the same organ will work in other creatures as well?”

“Not exactly the same organ. I would need to make one for each type of creature, just like the tree alters the output based on the genetic sample put on the input leaf. I suppose I could use a similar approach, though… create a tree that will, in turn, create the organ using origin cells altered based upon the genetic information received via a sample. The mitosis process is essentially the same for everycreature, so the viruses should be universally applicable.”

“What of the organ itself? Is there a specific spot it would need implanted? How large is it and what would the implantation process involve?”

“Any artery with good blood flow. I’m thinking an inner thigh or the neck would be best. It’s about the size of a grape, so it’s not like it’ll be a difficult surgery. Cut a small incision, push the implant against an artery, hold it in place a few seconds, and seal the patient up. It’ll fuse to the artery and start doing its thing within a few minutes.”

“Amazing,” she repeats while slowly shaking her head. “I cannot believe you did not bring this up right away, Cure.”

“Well it’s not like I actually have anything other than prototypes grown for testing purposes.”

“Still! When you have world-shattering news like that, please, tell me right away.”

He shrugs helplessly, arguing, “You led with the friggin Tree of Harmony expedition, boss! That is every bit as important! Besides, it’s not like I wasn’t going to tell ya.”

She sighs, dismissing the argument with a flick of her wing. “Regardless, I look forward to presenting your new creation to Director Storm. I would not be surprised if she commissions another statue of you for her front lawn.”

“That may be a tad odd, but whatever. It’s not like it would be hard for me to make a statue out of organic ceramics, even if it would use up a lot of my plant matter. Oh, and that brings up another point; I’ll be looking for a small farm for my parents to buy for me, probably before next spring. I’m thinking a half to one hectare at most for now. I guess you don’t really need to know every little thing I’m doing, but now you’ll know instead of being caught by surprise at some point.”

“No, you do not have to tell me everything, Cure, but I appreciate you keeping me aware. I presume the farm will be so you have additional room for your plants?”

“Yep. I’m also gonna start growing those meat-replacement crops I’d mentioned to you before. I’m taking some artificial bacon to work tomorrow for Specialist Strafe and Dr. Care to try out.”

“I see. Unless you are certain you want to own the land permanently, you may want to consider simply renting a portion of a field. It will likely be far less expensive and easier, especially since you will be attending school beginning fall of next year.”

“You can just… rent a part of a field?”

“You can. If you check your local paper you may even find notices posted by farmers with underutilized land that are soliciting renters. Some communities have information posted on notice boards in their town hall.”

“Huh. Wonder why dam didn’t suggest that.”

“Perhaps she was never involved in the overall management of her parents’ farm. I am afraid I do not know what prices you can expect to pay. I would expect no more than a couple hundred bits for a hectare. Likely less.”

“That’s a heck of a lot less than buying even a small farm would cost. Ya know what, boss? Between the scrying detector and this you’ve earned yourself the mother of all massages when I come to town. I hope you got a nice, super absorbent towel for your pillow ‘cause yer gonna be droolin like yer at a cake eatin contest by the time I’m done with ya!”

The mare’s shoulders sag at the colt’s comparison. “I have not been allowed to participate in one of those in decades.”

“Aww, poor thing,” he coos, nuzzling against the edge of her wing. “Since you’ve been a very good girl I’ll bring you your very own cake, too.” A chuckle escapes the colt when the princess lights up at the promise. “Speakin of cake, how are the dessert fruit trees coming along? I figure those should be about ready to start producing by now.”

“Not quite. They are growing well, but they are not yet mature enough. I have been told to expect fruit from them next year for sure.”

“What?! Those should fruit way faster than a normal tree!”

“Cure, even with earth pony magic apple trees typically take at least a few years to grow enough. That they are already nearly three meters tall indicates they will very likely be ready by next year.”

“Aww… but what kinda present won’t even bear fruit for a whole year?! Literally, for once.”

“The kind that a pony who is patient will appreciate for many, many years to come.”

The colt’s exaggerated frown doesn’t abate much, though he does slowly nod in acceptance. “What about your oil plants? They should have a few bulbs on them by now.”

“They do!” she answers, hugging the colt to her side with her wing. “I have grown to appreciate the lavender scent, especially when I have a day of stressful meetings or particularly bothersome court cases.”

“Well… alright,” he grumbles, nuzzling into her fur. “I still feel bad I didn’t give ya more mature trees instead.”

“Really, Cure. You have given me plenty. If you were not already a prince I would have knighted you and awarded you a Silver Wing Award by now. If anypony else were to simply hoof over a cure for aging and ask nothing in return? I would invent a new award and declare it otherwise unattainable.”

The colt’s brow furrows in thought, idly scratching at his chin. “So what you’re saying is, I shoulda nabbed all the awards I could, then ascended. Damn!” he shouts, lightly punching his left hoof with his right, “I bet those have cash prizes, too!”

The look of disappointment she gives him needs no explanation.

“I’m just jokin, boss. I ain’t that greedy.” She continues to stare. “Usually,” he offers with a shrug.

“I know you are generous, Cure. Oh! I never responded to your inquiry about charging for deaging.” His ears perk up as she continues, “I know you said you would no longer solicit payment from ponies once a legitimate cure is available.

“The procedure you are suggesting is not now, nor will it be for quite some time. Even when it is available it will take years to meet the demand. I suspect the demographics most likely paying for the service now are, largely, more than capable of affording it.”

“And what’s the plan when it comes out, be it a year or five from now, that Prince Serpentus was charging customers thousands of bits for something he eventually gave away for free?”

She responds with a mild shrug, pointing out, “Prince Serpentus was offering many services, including that one, from a month after discovering his special talent until nearly a year later when he developed the new treatment. As has been explained several times, he came from humble, yet loving origins and, as any intelligent and filial foal would, devised an innovative and effective method of utilizing his talent to help his growing family with the household finances.

“This eventually led to him assisting with the healthy births of hundreds of foals in the Baltimare area only a few months later, volunteering his time at his local clinic, and ultimately developing the medical breakthroughs that everypony enjoys today, and will continue to benefit from for many, many years to come.

“Instead of criticizing a hard working, dedicated entrepreneur, we should instead be thankful that he has declined payment and donated his time and creations; creations that very well may never have been possible without his efforts.”

Brows hiked, he slowly nods in respectful acceptance. “That’s a very diplomatic way of putting it, I suppose. You got this speech-writing thing down pat, princess.”

“I have had plenty of practice.” She tilts her head curiously and asks, “Have you considered how much income you would have if you had not asked for the tax reduction instead?”

“We’ve estimated the number, but the figure we came up with was around a hundred grand per week assuming every hospital in the nation was using the Origin, Blood, and Viral Trees. I don’t know the valuation on the Colt or Stallion Testing Trees. There’s also the prototype devices I’ve made; the surgical suite and the life support collar. I don’t really know how you would estimate their values, but I’m guessing the number would be very high, especially for VINESS.”

“It certainly would,” she agrees. “I am sure there will be some grumbling, but the fact is that whatever income you will have earned from deaging ponies would pale in comparison to what you are giving away for free, and that is discounting the other benefits you described. A pony could become rich by inventing a treatment that granted your treatment’s side effects alone.

“At some point months or years down the line when your new aging treatment is ready to be deployed, then, perhaps, it would be appropriate to no longer offer that service for payment. Even still, some ponies would gladly pay a few thousand bits to be deaged in an hour rather than waiting months or years for the treatment to take effect.”

“True enough. What about you?”

“If I were in need of such services I would definitely prefer to pay up front rather than wait, but I do not think I am a good pony to solicit an opinion from given my wealth.”

“No, I mean what’s your opinion on the whole thing? I know, now, that I’m getting a stipend, thanks for the heads-up there, bee-tee-dubs, but was the hope that I would live off of that and do what I do otherwise for free?”

“I never expected that,” she instantly denies. “I had assumed you would rant and rave, refusing to even accept that you get a stipend.”

“How much is it, even?”

“Not much. Less than you make in a week.”

The colt stares impassively, waiting for her to elaborate. When she says nothing for a moment he raises a single brow in question. “You know, we’ve done this before,” he tells her, waving a hoof between the two of them. “You know I won’t just accept that vague answer.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Five thousand bits per month, wait!” she insists, holding up a hoof to forestall the argument he had sharply inhaled to express. “That is the same pay as a marquis or marchioness.”

“I could not very well have a grand prince earning less than those who are in positions subordinate to him. Call it a salary if you prefer; the difference is merely academic. Every pony in those positions could do without their stipend as well, as all of them are otherwise wealthy from private businesses to one degree or another, just like yourself.”

Cure blows out the breath he’d taken and pauses a moment to collect himself. “That’s a reasonable argument, I suppose,” he reluctantly agrees. “I guess I can just donate it or use it for some charity eventually, right?”

Slowly nodding, she answers, “If you so choose.”

“Okay. Good.”

“You have very unusual opinions about money and taxation,” she observes.

“How so?”

“You hate when you are required to pay taxes, but also strongly dislike when they are ultimately paid to you. You refuse to directly accept payment for your work at the hospital as well as for your creations, but then you allow that to offset your tax liability. It seems… peculiar.”

“It’s probably the result of having years of memories of paying taxes that went into some nebulous pot that was then used for any number of things I would never approve of; much of it being pissed away by some senator or whoever using the funds to all but buy themselves back in office or, in a round-about way, lining the pockets of their constituents who were rich enough that they could abuse loopholes to avoid paying anything themselves.

“I hate taxes in general, but I accept that they are a necessity, especially in a society where defense, healthcare, education, weather, and any number of other services are flat out paid for by the government and loads of others are at least partially funded.

“At the same time, the money from cosmetics is what I earn, and if there’s a legal, morally acceptable way to keep more of what I earn then I would be a fool not to take advantage. Like you said earlier, a pony could be rich beyond measure selling any one of the things I’ve made, never mind what an ‘appropriate’ salary would be for somepony at the hospital that can do what I do, so I have no problem with that reducing how much is taken away from what I work to earn each quarter.

“The stipend is money that’s being given to me. I’m not really earning it. I just get it ‘cause of my position and I neither asked for it nor do I need it.”

Celestia looks more than a little unsure about the logic, but chooses not to point out the fact that, like the rich senators’ friends he complained about, he is now effectively avoiding taxes as well. She supposes the difference is that he did not need to coerce anypony into giving him such a deal or abuse the legal process; anypony that similarly donates goods could do the same. At the same time, however, families with lower income, like his used to be, would be unable to take advantage of that and, as a result, would end up paying more in taxes than somepony making dozens or hundreds as much as they do.

“I cannot say I completely follow your logic, but I accept your position on the matter and appreciate you explaining it to me.”

“You bet.” Cure takes a deep breath and turns, laying against the mare’s side and nosing at her wing. The pair mentally run the conversation again to ensure that everything that needs updated has been covered. Recalling one dangling thread he had forgotten about, Cure speaks up, saying, “Blackcurrants don’t kill off other plants, but they carry a fungus that does.”

“Oh? The topic had honestly slipped my mind.”

“Mine too. I can send you a safe antifungal agent, but I would recommend not shipping blackcurrant plants like the one you sent me. A single plant could wipe out an entire forest. The spores are pretty hardy and spread by air.” The look of alarm on the princess’s face causes the colt to chuckle. “Don’t worry, the woods near town are fine. Definitely don’t send it up north though. It really only seems to affect some pine trees, so the whole ‘kills other plants’ thing is an exaggeration.”

“I see. That is a relief. Presumably your agent will be safe for other plants?”

Nodding against her side, he answers, “Should be safe for anything but that specific family of fungi. A pony could drink a cup of it and be fine, even if it wouldn’t taste very good.”

“I will stick to tea.”

“Lightweight,” he scoffs.

“I haven’t been called that in a while,” she wistfully remarks.

“You earned it when you started speaking Ancient Ponese and attempting to murder my parents’ eardrums. Being drunk under the table by a couple earth ponies… for shame! You didn’t even have the decency to do it while I was around to witness it!” The colt pokes her knee with a hoof. “You owe me one drunken night of idiocy.”

“I will make no such promise.”

“We’ll see. I got time ta wear ya down. Any clue when you’ll start teachin ponies how to actively use their cutie marks?”

“This coming fall. The plan is to introduce the idea to foals in schools across the nation via a modified lesson plan on basic magic principles. Starting next summer we will begin offering adult classes as well. Anypony who desires to can attend a free class at their local city building to teach them how to actively use magic. The target audience is mostly earth ponies as pegasi already are taught the basics of magic use in their schools and unicorns are largely taught by their parents.”

“Oh? Gonna use the toy auction money for that?”

“If that is something you would approve of. You had previously mentioned seeking out a way to encode preprogrammed Illusions into crystals. Are you no longer attempting to find a way to do so?”

“I am, eventually. I’m fine with the money going towards the education initiative, though. It’s not doing any good just sitting there, after all, and the main benefactors will be earth ponies.”

“For the most part, yes.”

“Any word from the minotaurs?”

“Not yet. Former Ambassador Quickhorn should have arrived in Knossos sometime this past week.”

“Good Lord… travel times are awful. Why in the hay don’t we have steam powered ships when we have trains?!”

“Truthfully, I do not know. Presumably the engine that powers a train could, with some modification, also propel a ship, could it not?”

“It could. A steam engine is pretty basic. Heat water, use the pressure to push the piston which turns the wheels… or in the case of a ship, the propellor. Ed wasn’t an engineer, but even still I bet I could build a very, very basic one. Transmutation makes sourcing strong enough stainless steel easy and makes sealing pipes a cinch. If I recall correctly, sheathing the bottom of the boat in copper massively reduces barnacle adherence, but it has to be cleaned every few months. What else is there…” he mumbles, drifting off in thought.

A smile creeps across the ancient alicorn’s face as she watches the foal mutter to himself while idly pawing at his chin. The way his ears dance, turning back when he’s trying to remember something or perking up when the memory surfaces is adorable and, despite her desire to not interrupt him, makes it hard not to reach down and give them a nuzzle.

Finally, after several minutes of thought, the colt sighs and shakes his head. “I can’t think of a way to make a gas engine without gas, really. I don’t know the formula for diesel or unleaded, either, so I can’t really say how we’d go about solving that problem. I know ethanol can be used as a fuel additive but I’m not sure if it can be used as a fuel by itself.”

“Perhaps I should convene a panel of scientists to meet with you at some point. I am concerned about how to explain the knowledge you possess… presumably you would not want to share your situation with others, correct?”

“Probably not. I could go in disguise, though. We could otherwise use bits and pieces of the true story. I could meet with them as a pony and make up a story about arriving on Equus, being transformed from my original species - a human - into whatever, and wanting to help. Of course, I greatly value my privacy, so I am only okay with meeting on rare occasions and, conveniently, you’re the only one I trust to know how to contact me.”

She nods along, saying, “That is essentially what I was going to propose.”

“Who will own the ideas?” he asks. “Will these be government funded or are we talking scientists that work for private companies?”

“The former, at least during the research and development phase. Any inventions that result from such are typically leased to companies to manufacture, thus preventing the crown from directly and unfairly competing with others.”

“I’m guessing that’s how government R&D is funded?”

“Precisely. You will want to secure legal representation for your alias to ensure that you are properly compensated.”

“I… hadn’t considered that. Good point, I guess. I’ll have to set up a P.O. Box and type something up. My normal attorney referred me to somepony that specializes in commerce law for the window idea I told you about, but being a foal makes everything more complicated. I might need to bring Amy to the squads thing just so she can meet with them and secure representation.”

“Do not forget to bring documentation. Your parents’ marriage certificate and your birth record will be needed to show she is a legal guardian.”

“Right. It would be annoying if I had to forge paperwork on the spot.”

“Not to mention illegal,” she sternly comments.

“Actually, if it’s an exact duplicate of the real document without any alterations then I’m not sure if it would be.”

“It definitely is. I cannot speak to the likelihood of it being discovered, let alone prosecuted, but I assure you it is illegal.”

“Meh, it’s only a crime if you get caught.”

“Cure…”

“Celestia?”

The mare’s look is one of pure exasperation as she asks, “Must I specifically tell you not to use your talent to reproduce official government documents?”

“I mean… you don’t have to. You could just say,” he begins, switching to her voice, “‘Even though it doesn’t hurt anypony and nopony actually cares, please don’t save yourself the hassle of remembering to carry around papers that you can effortlessly reproduce with your talent, you magnificent and brilliant young stallion.’”

She closes her eyes and sighs before nodding and responding, “Close enough, I suppose.”

He tilts his head in confusion and asks, “What’s close enough? Unless you say it I’m afraid I don’t understand, princess.”

“Perhaps brilliant was inaccurate, then.”

“You wound me, boss.”

“Yes, I can tell you are deeply offended.” She takes a deep breath and leans close to nuzzle into the colt’s mane. “Unless you have any other topics you would like to discuss…?”

“Nope. I can’t think of anything else.” He turns, rearing up to wrap her neck in a hug and nuzzles against her cheek. “I’m happy to hear you’re gettin out some. Keep doin that. I want progress notes every week. Good night, Celestia.”

“And a good night to you, too, Cure. Sleep well.”

Author's Note

So it's painfully obvious that posting speed has taken a major hit. The whole moving thing has been an absolute bitch. You don't really realize how much there is until you've done it. Drywalling, painting, changing out light fixtures, putting together furniture, rearranging rooms now that I'm no longer in the "moving in" phase and am in the "living here" phase, plumbing (replacing faucets, old toilets, etc.), and the million other "little things" that seem to never stop.

I keep saying things should settle down and get back to normal. Well... hopefully that'll happen soonish. We'll see. 89 is barely started, so it'll either be ready next week or the week after, depending on how often I can set aside handyman work to actually do something enjoyable.

Some big things this chapter. First, the Tree expedition went forward. This chaos magic imbued in them are making it impossible to scan them for now, so the logical approach is to dispel that magic and try again. There are several ways that this whole fiasco can be taken care of, but I'm not going to give any spoilers out. I wouldn't be surprised if someone guesses either the exact solution or something very close to it, though.

As for the aging thing... Cure has finally dropped the big bomb on the boss. A few thoughts on this. First off, I couldn't really come up with a reason why, after the things we've already seen him do, this would be very difficult to achieve. It's basically a cellular level rebirth, or a manual version of what his talent is presumably doing when he restores a pony's youth, or, I suppose, the smallest scale Ship of Theseus approach possible.

As far as the Blackcurrant thing? I had genuinely forgotten about it. That's a problem Cure should have been able to solve in a few days. The fungus that the plants carry should have been very obvious as a contaminant as soon as he scanned the thing. Oops?

The whole Celestia sneaking out thing is certainly a butterfly caused by our protagonist. He probably never considered the possibility that she would enjoy herself so much with his parents that she would do it again. Well, now it's happened and she met a stallion she had fun with. Will it lead to more? Who knows?

I guess we'll find out eventually.

Either way, thanks for reading/rating/commenting. See you next week - either with a chapter or a comment if I can't get the free time to put one together.

Later!