Natural Light: A SolarPunk Story

by The Hat Man

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Adventure, Science Fiction, Violence, Alternate Universe
Length: 12980

When race determines status, earth ponies sit at the bottom of society. But new tech that runs on solar power promises to even the score. When the Crown bans it as "sun theft," outlaws called "Shiners" take up the fight. This is their story.

In an Equestria where race determines status, earth ponies sit at the bottom of society. But then a new technology is born: Solaether, a form of energy that runs on solar power and promises to even the score.

But when the Crown outlaws the new tech as "sun theft," calling it a crime against Celestia, outlaws called "Shiners" take up the fight.

This is their story.

Cover by Colby "Greenfinger" Green.

Published 2023-04-02 19:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2023-04-24 21:53:49 UTC

1. The Joker

“Come on, come on, will you shut that thing off?”

“Oi, just hold onto ya knickers another minute and it’ll be full charge.”

Two stallions sat in the middle of a darkened room in an abandoned apartment building. They were both hunched over, watching the device’s indicator dial slowly climb. A tangled mesh of wires snaked across the floor and up the wall, leading to a solar collector disguised as a window on the top floor.

In the dark, musty room, a collection of cylinders, each the size of a test tube, glowed with a warm yellow light that illuminated the pair's features.

“It’s close enough!” snapped Hobnail, a brown earth pony in a bowler hat. “The Imps have been snaking around here like crazy, and if they’re on to us—”

“They ain’t,” Jackanapes, a gray earth pony in a long coat, goggles, and an unkempt blue mane looked at him sternly. “They’s clueless, slab. Wouldn’t know their tail from an ickle bitty garter snake.”

His partner looked at him, saw the confidence in his eyes, and gave a sigh of relief. “Well… I guess if you—”

The banging at the door came like cannon blasts.

“Open up, earthers! We know what you’re up to, so come quietly!”

“Well, look who’s wrong after all!” Hobnail hissed.

“Shut ya gob!” Jackanapes hissed back, scrambling to shut down the charging station as Hobnail gathered up the glowing cylinders. Outside they heard the telltale shattering of glass as the Imperial Guards smashed the solar panel they’d discreetly hidden on the roof. Most likely they already had the building surrounded, each window guarded by a pegasus legionnaire.

“If they see all this stuff,” Hobnail whimpered, his eyes wide and frantic, “you know what they’ll do to us?”

“Nah, slab,” Jackanapes replied. “But I know what they done to us clods already. What they’ll keep doing if we let em.”

Hobnail swallowed. “How do we get out?”

Jack took one of the cylinders from Hob, tossing it casually before catching it and flashing a grin. “We don’t. I’ll make a run for it. You take the dumbwaiter to the sub-basement and stay hidden in the hidey-hole we glam’d until the Imps take off.”

“And if they already know about it?”

“Well, if’n they knows about that, they most likely know where we’d run to. Might as well risk it, I say.”

“And if you’re wrong again?”

Jackanapes pulled Hobnail in and gave him a fierce kiss that took his breath away.

“Then it’s been a right pleasure, Hob. Now get yer arse to the hidey hole while I do me best.”

Hob only hesitated a moment before running to the dumbwaiter, leaving Jack behind.

Jackanapes ran to one of the boarded-up windows. He heard the sound of the door being smashed in and knew he only had a moment to do what he’d planned.

From his jacket, he drew a small device with some gears and a tiny glowing cylinder on it and smacked it against the boards before pulling out a pin. The gears rapidly began to tick down and he ran to the opposite side of the building, crossing the hall just as a unicorn tore through the wrecked door and fired a blast of magic at him down the hallway, missing him by inches.

The device behind him detonated, sending splinters, rubble, and assorted debris in a hailstorm that maimed the nearest pegasus legionnaire floating by. The others hovering nearby flew over to see what the commotion was. Knowing they’d be distracted and not watching the other side of the building, Jackanapes leaped at the window and gave it a kick, bursting through the boards and sailing out into the empty air.

“North side, north side, north side!” shouted the unicorn guards into their magically-linked ear pearls, alerting their comrades to the crazy earther who’d just leaped out the window in a suicidal escape plan.

He wished he could have seen their faces when they saw what he was really up to.

He reached into his jacket again and jammed the cylinder into a slot into the device harnessed around his barrel. That cylinder held the bounty they’d risked it all for. But better to burn this small amount than risk losing all they’d gathered.

He took hold of a handle on the device and pulled the ripcord.

A pair of metallic wings lined with bladelike feathers sprang forth from the long slits in the back of his coat. The feathers lit up from the energy of the solaether cylinder, and Jackanapes’s plummet became a swoop as he shot back up into the air and over the rim of the building next door.

“Son of a nag, he’s a Shiner!” shouted one of the unicorn guards as he took aim at the earth pony rapidly flying overhead on his artificial wings. “Bring him down! Pegasi, pursue!”

Jackanapes glanced over his shoulder, flashing the guards a grin and giving them a mock salute as they tried to blast him with one magic bolt after another, their gold-plated royal armor making them look all the gaudier amid the dingy surroundings of the earth pony ghetto.

He knew this would infuriate them, and that would make them even stupider. Guards flooding the nearby streets all look up and took aim as he sailed over buildings, nimbly maneuvering into the trenchlike alleys that he knew like the back of his fetlock.

A few pegasi managed to fly ahead of him and one nearly nabbed him out of the air, but he took a turn that led the winged legionnaire right into old Mrs. Paisley’s clothesline that always spanned the alleyway. It caught the legionnaire around the neck, quite appropriately clotheslining him as he gagged and then fell to the ground as Jack sped away.

He dipped and dove through the streets and alleys, circling around chimneys and losing the legionnaires in the smoke billowing from the nearby factory.

And just when he thought he’d lost them all, he heard a whizzing sound, and a magic bolt from a unicorn guard below clipped one of his wings.

He dipped and bobbed, holding on, trying to keep his balance in the air, but he was losing speed and altitude and finally had to make a landing atop a nearby warehouse.

He struggled to fold the wings back up, then gave up and swiftly undid his harness, tossing it aside as he ran for the fire escape…

…only to have a pegasus legionnaire swoop up from the ground to block his way. A unicorn guard reached the top of the fire escape a moment later, his horn still glowing.

Jackanapes sank to his haunches and raised his hooves.

“Nice race you ran, sun thief,” the unicorn said, still panting to catch his breath. “But you should have known better. You cannot outrun Her Majesty’s guard.”

“Wasn't runnin', sir," Jackanapes said. “I was flyin'.”

“You might want to shut your mouth and listen to him, earther,” the pegasus said, glowering down at him as he hovered in mid-air, a spear held tight in his hooves. “Give up and cooperate, maybe tell us where your Shiner friends are running off to, and you might get a lighter sentence. Maybe get to see your family again someday.”

Jackanapes gave a mirthless smile. “If you gents only knew me story, you’d know why ya shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, care to tell your story now, sun thief?” the unicorn asked. “At least to pass the time until backup arrives, I mean.”

“If you insist… but listen well, gents. Look me in the eye, an’ I’ll tell all…”

They both looked him in the eye, peering at the fierce expression hidden behind the tinted goggles.

And Jack swiftly tapped a button on the left side of his goggles, sending a blast of energy from the left lens that blew a hole in the unicorn guard’s throat.

The pegasus pulled back in momentary surprise. He readied his spear, but a second blast, this time from Jack’s right lens, caught him in the chest and shot him out of the sky like a clay pigeon. He made no sound as he fell back, save for the dull metallic clang of his limbs smacking against the fire escape and the thud he made when he hit the ground below.

Jackanapes straightened his goggles and walked past the gasping, convulsing guard.

“Don’t rightly care who raises the sun or not, gents,” he said as he made his way to the fire escape. “The sun belongs to us all. An’ one way or another, you Imps will all see the light.”

And with that, he slipped down the stairs, into the alleys, and out of sight.

From "A Brief Rebuke of Anti-Stability"

The following is an excerpt from “A Brief Rebuke of Anti-Stability,” a counter-revolutionary tract aimed at the Shiner movement published by the unicorn Lord Brandiwine of Hayfordshire, vineyard owner and philosopher:

...And so we see that, at its heart, these so-called “Shiners” have at least some scrap of validity to their argument. To be sure, nopony, be they mare or stallion, should be subject to the sort of harsh conditions of torment and abject starvation seen in the case of the cotton plantation uprisings from Western Mustangia.

Not that I in any way condone the shedding of blood. The fieldponies should have taken their grievances to the Crown, and, we can be sure, Her Majesty’s noble hoof would have granted them succor. They had only to be patient and trust in Her mercy and surely they would have been delivered.

Yet I rebuke those who propose that the system of Three Stables should be destroyed entirely. Let us consider the case of the revolting fieldponies responsible for the carnage in Mustangia:

Why, rather than resort to violence and give in to revolutionary persuasion, did the labourers not simply take their labour elsewhere? For though earth ponies be of the Third Stable, they are peasants, not slaves. And even a peasant may travel, once he has given notice to his lord, of course. If the plantation masters or their pegasi overseers were overly harsh in their management, why did these fieldworkers not seek employment elsewhere?

The answer lies in the very nature of the earth pony. Had the workers simply saved their money, rather than squandering it, they might have been able to afford to relocate. Likewise, had they the foresight to stall the planning of their often obscenely large families, they would not have so many mouths in need of feeding.

Yet such forethought is not common for the earth pony labourer who sees little else besides the dirt at his hooves or the food on his plate. Such is his nature, as outlined in the most sacred Doctrine of Stability so integral to the founding of our society.

The Sun and Moon gifted to the world, their favorite child, stewards to tend to her, and to each was given their natural place. Earth ponies, with their brute strength and natural affinity for geomantic arts, are here to work the land and carry out labour, thus forming the Third Stable. The pegasi, with their wings and gift for weather, are the stewards of wind, rain, the seasons, and so forth, and thus are of the Second Stable. Yet unicorns, with our magic, need not sully our hooves in the dirt nor exert our muscles to lift things; we of the First Stable were granted the capability to wield magic directly, to control the aether around us and manifest it into nearly any form we choose. While it is true that not every unicorn will be a great mage, that essential quality remains within us.

This notion of a hypothetical “classless” society is thus refuted by Nature itself! For surely no unicorn was destined to dig in the dirt, nor was any earth pony given the ability to wield sorcery. Only unicorns were gifted the horns to do so, and likewise the minds to comprehend magic and, in turn, all other academic pursuits. With few exceptions, earth ponies and pegasi simply lack the intellect to take on such complex matters.

And despite the lies of the revolutionaries, the earth ponies should indeed be grateful! For tilling a field is a simple thing: to consider the weight of all society, to devote oneself to study, to lead society as the First Stable does… why, it is a weighty undertaking, and the Unicorn’s Burden is ours to bear, and ours alone.

Thus burdened, it is only right that we who take on the task of leadership be rewarded in kind.

And as to this new technology, this “solaether,” let all of the First Stable beware of its dangers and ward the peasantry from its Siren Song. It may at first seem miraculous, with its ability to store the light of the sun as energy and then direct that energy as electricity or artificial magic or some other form, but it is a wicked temptation to the misguided earth pony who sees only the potential to ease him from his labours, and not the dire consequences.

The Sun granted us its avatar, Celestia, and so it is that sunlight is Hers, and Hers alone. It is through Her beneficence that it is granted to us, but She has only given us leave to bask in its warmth or let it nourish the plants. To steal it and subvert it is an attack on her and theft from the Earth itself! And even if that were not the case, the earth ponies who wield it to save themselves from labor or weaponize it against their betters only do harm to themselves!

Think! For if the boundaries of class were to disappear, the burdens bore by unicorns would fall on their shoulders. Society would flounder if guided by lesser minds. And the fields themselves would go untended even as our Sun, continually drained, went cold.

Patience, I say! Patience and humility are the best friends of the noble earth pony peasant. By serving and living a life of virtue, the earth pony will find contentment. And in the next life, should he be pure of heart, he may find himself ascended to that of the next Stable.
-Lord Brandiwine of Hayfordshire

A month after the publication of this tract, Lord Brandiwine was dead.

Despite his apparent distaste for cruelty, Brandiwine was not above using it to control his own workers. When a fieldhoof was found to have stolen a single bunch of grapes from his vineyard, Brandiwine had the pony whipped within an inch of his life while the others were made to watch. He was then dismissed despite his pleas for forgiveness and that his family would starve without him.

The fieldhoof died the next day, apparently of his injuries, though after a word from the local Guards, the cause of death was listed as “infection,” and thus Brandiwine was not to blame and not charged with any crime.

A week later, the Imperial Guard visited Brandiwine’s vineyard. His unicorn and pegasi overseers were found locked in the cellar. Brandiwine himself was found buried up to his neck in the southern field, apparently dead from exposure. His assailants had erected a crude garden fence around him along with a sign that indicated they had planted an “aristocrat tree” and then written “a type of weed” under that in parentheses.

The fieldponies were gone, the labor camps hastily abandoned, and local villages nearby all claimed to know nothing about all the laborer's cottages that were suddenly empty.

Brandiwine’s chalet was ransacked. His fields were stripped bare of grapes. An investigation indicated solaether-powered mechanical harvesters had been used to strip the entire field overnight.

A legionnaire spotted a strange pattern that had been dug into one of the fields. Seen from above, it was clearly the image of the sun with a smiling face.

2. Down the Rabbit Hole

If somepony made their way around the right corners and down the wrong alleyways, moved a few crates or squeezed through a certain window, they’d find a passageway that led down, down, down below the streets where the sun never shone. If they carried a lantern or had the glow of a unicorn’s horn, they would plunge further and further into the shadows, through old tunnels, through catacombs pockmarked with alcoves filled with the bones of the ancient dead, or through reeking sewers.

At the end of that journey, that wandering pony would find a crude meeting room with tables and revolutionary literature and the barest supplies. No revolutionaries were there, but if that adventurous pony were an imperial guard or a legionnaire, they’d likely grin and say to themselves, “Ah ha, I’ve found the Shiners’ hideout!”

If they were a Shiner, of course, they’d know to keep going...

Of course, once in a rare while, one of these fake hideouts would be found by Imperials or just some overcurious foal, but the Shiners had secret signs and marks along the tunnels, and a path, once exposed, would never be taken again. For all their patience and stake-outs, the Imperials never managed to ambush a single Shiner.

Jackanapes strolled his way through just such a false hideout, made his way to the “latrine,” turned the lock back and forth exactly four times, pulled the chain for the flush, and waited as the false wall to the left swung open.

He stepped into the tunnel, shut the door behind him, and made his way down a carved stone staircase until he eventually reached a mural painted in luminous paint that glowed in the darkness. It depicted the sun encircled by ponies of all three races.

He placed his hoof against the mural.

“Whoever strives in ceaseless toil,” he recited, “him may we grant redemption.”

The mural shimmered and dissolved into thin air, leaving the way unbarred. He walked forward as the glamour reasserted itself and sealed the entrance behind him.

And with just a few more steps, he arrived at the Rabbit Hole.

He made his way to the main chamber, and it opened out into the main chamber of the cavern, with pathways and alcoves carved into the very rock itself. Electric lights lined each pathway, and lanterns hung from stalactites in the ceiling, each giving a glow that illuminated the ponies who went here and there, casting their long shadows on the stone walls.

“Jack?” a mare gasped when she saw him stroll through the entryway. “Jack! It’s you!”

“An’ who else would it be, pray tell?” he quipped as several more of his comrades swarmed him.

“We heard there was a raid!”

“They’re talking about an earther who flew with metal wings! I knew it was you!”

“Can’t believe it… when we heard about the guards—”

“Ahem.”

They all turned at the sharp sound of somepony clearing his throat. A tan pony with a closely trimmed mane walked up to Jackanapes.

“You’re back,” he said with a short nod. “Good.”

“Blimey, Eagle, no need to get all gushy on me,” he said, dramatically placing his hoof on his chest. “Why, what will all these ponies think, seein’ you make a fuss over ickle old me?”

The other ponies chuckled, but Eagle’s gaze remained unwavering.

“The Octopus wants to see you, Jackanapes,” he said flatly. “She’s in the lab.”

“When ain’t she?” Jack said with a sniff. “Well, I’ve run meself ragged gettin’ back here, so she’ll understand if I take a quick break an’—”

“Now, Jack,” he said. His voice was still even and his eyes were still calm, but the firmness of the order was unmistakable.

“Well, it seems I’ll be grabbin’ a pint and a nap later, then,” he groaned. “Fine, fine, tell ol’ Octy I’ll be right there.”

Eagle nodded and walked off to relay the message.

“Well, me fellow clods, seems I’ll have to share my tale another day,” he said to his gathered friends. “But fear not, I’ll regale you with an account of my daring escape at Rockhoof’s Well this very evening!”

Amid a few cries of protest and promises to meet up later, Jackanapes trotted off down the central path of the cavern, heading deeper inside and off toward the lab.

3. An Octopus's Garden

Some called it “the lab,” others called it “the workshop,” but for the Shiners who spent enough time around the Rabbit Hole, they eventually caught on to its alternate nickname: “The Octopus’s Garden.”

Jackanapes wandered in, trotting down the ramped walkway and into a long chamber that, if not for the natural rock walls, could have been mistaken for a factory floor.

There were long tables and workbenches covered with half-assembled devices of all sorts, many of which were busily being assembled by engineers. Though “engineers” was a bit charitable: most of the ponies there we barely more than foals. “Engineers,” as society was concerned, meant some unicorn who went to school and assembled clockwork gear-driven automata or steam-powered monstrosities that chugged away in factories. It didn’t mean ponies who worked with solaether. Not since the Empire had made it illegal.

Oh, a unicorn had invented it. And it was unicorn scientists who first started talking about the applications. But once earth ponies started figuring out all the ways it could empower them and make the unicorn mages and pegasus weather ponies just a bit less special… that’s when it went from “a promising new form of energy” to “sun theft” and “a vicious drain on Her Majesty's power.”

Banished from the realm of unicorn scholars, it was inherited by any earth pony who could get their hooves on the right manuals or learn by word of mouth. And the ones who usually took to it most readily were the young ones. Jackanapes passed by scores of adolescents who eagerly squabbled and laughed just a bit too loud as they debated the next step in processes he had no understanding of, but hung his very survival on out in the field.

They usually ignored him, knowing his talents were for quick wits and quick getaways, but not for the science that dominated their young lives. They only cared when the tech got tested for the first time. Then they listened with rapt attention and took detailed notes, scribbling furiously before going back to their drawing boards.

These colts and fillies got called “Sol Streakers,” a term they wore like a badge of honor, or “Wundercolts” (regardless of gender) or “Goo Girls” (specifically for the fillies, and named for the solaether gel at the heart of the work).

Jackanapes just called them “The Kids,” but he had to admire them. They were a mix of boundless enthusiasm and tireless obsession, and they took readily to the new work. They were irreverent and didn’t give a flying fig about authority, and they were the first ones to start drawing the grinning sun symbol on their vials of solaether that had now become their emblem. They were fast learners and eager to prove themselves, and thus they formed the basis of the Octopus’s team.

And speaking of which, despite the busy goings-on of the workshop floor, Jackanapes didn’t see her anywhere.

“Oi, Octy!” he called, cupping a hoof to his mouth. “Don’t tell me I came all the way down here for nothing, ya dusty ol’ biddy!”

Something cold and metal snaked around his barrel, seizing him and lifting him up before he had the chance to squirm away.

He found himself hoisted up to the rafters that crisscrossed the cavern’s roof and was brought up and around to face the Octopus herself.

“So nice of you to join us, Groaner,” she said, a knowing smirk on her face.

The Octopus was a middle-aged mare with a chestnut brown mane that was beginning to show the gray streaks of age. She had brown eyes and thick pair of spectacles. Her fur was a creamy off-white and she constantly wore a baggy jacket with pockets that bulged with all the tools and parts she carried with her at all times.

Most notably, of course, was the device embedded into her back from which sprouted eight spindly mechanical tentacles that were either constantly busy with some task or another or, if unoccupied, quivered with anticipation.

“Well, I ain’t one to disappoint a lady,” Jack said, keeping his nonchalance despite being entirely in her clutches. “Or you, since there ain’t no ladies about. By the by, love, I know you must be lonely an’ all pent up, but there’s got to be a better way to pick up stallions than this,” he added, gesturing to the tentacle that had lifted him up.

“Heh. Charming,” she sniffed. “Well, I was in the middle of a project on the second level when I heard you come in, so I figured I’d save you the legwork.”

Using her tentacles, the Octopus grasped the rafters and a series of rocks to climb up a shaft in the ceiling of the cavern, up to the second floor of the lab, which had numerous smaller alcoves crisscrossed with rough metal gangplanks.

She hoisted Jackanapes up onto one of these gangplanks and then ascended it herself, the various tentacles keeping her aloft in the air as they grasped the hoofrails.

“Now, get your cute little flank over here and give me your report,” she said, turning back to one of the alcoves.

“Oi, you’re a cheeky bird tonight, ain’t you?”

A tentacle snaked back and swatted him on the backside, causing him to yelp.

“Who’s ‘cheeky’ now, Groaner?” she quipped without looking back. “Besides, what do you mean ‘bird?’ I thought I was an octopus.”

“I s’pose that’d explain that fishy smell comin’ off ya, Octy,” Jack said as he followed her. “Might want to stop ya tinkerin’ a tick and have a bath now an’ again.”

The Octopus gave him a sharp look for a moment, her cheeks coloring, but then she relaxed and let out a laugh. “Only you, Jack,” she said, “ever give it as good as you get. The others all treat me like some sort of den mother around here. But we both know I’m not old… just old for a Shiner. It’s a goal worth reaching for.”

He said nothing to that but continued following her until they arrived at an alcove where she’d been busily drawing up plans for her latest invention while her tentacles assembled another device almost independently on the desk next to her.

“The news arrived before you did,” she said returning to her work. “The raid on Sector 12. I presume they seized the solar mirrors and the charger?”

He nodded.

“Did you charge the solaether units at least?”

“Yeh,” he murmured. “Had to use one, though.”

“Ah, for the wings. I heard you got the chance to use them.” She turned to face him, even as her tentacles finished assembling one device and moved on to another. “Did they work?”

“Like a charm, Octy, like a charm!” he said with a grin. “New model sprang out an’ had me airborne like a pegasus on a jetstream! Took a bolt to the wing, though, and had to land. Might be nice if it could take a good knock or two next time.”

“I’ve got the kids working on improving durability, but you try making it stronger without making it any heavier. Some titanium would be great right now, but we’ll have to make do until we can get the supplies. Or the bits.”

“Right, right,” Jack murmured.

“If you’ll leave the harness with me, I’ll have it fixed up and get you back in the sky in no time,” she said.

“Ah… ya see, about that… might’ve had to ditch it back on that rooftop.”

She groaned. “Jack…”

“Oi, oi, wasn’t much I could do, Octy,” he said, holding up his hooves. “Wings wouldn’t fold back up, an’ I surely wasn’t gonna get far with ‘em stickin’ out while I ducked down alleyways an’ over fences, now was I?”

“Hmph,” she grunted. “I suppose not. I just hate the thought of the Imps getting their hooves on my inventions and taking them apart, or even just destroying them. Plus, it’s one less set of wings for us to use. But at least the buzz above ground is good. Ponies love a good story, and I already hear that there’s talk of the earth pony who flew on glowing wings and made the Legion look like idiots.”

“Don’t take much with that lot,” Jack remarked.

“Maybe not, but anything that casts us in a better light works to our advantage. More earth ponies supporting our cause is vital to our success. But speaking of our reputations…”

Jack shifted uncomfortably.

“The Empire hasn’t issued a full statement,” the Octopus continued, “but we can both guess how they’ll phrase it. ‘Two innocent soldiers’ will be there. ‘Brutal attack’ most likely. And they’ll call us terrorists for the umpteenth time. That sort of thing does not help our cause, Jack.”

“I know, Octy, I know,” he said. “But believe you me, it weren’t no cold-blooded shite. It was them or me.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the Octopus said. “Still… mm... no, it can’t be helped, so I'll skip the lecture. We’ll get the Tract Team working on a good spin for this. In the meantime, I take it those goggles worked their magic?”

“Like bleedin’ Hoofdini,” Jack replied, removing the goggles and placing them in the Octopus’s outstretched hoof.

“Well, that’s another thing to be happy about,” she said. “I had hoped you wouldn’t have need of them so soon, but since you did, I’m glad they performed well.”

She undid the screws in the chamber next to each goggle lens and out popped a single tiny vial of solaether, its characteristic glow notably absent.

“The reticules on the inside lenses helped a fair bit. Might be nice to get more than one shot per lens, though, Octy.”

“More blasts mean more solaether. More solaether means more weight, more bulk, and less area to store it, unless we want to make the goggles two and a half times thicker.”

“The flash after I fired it left me seein’ spots.”

“Hm. I think I can boost the photo-reactive shading when fired. Thank you for the suggestion.”

Jack nodded, and a silence settled over the two of them as the Octopus became more engrossed in her work. Jack almost trotted off, but then she finally broke the silence with another pointed question:

“I haven’t heard of Hobnail coming home,” she said. “Is he…?”

“Nah, not to worry, Octy. I gave him the solaether and sent him down to the hidey hole. Shouldn’t be too long ‘fore he shows up no worse for the wear.”

The Octopus paused in her work and turned to meet his eyes. “I’m sure that’s true. Hob’s a smart young stallion. I’m sure he’ll come home safe. So there’s no need to worry, Jack.”

“Worried, what? Who’s worried?!” he laughed, looking away.

She turned to him, using her hoof to pull his gaze back to her as she raised his chin. “Jack. Seriously… he’ll be fine.”

He relaxed. “Yeh. Course he will. Thanks, Octy.”

She smiled and returned to her work.

“That all, then?” he asked. “Because I do believe I hear the pub callin’ me, and—”

“Actually,” she said, cutting him off, “I’ve got a Greenhorn who just joined today. Go catch her up to speed, get her situated, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, come on, Octy!”

She silenced him with a sharp, reproachful look. “Jack, her whole cell got wiped out. It was just a few amateur Shiners out near Tall Tale. If she’s going to be of any use to this organization, she needs to get solid ground back under her hooves. And who better to do it than the hero of the day? You’re our most famous member, too, so I want somepony there whom she’ll listen to. So talk to her, help her out, and hopefully it’ll help her stay alive when things get tough.”

Jack sighed. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, turning to walk away. “First thing I’ll warn her about is to beware o’ the daft old nag with the metal arms and terrible hygiene.”

A tentacle snaked out and snagged him by the tail, yanking him back.

“You behave yourself,” she snapped, poking him in the muzzle. “Oh, and if you call me a nag again,” she added, holding up one spindly tentacle to his face, “then I’ll shove one of these so far up your backside that by the time I’m done, you’ll legally be considered a kebab.”

4. Greenhorn

The pale white mare with a gray mane and yellow eyes sat on a bench just outside the barracks. Her eyes were downcast, and she was shifting nervously and fidgeting with her hooves. She didn’t even notice Jackanapes at first when he trotted up and cleared his throat.

“Oi,” he said, causing her to snap to attention.

“Oh, sorry, sir! Was this your seat?” she asked, immediately getting to her hooves.

He chuckled. “Yeh, course it is,” he said. “All these other benches you see around here? All public. ‘Cept this one. This one belongs to Yours Truly.”

“Your name is Yours Truly?” she asked.

Jackanapes burst into laughter. “Oh, you’re a real cut-up, lass! Nah nah, I’m only takin’ the piss.”

She stared back at him.

“Blimey… I’m funnin’ with you. Havin’ a laugh. I’m joking.”

“O-oh,” she said, smiling weakly. “So, you are…?”

“Well, my dear, my fellow clods all ‘round the Rabbit Hole call me Jackanapes.”

There was a sudden gasp of recognition, and he swelled a bit with pride.

“Well well welly well… seems my reputation precedes me, I take it?”

“You’re… you’re like, a legend!” she breathed. “I’ve heard so many stories about you! Oh, sorry, my name is—”

He immediately shoved a hoof to her lips, silencing her. “Best not, slab. First rule, if you want to run with us Shiners, is this: no names.”

She blinked. “No… names? You mean that… that your name—”

“—Ain’t really ‘Jackanapes,’” he replied with a wink. “See, when we was first formin’ up, the Imps would pinch one of us once in a while, and they’d ask for names and cutie marks, and the sorry sod they caught would cough up a name. Once they know who you are, they can find out where you came from, who your friends are, and who your family is.” Here he turned grave, narrowing his eyes. “And once they got that, they’ll use whatever they can to make you turn tail and fess up. Maybe even turn traitor. Hard to keep fightin’ the good fight when you know what they’ll do to your mum, your brother, your gran… d’you know what I mean?”

She swallowed. “Yes. I see.”

“Good. Speaking of which, lass, turn around an’ show me your arse.”

Her cheeks colored and she covered her backside with her tail.

“Come off it,” he sighed. “I got no interest in mares, for one thing. And I need to see your cutie mark, for another. Or more specifically make sure that I can’t.”

“Oh,” she said, relaxing and turning to show him her flank, which was as blank as a newborn filly’s. “They covered it with some sort of gel that made it vanish.”

“Just a bit of the goo we get from a few friendly changelings,” he said.

"Changelings?!"

“Yeh, there's a few of em still left after the purges,” he said with a shrug. “Most of em ran off to who-knows-where, but a few friendly ones joined up with us to stick it to the Imps what killed their mates.”

“I see,” she said, calming herself.

“Anyway, your cutie mark’s still there, mind you; just means nopony can see it is all. One less way for anypony to be identified.”

He turned and lifted his coat, showing that he likewise had a completely blank flank.

“But… with no name or identifying marks, how will anypony know what to call me?”

“Glad you asked! Go ahead and an’ give me a nice soundin’ moniker of your own choosing, if you’d be so kind.”

She bit her lip and considered it for a moment. “Um… oh! How about ‘Ghost?’”

He raised an eyebrow.

“B-because of my white coat? White? Like a ghost?”

“Ahhh, I see, I see,” he said with a nod. “Right, won’t be usin’ that then!”

“Huh?” she stammered.

“Ya don’t get to pick your own handle, lass. If we let ponies do that, we’d have everypony around here callin’ themselves some puffed-up nonsense like ‘Maverick’ or ‘Ice-Mare’ or some such rubbish. So… ghosts go around an’ such in bedsheets, right? We’ll call ya ‘Sheet.’”

She made a face. “My bunkmate is from Prance, sir,” she said. “If you call me that, it’s going to sound like she’s swearing at me all the time.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, with her accent… I imagine she’s going to call me and it will sound like she’s cursing. Like, ‘Sheet! Oh, Sheet!’ That sort of thing.”

His grin grew exponentially. “Oh, well that settles it! That’s too funny not to use now!”

She made a pitiful face and stared back with beseeching eyes.

“Oh… fine, fine,” he said. “Look, how about ‘Spook?’ That good enough for you?”

She smiled. “Sure. I can live with Spook.”

“Apparently, so will your bunkmate. Give my regards to Toilette, by the way.”

Spook blinked. “Wait, her name is ‘Toilette?’”

“Used to wear perfume all the time. Eau de toilette. Hence the handle. ‘Spook’ seems pretty good about now, right?”

“Jeez, I guess I got off easy. So, um… where’d ‘Jackanapes’ come from?”

Jack straightened his jacket. “When I first graced this dingy cave with my handsome face, I told everypony to call me ‘Joker.’ Then the Octopus said my jokes went over like a wet squib and started callin’ me ‘Groaner.’ Still does, in fact. But then one day she goes off on me, right, screamin’ an’ hollerin’ at me to wake the dead, and she screams, ‘Groaner, I’m sick of you and all your damned... jackanapes!’ And wouldn’t you know it, the name stuck! And here I stand, Gentlecolt Jack in the flesh, the one and only Jackanapes!”

He gave an exaggerated bow, and she chuckled.

“Now, I do believe we’ve chewed the grass enough here, lass,” he said, turning and gesturing for her to follow. “I’ll give you a quick tour and see that you get yourself situated, so step lively, Spook.”

Spook nodded. “Sounds good, sir! Where do we begin?”

It took an hour to tour the entire facility, and by the end of it, Jackanapes was nearly hoarse from all his banter. Fortunately, he’d planned for the tour to end at Rockhoof’s Well, and so he took a seat at a crudely made table - the pub, like every other facility in the Rabbit Hole, was furnished with whatever collected and abandoned junk the Shiners could smuggle underground - and ordered a pint of ale for himself and Spook.

“My treat,” he said, raising his glass to her.

“You’re too kind,” she said, smiling sweetly as she raised the glass to her lips.

“Might not think so once you’ve tasted it,” he said before taking a long swig.

Spook took a sip and immediately made a face. “Um… what’s this made from?” she asked.

“From whatever we could spare,” he replied. “Solaether tech ain’t cheap, you know. Most of what we bring in goes into buildin' the new tech, repairin' the old, and keepin' the bloody lights on. Can’t afford to import food, so’s we grow our own under artificial lights, and we can’t use the best bits of it for the brew, now can we?”

Spook looked into the glass. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful.”

“Ah.” Jack took another sip and wiped the foam from his mouth. “Sorry, lass. Once I get going, it’s just a bit hard to stop, d’you know what I mean?”

She nodded.

“Besides, ya wanna know the best thing about this brew?” he asked.

She tilted her head.

“It's good an' strong, so the more of it you drink, the less you mind the taste,” he said with a wink. “Cheers, slab!”

At that, he guzzled down more of his ale. She laughed, suppressed her gag reflex, and joined him in a long chug.

She let out an unladylike belch that drew laughter from the table nearby and a grin from Jackanapes.

“So, sorry for all the dumb questions I’ve been asking you all day,” she said.

“Ain’t no trouble at all,” Jackanapes said with a shrug.

“Well… then do you mind if I ask another?

He shook his head.

“I had an image in my head… all the stories of the Shiners. The fancy solaether gadgets, the fight against the Imperials, and all the earthers they’ve helped. It sounded so… glamorous. Like some wild and crazy adventure. And I’m glad to be here, I really am… but all the stuff you told me about today…”

“Not all glitz and glam, is it, clod?”

She shook her head. “The violence. The danger. Ponies have been telling me almost nonstop that I have to listen and remember all these different things, or I’ll end up getting killed or thrown in some Imperial dungeon or interrogation chamber. By the stars, Jackanapes, you killed two ponies today, and here you are just going about your day like it was nothing!”

If Jack was bothered by the statement, he gave no sign of it. He merely nodded.

“It’s just… all this stuff we’re putting ourselves through, living in a cave, keeping our names and cutie marks secret, never seeing our families back home, risking our lives… is it even worth it? Really?”

Jack took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly through his nostrils.

“I’d be lyin’ if I said it were all shits an’ giggles,” he replied. “I didn’t plan on taking up the life of a revolutionary. Or ‘terrorist,’ if you listen to the Imps. An’ whatever you think of me, let me assure you: killin’ ponies ain’t ‘nothing.’ I scorn to do anypony a misfortune if I can avoid it.” He paused and took another long drink, finishing his glass and pounding it noisily on the table. “But some days, you can’t avoid it. And if I got to endure a taste of Tartarus, and some Imp’s got to get his neck cut so’s us earthers might one day be worth more’n the dirt we dig in, then yeah… I’d say it bloody well is worth it.”

She bowed her head, nodding to him quietly.

“Besides,” he said, motioning to the barkeep for another pint, “it ain’t all bad. Definitely ain’t boring, I’ll say that much. An’ trying out the Octopus’s latest thingamabob is always worth a laugh. Adventure, excitement, an’ not giving nine-tenths of me earnins to some snotty unicorn git with a pole up his arse… may well be a short life, but at least it’s a free one. An’ that’s a damn sight better than the alternative, innit?”

Spook drank the last of her ale and likewise motioned for another one. “Fair point,” she said.

“And on days when all that’s not enough,” Jack added as the server arrived with his second drink, “I remember that there’s other things what make life worth living.”

“Like what?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to answer when a shout suddenly rang out:

“Jack!”

Jackanapes whirled around at the familiar voice and was on his hooves in an instant. A short distance away was Hobnail. He was there, still with his bowler hat on, not a scratch on him, and a jubilant smile on his face.

“Hob!” Jack exclaimed, and galloped over to him, sweeping him up in a hug. “Hob, you plonker, what took you so long?!”

Hobnail hugged him back. “Sorry, Jack. I had to keep hidden until I was sure the Imps were gone, and they stuck around for almost the entire day.” He drew back and took a good look at him. “But what about you? I heard they almost caught you!”

“Well, they caught something else instead,” Jack said, polishing a hoof on his chest. “You ought to know it’ll take more than a few pointy-pointies and wing-dings to bring down a clever bastard like me. What, did you go an’ do something foolish, like worrying about me?”

Hobnail’s lip quivered and his eyes grew damp.

“Oh… damn it all, Hob,” Jack said, embracing him once again. “S’alright now, me lad. S’alright.”

Spook watched the scene unfold before her. When her second ale arrived, she simply left it on the table and trotted off, leaving it for the reunited pair as she returned to her barracks.

5. No Rain

“All clear here. Searchlight?”

“No sign of… hold on.”

Fleet Phalanx froze, his hoof at the communication pearl his ear as he looked to his partner, a mare named Reverie. They both waited for their pegasus partner in the air to speak again.

“Got some earther on the corner of Maplecrest and 12th. He’s… yelling about something, I think?”

“Who’s he yelling at?” Reverie asked.

“Uh… no one. He’s just rambling.”

Phalanx smirked. “I think I know what this is. C’mon, Rookie, you’ll get a kick out of this.” Touching his ear he said, “On our way, Searchlight. Hold and monitor.”

“Understood.”

They made their way to the corner, glancing up to see the pegasus legionnaire hovering above them. As they approached the corner, they spotted an earth pony in a ratty coat and scraggly beard with the image of a cracked pot for a cutie mark. He was muttering to himself as he paced back and forth under the gaslight street lantern on the corner.

“A fool’s prayer! A fool’s prayer!” he shouted suddenly, stomping his hooves loudly.

Reverie narrowed her eyes. “Just some hobo. Let’s chase him off. Arrest him if he makes trouble.”

“Hope he does,” Searchlight said over their com pearls. “Wouldn’t mind practicing my divebomb on the sorry son of a—”

“At ease, Legionnaire,” Phalanx said with a grin. “You too, Reverie. I’ve got this one.”

As he approached, the earth pony whirled around, his eyes wide and staring.

“Oh, my lord and lady! Praise be to Her Majesty! I’ve seen him, I’ve seen him!”

“Seen who, Blind Melon?” Phalanx asked.

“Grogar!” he spat. “The monster Grogar! Oh, with his big pointy horns and his evil red eyes!” He fell to the ground, trembling. “Mi’lord! Mi’lady! Please help me! Use your magic spells to guard me! He said he’d have me blood! An’ then the rest o’ me fluids! He said he’d lock me up in Tambelon! Oh, what a beast was he!”

“Grogar?” Reverie asked. “This loony believes Grogar is real?”

“Oh, real he is, mi’lady!” Blind Melon said, glancing over his shoulder. “As real as the dragon what keeps settin’ me bum on fire! As real as the talkin’ cat what nicked me pie last month!”

Phalanx barely contained his laughter as he elbowed Reverie, who seemed far less amused with Melon’s rantings.

“Ugh, let’s just move on, sir,” Reverie said. “This is a waste of our time.”

“Oh come on, where’s your sense of—”

“Did ye catch him?” Blind Melon asked, his wild eyes suddenly locked onto Phalanx.

“Catch… who?”

“The cat what nicked me pie! You said you'd catch him!”

“Er… yeah! Yeah, sure, we caught him for ya, Melon.”

“Oh good, oh goody good, mi’lord,” he said, calming down slightly. “Did ya take ‘em?”

“Take? Take what?”

“His balls!” Melon shouted. “He’s a naughty cat, he is! Surely you took him to the vet then, like any naughty cat, an’ had ‘im noodled!”

At last, Reverie let a laugh escape her lips.

“Well, sir… did you - pfft - have the talking cat ‘noodled?’”

“Oh, sure, we noodled him good!” Fleet Phalanx laughed.

“Ha ha! Ha ha!” Blind Melon laughed and began to do a celebratory jig right there on the street corner. “Take that, ye mangy beast! You took me pie, so’s the Guard took your balls!”

“Uh, look, this is fun and all, but shouldn’t we keep up our patrol?”

Phalanx and Reverie quickly got control over themselves. “You pegasi are a real drag, you know,” Phalanx said. “But fine, we’ll get back to patrol.”

“See you later, looney tunes,” Reverie said, shaking her head as she and Phalanx turned to go.

“Oh no, mi’lady, Looney Tunes is me cousin! Got kicked in the head as a boy an’ had a mule for a son fifteen year ago!”

As the two guards began to walk away, he suddenly darted in front of them.

“But the spell!” he cried, seizing them both by the shoulder. “Guards, guards, ye must protect me! Grogar’s still after me!”

“Hands off, earther!” Reverie shouted with sudden ferocity, shoving him back. Her horn glowed and she drew out a club with her magic and swatted him on the shoulder.

Blind Melon cried out in pain and staggered back when Searchlight dove down and tackled him to the ground, pressing his face to the cobblestone street.

“You’re under arrest for assaulting Her Majesty’s Guard!” he shouted.

“Oh my lords, my lady, forgive me!” he wailed. “Forgive me, forgive me!”

“For the love of… both of you calm down!” Phalanx bellowed. “Searchlight, let him up! Reverie, put that club away!”

His two subordinates did as he commanded while Blind Melon slowly got to his feet.

“Thank you, thank you, mi’lord,” he wheezed. “I knew you were good an’ true, you were. I said as much to those ponies what were saying all those horrible things about ‘Imps’ and whatnot.”

“Wait, what was that?” Reverie asked.

“A whole gaggle of ‘em!” Blind Melon cried, waving his hooves in the air. “Had these little glowy sticks with ‘em! Saw ‘em twenty minutes ago down on 8th street, I did! Called me a smelly old geezer and shoved me off the sidewalk!”

“Glowy sticks?” Reverie repeated, eyeing the other two.

“Finally!” Searchlight shouted, pulling out his spear and taking to the skies. “I’ll scout ahead!”

Reverie and Phalanx took off after him.

Phalanx looked over his shoulder and tossed a single coin to the half-crazed earth pony. “Thanks for your help, Melon. Stay out of trouble... and no sleeping in the park again!”

“Aye, aye, mi’lord!” Blind Melon called, eagerly snatching up the coin. “Bless you all! Bless Her Majesty’s Guard!”

He watched them go before turning and trotting a bit further up the street in the opposite direction. Once he turned into an alleyway, his uneven gait vanished and he raised his head, his eyes growing calm. A bit further in, he clicked his tongue three times and a group of ponies emerged from the shadows. One of them pulled a covered cart. Another stepped forward to greet him.

“We heard you call out 'guards,'” he said, running his hoof through his mane. “You okay, Jack?”

“A bit banged up, but no worse for wear, Hob,” Jackanapes answered as he removed the ratty old coat. “Nothing a bit o’ ice and a bit o’ the old Tee Ell Cee wouldn’t cure, at least.”

Spook stepped up as well. “We delivered nine new heaters!” she said eagerly. “Nine!”

“But ze tenth famille, zey told us to leave and not return,” said a yellow mare gesturing toward the last heater that was on the cart.

“Toilette’s right,” Spook said. “I don’t understand why…”

“They don’t want to risk getting caught using a solaether heater,” Hob replied. “They know what the Imps will do if they catch them with it.”

“Incroyable!” Toilette groaned. “Zey have no courage!”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Hob said, gesturing to the others to follow him. “Paying a chunk of the pittance they give us to live on just to afford coal or firewood to barely avoid freezing to death in these hovels is awful… but it’s preferable to the noose if the Imps think you’re associated with the Shiners.”

They stepped into the backroom of their nearby safehouse and swiftly began to change out of their disguises. Each one donned a jacket and a pair of goggles.

“Bloody hell this beard itches,” Jack said, scratching at his fake beard furiously. “What’s it made of, anyway? Fur off a yak’s arse?”

“Half right,” Hob replied with a smirk. “It wasn’t a yak.”

Jackanapes gagged and wiped off the fake cutie mark on his flank as the others chuckled in the darkness.

“Should we find somepony else to take the heater?” Spook asked, lifting it from the cart.

“Non,” Toilette said. “It is best we try again ze next time. If ze rumors about ze coal barons are true, zere will be many more ponies in need of ze heaters, and we cannot waste it on ponies who have no need of it.”

They all nodded. More and more earth ponies in town were making use of solaether to secretly heat their homes. The Shiners had taken to building heaters and donating them for free, even giving them enough solaether to last through the remainder of winter and through the early spring. It was among the biggest boosts to their reputation, of course, but it had led to an unexpected backlash:

The local coal merchant, a unicorn who owned the mines, had noticed that the number of earthers purchasing coal for their stoves was down by a third since last year. And so, with some generous spending on the local weather teams, the pegasi had delayed the spring rains to mark the end of winter and even diverted more cold winds and snowstorms to the city… but only over earth pony neighborhoods.

Ponies in draftier buildings woke up shivering every morning, and the least fortunate among them, the ponies who lived on the streets, were being found frozen stiff in alleys and under piles of snow-dusted garbage each morning.

Had Blind Melon been real, Jackanapes mused, he would probably be dead by now.

They stepped out into the darkness once again.

“There!”

They froze at the shout that pierced the night. Following the sound, they spotted a trio of legionnaires armed with spears above them an instant before they dove down at them.

Jackanapes and Hob leaped back from their assailants, but Toilette caught the sharp end of the spear through her shoulder and was forced to the ground.

Jackanapes pulled something from his jacket as the pegasi reared back for another attack. He tossed it into the air and shouted “EYES!”

They each pulled down their tinted goggles as the device he’d tossed burst with a dull sound and the alley was instantly blasted with light as bright as the sun itself.

The goggles shielded their eyes - thanks to the Octopus's latest improvements - but the blinded pegasi staggered around in a panic, and one took to the air.

Hobnail grappled with the pegasus who’d attacked him, wrestling the spear from him and kicking him back as he reached around blindly. Then, with a quick dodge to the side, Hob drove the blade up into his neck, just below the chin.

Jackanapes, meanwhile, took aim at the pegasus trying to flee and aimed one of his goggles’ optic blasts at him. The first missed, but he took aim with the other and caught him in the wing, snapping it and causing him to plummet to the ground. As he struggled to get to his hooves, Jackanapes rushed at him, delivering a kick to his head that knocked him out cold and sent his teeth flying.

Spook stood there, frozen to the spot, until she heard Toilette scream again as the pegasus who’d attacked her, still blinded, drove his spear deeper into her shoulder.

“Spook, help!” she shouted.

As if waking from a trance, she gave a furious cry and launched herself at the pegasus, knocking him off his hooves and slamming him into the wall of the building next door.

Then she stepped back, marveling at what she’d done. And then froze once she saw the legionnaire’s eyes focus on her blearily.

The legionnaire reached for her, but there was a flash of light and his head suddenly jerked back and his helmet flew off, revealing a smoking hole in his forehead.

Spook stared on as the legionnaire’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the ground. She then glanced down to see that it was Toilette who'd fired the blast from her goggles.

Hob and Jack began gathering up their supplies.

“Oi, Spook, give us a hoof with Toilette!” Jack hissed. When she remained frozen to the spot, he seized her face and forced her to look at him. “Spook! Now! We made enough noise to bring every pointy an’ wing-ding in the damned county! Move!”

She seemed to snap back to reality and breathless helped Jackanapes with Toilette as Hob grabbed the last solaether heater, and they all took off running into the night as the sound of flapping wings filled the air behind them.

6. The Seats of Power (And What Goes in Them)

On the outskirts of the city, beyond its dirt and cobblestone streets, beyond the gaslit street lamps, beyond its industrial districts and their smoke-belching chimneys, beyond the poor earther slums, and even beyond the fancier homes on terraces lined with trees and bordered by parks, there was a slow-rising hill.

And atop that hill was the Mayor’s manor, a two-story house with immaculate hedges and a fountain across its spacious lawn, tall gothic windows, and a pair of double doors with intricately carved patterns showing the city’s official seal.

The inside of the manor was every bit as luxurious, with its hallways adorned with paintings personally commissioned by the Lord Mayor himself, its chandeliers, and its dining room stocked with the finest porcelain dishes and fine silverware.

It was little wonder, then, that the Lord Mayor chose to spend so much of his time here or engaged in hunts or sport than at City Hall.

It had been many months since a meeting of the Town Council had been held, which was little surprise as everypony knew there was no need for a public meeting except when an official law or a new tax needed to be discussed and officially put on the books.

The real business of government, as ponies well knew, was held behind closed doors in offices and carriages and on fox hunts. And especially, as in the current case, in the Lord Mayor’s parlor.

A low, crackling fire cast its glow from the fireplace as the Lord Mayor and his guests: the local unicorn lords from around the county, Legatus Stormbringer of the 6th Pegasus Legion, and Colonel Cannonade of the 9th Imperial Brigade.

The Colonel and Legatus stood stiffly as the former delivered his latest report while the Lord Mayor and the others sat in their high-backed chairs and listened.

“...and so, despite the arrests and other recent measures, we’ve seen no decrease in Shiner activity in the town, my lords,” Colonel Cannonade said, lowering the document held by his magic before neatly folding it and placing it in front of the Lord Mayor.

The Lord Mayor, Sir Trotzig, nodded to the Colonel before sitting back in his chair. He was balding and wore a pair of round spectacles, and his mutton-chop beard curved around his jowls to meet up with his prodigious mustache. The lines of this facial hair contorted and moved to emphasize his consternation as he mulled over this latest news, his jaw working up and down as though he were literally ruminating the information like so much cud.

“Mmm,” he murmured. “Thank you for your report, Colonel. But you say that there has been no decrease in Shiner activity so far… do you suppose that there may be a delayed reaction, and we may see it begin to wane in the coming weeks or months?”

The Colonel and Legatus Stormbringer exchanged a look.

“There is no indication of that, Your Honor.”

“Well then,” spoke up another of the lords, a caramel-colored unicorn with a notable overbite, “what do you think will occur, Colonel? In your expert opinion, that is.”

“That would be pure speculation on my part, Lord Toffee Nose,” the Colonel replied.

“Oh do spare us the humility, Colonel,” Toffee Nose snorted with a dismissive wave of his hoof. He paused to take a sip of brandy that made a sharp thhhkk! sound through his teeth. “You did not rise to your rank without just cause. We would be ever so pleased if you could provide us with your thoughts on the matter.”

Colonel Cannonade narrowed his eyes. “I think they’re getting more brazen. Not only will we not see a decrease in Shiner activity, I anticipate that it will continue to rise sharply.”

“Oh,” said Toffee Nose. “How dreadful.”

A gray mare with a pink mane levitated a cigarette in an ivory holder up to her lips. She took a drag and expelled a cloud of smoke to punctuate an exasperated sigh.

“This isn’t merely dreadful, Lord Toffee Nose,” said the mare, a middle-aged heiress named Primrose Petticoat. “It’s tedious. I truly don’t see why we’re being bothered with it.”

“This concerns us all, Lady Primrose,” Mayor Trotzig said. “I believe having all our input would be invaluable. If we are to put this rebellious faction down, we must have a coordinated effort!”

“Well, I don’t see what’s so difficult about it all!” Primrose huffed. “Just hunt down these ruffians, kill them all, and stop regaling us with all this horrid business of violence and death.”

Legatus Stormbringer grit his teeth. “If it were that simple, my lady, then—”

“It is simple!” Primrose snapped, tossing her hooves in the air. “Just beat it out of the ones you capture, or shake down the ghettos until somepony confesses! Send the legionnaires down every hole in the city until you find something! And don’t bother us again until you’ve found their leader, whoever he is, and had him executed! I swear, this is all so tiresome!”

There was a punctuated chuckle from a white unicorn with a slicked-over mane and thin mustache. He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Something you care to say, Lord Caraway?” Primrose asked, narrowing her eyes at the young lord.

Lord Caraway wasn’t born in the county. The youngest of the lords by ten years, he’d come from a small estate to the east and had seemed poised from birth to live the quiet life of a minor aristocrat clinging to the humble claims of his household. Instead, he’d immersed himself in studying economic and political theories and traveled to far-flung lands like Griffonstone and the Kingdom of Minos, only to return home and pour his family fortune into a slew of burgeoning startup companies. His timing couldn’t have been better: Equestria’s industrial revolution surged onward, and he rode it like the crest of a tidal wave. Not content with one industry, he had his hooves in everything from textile manufacture to mining to the growing railroad business that was crisscrossing the nation. And after a recession five years ago, a few donations and loans to the right ponies on his part led to commendations from the Crown and a slew of new honors and grants.

The Lord Mayor’s council of advisors had once been larger, but when the recession came, it even hit the aristocrats. It was then that Caraway had come along, seemingly out of nowhere, and approached three of the minor lords who sat on the council with generous offers. Pride made them hesitant, but ultimately each one caved, and their estates were gobbled up one by one. And now Caraway was the second richest lord in the county, owned the largest factory in the city, and wielded such influence that excluding him from the Mayor’s meetings became impossible, no matter how much the older lords grumbled.

It was all the more infuriating to the other lords that he seemed wholly devoted to differentiating himself from his peers. He spoke quickly in contrast to the others’ almost laborious intonations; he wore a green jacket with a gold-colored tie and black vest in contrast to the drab, formal colors the others wore; and he cared almost nothing for the traditional pastimes of privilege like carriage rides, golf, or fancy balls, preferring instead to take direct charge of his enterprises around the city and hobnob with everypony he met regardless of station in the pursuit of greater and greater wealth. And for his seemingly egalitarian sensibilities and warmth, he’d become one of the most beloved ponies in the county… and the other lords absolutely hated him for it.

“Well, I’ve got several things to say, Lady Primrose,” Caraway replied, “but for the moment, I’ll point out that nopony forced you to be here. Every time His Honor calls for one of these meetings, you deign to show up only to carry on about how bored you are by the proceedings. If you’re so bored, then just leave!”

“I beg your pardon?! I have a right to be here!”

“So you demand to be part of the action, then do nothing but complain about the bother of it all? Forgive me, Lady Primrose, but your complaints about how ‘tiresome’ these proceedings are is the only thing I happen to find tiresome about them.”

Caraway caught the ghost of a smile tugging at the edges of Legatus Stormbringer’s mouth as Lady Primrose began to sputter indignantly. The other lords didn’t seem to be in a hurry to rise to Primrose’s defense.

“Oh, calm down, Lady Primrose,” Caraway chuckled. “Have a drink, have a smoke, and we’ll finish this talk soon enough. Then you can announce your latest garden party, which I know is the main reason you bother coming to these things in the first place.”

Primrose’s cheeks flushed. “Well! As it happens, I do have another planned! But you shan’t receive an invitation to it, you upstart!”

“That’s fine,” Caraway said with a shrug. “When is your party? I’ll hold one on the same day, and we’ll see how many ponies bother to show up to yours once they know I’m holding one.”

“Please, Lady Primrose, Lord Caraway!” Mayor Trotzig cried. “This bickering is getting us nowhere!”

“My apologies, Your Honor,” Lord Caraway said with a small bow of his head. “I only meant to steer these proceedings in a more productive direction, and I think our poor, beleaguered armed forces could use more helpful support than just ‘crawl down every hole until you find them!’ If it were that simple, I’m certain we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“While that might be so,” said another of the lords, “I do believe Lady Primrose is correct in suggesting more intense measures.”

The pony who had spoken was Baron von Schornstein, owner of the largest coal mine in the county and numerous others around Equestria. His features were old and wrinkled, and his sunken eyes were ringed with dark circles, but there was a sharpness there and vitality in his voice despite the rasp it had gained with age.

“These Shiners are rabble-rousers and malcontents, and if we are to have any hope of crushing them, we must make it clear to their earth pony supporters that cooperating with them will only bring trouble. So, yes, I agree that we should sweep through the ghettoes and leave no stone unturned to flush their collaborators out of hiding. With enough pressure, I’m certain that some of them will turn on their ‘benefactors.’”

“That could be done,” Colonel Cannonade said. “We’d need to coordinate a simultaneous effort and cordon off the district to make sure we caught as many earth ponies as possible in the sweep, but that is an option.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Lord Caraway said, swirling his glass of brandy casually in his hoof. “Not unless you want to make the problem much, much worse.”

Von Schornstein glared at him, the crackling fire illuminating the deep lines of his features. “You should really watch your tone, Lord Caraway. Your youth may make you brazen, but you’d do well to remember your place. You are yet new to this table.”

Caraway chuckled. “It’s not my newness that riles you so, von Schornstein. It’s my money’s newness, as always. But I have a seat here just as you, and I’ll speak my mind as I wish… with Your Honor’s permission, of course.”

Lord Mayor Trotzig hesitated, glancing from von Schornstein and then back to Caraway. “Y-yes, proceed, Lord Caraway,” he said.

“First off, let’s remember what this is all about: equity. Or, rather, the lack of it. Earth ponies have been in the Third Stable for centuries with only the rarest incidents of peasant uprisings in all that time. But times have changed. The discovery of steam power and our nation’s great push toward industrialization have created a staggering amount of wealth for us all, both due to new production and the boon it gave to our military. More and more ponies across all three Stables have become city-dwellers. And yet, for all that new wealth, the average earther has less and less of it in his hoof. And those earth ponies are no longer tenant farmers or ignorant villagers, oh no; they are increasingly educated, increasingly skilled, and increasingly aware of the wealth that is all around them. They can see how poorly they have it.”

“Balderdash!” Toffee Nose spat. “Why, they get food and shelter, steady jobs, and a ready supply of pubs serving them swill to keep themselves content! They have enough! They ought to be grateful!”

“If they truly had enough,” Caraway retorted, “then why is Lord Pepperpot’s bank giving out three times as many loans to earth ponies now than they were a decade ago?”

Lord Pepperpot paused mid-sip of his brandy. “I… I don’t know what you mean, Lord Caraway. I’m not sure where you even heard such a thing!”

“Let’s just say it filtered up to me,” Caraway said. He elected not to mention that the information had first leaked out in local pubs when some of the bank workers and loan officers came to drink their guilt away after foreclosing on yet another earth pony family’s home, confessing their sins to the ponies on the neighboring barstool like an ale-sodden confessional.

“Ponies in debt up their eyeballs doesn’t sound like them having ‘enough.’ By nature, most ponies across all the Stables are prone to content themselves with their lot in life and not take dangerous risks unless pushed. That they are turning to violent criminals for aid and even joining them is a clear sign that they are indeed so pushed. The average pony doesn’t choose violence as a first option; he chooses it as his last option. He chooses it when he has little else to lose but a wretched life, especially when the potential rewards are great enough. And they are.

“Which is precisely why a brutal lockdown of the ghettoes will most likely result in little information being gained and far more ponies joining the Shiners out of either spite or simple desperation. We don’t need to waste time and effort on extreme tactics when the results will only worsen the situation.”

“Well then, Lord Caraway,” von Schornstein growled, “perhaps you’d care to make a suggestion of your own for a change, rather than naysaying everypony else’s propositions.”

“Quite simple. For starters, acquiesce to some of the Shiners’ demands.”

There was an uproar of protest from the other lords. Caraway took the time to refill his glass of brandy as the others shouted.

But then a single voice shouted over them all, and that voice was Legatus Stormbringer’s.

“You want us to capitulate to those murderous bastards?!” he demanded, his voice loud enough to shake the walls as he hovered directly over Caraway, his muzzle inches away.

“Legatus, if you please—”

“No! I won’t calm down! I’ve lost dozens of legionnaires to these terrorists! I have to pen a letter to each one’s family and explain why their son or daughter was killed in the line of action when we aren’t even at war!”

“Legatus,” Cannonade said, his voice firm as he placed a hoof on Stormbringer’s shoulder.

“I… forgive me, my lord,” Stormbringer said, practically choking on the apology as he gradually came back to the ground and folded his wings against himself.

“No apologies necessary, Legatus,” Caraway said. “And I understand what you mean: we do not wish to validate the Shiners’ actions by openly giving in to their demands. But we should consider gradually easing restrictions on the earth ponies in the city. Fewer curfews, extensions on loans, rent control, boost the wages of ponies in all our respective enterprises… that sort of thing. Make earthers’ lives a bit cozier, and they’ll have more to lose by associating with the Shiners. Do it bit by bit, with no credit given to the extremists, and we shall appear all the more magnanimous as the Shiners seem all the more extreme.”

Mayor Trotzig’s jaw worked as he mulled over the suggestion. “Mmm… I hate the thought of caving in to a bunch of uppity earthers. But do you really think this will solve the problem?”

“I think it’s a start,” Caraway said.

“And after that?”

Caraway took a deep breath. “I would send a petition to Canterlot urging them to ease the restrictions on the use of solaether.”

Another round of protest exploded from the joined lords.

“How dare you suggest such a thing!” Primrose shrieked. “Those horrid devices drain Her Majesty’s very life force!”

“Oh come now, Lady Primrose, that’s a load of horse apples and you know it!”

There was a stunned silence at that and Colonel Cannonade cleared his throat.

“My lord,” he said, meeting Caraway’s eyes, “that is the official stance of the Crown. Publicly opposing an official edict would be… unwise.”

Caraway regarded him for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “It would be unwise to say so… ‘publicly.’” He looked around at all the faces staring back at him. “But this meeting is not public, is it? What we discuss here is often unfit to be heard by the public. Let us speak candidly with each other, shall we?”

The others continued to eye him and each other with unease, but nopony spoke up in protest.

“Let me be clear: I wish no harm upon Her Majesty. Nor do I have any particular grievances with our system of government. After all, I am a beneficiary of that power.

“But solaether is the new way of things. It’s clean, it’s cheap, and it is unbelievably versatile. The Shiners have already proven its capacity to render the distinction between the races meaningless. The seed of that idea has been planted. It has taken root. And it will grow, tended to by earth pony hooves. Deny it if you like, but I believe we should accept that change is coming. It is inevitable, but we could be at the forefront of this new change if we embrace it.”

“You’d tear up the foundations of our society just to make a few bits, eh?” scoffed von Schornstein.

“Don’t bother to act superior,” Caraway chuckled. “We both know you only oppose the technology because it threatens your coal empire. That’s the real reason you want the ghettoes stormed, isn’t it? To destroy all the solaether heaters the Shiners have been providing the poor so they have to go back to giving you their bits?”

“Why you arrogant, upstart, snot-nosed little son of a—”

“Gentlecolts, please!” Mayor Trotzig shouted, holding up his hooves. “Ugh… it’s too hot in here…”

They all waited patiently as the Lord Mayor wiped his brow.

“Lord Caraway, your earlier proposals have some merit. Depriving the Shiners of more recruits is wise. Colonel, Legatus, I urge you not to proceed with any crackdowns of the earth pony ghettoes. And the rest of us may want to consider ways to subtly improve the lives of the earthers without overtly making it seem like we’re doing it to appease the terrorists.

“But we are not going to entertain any ideas about solaether or its applications.”

“Your Honor—”

“Lord Caraway, I’ve said all I am going to say about it!” Mayor Trotzig shouted.

Caraway heaved a sigh and sat back in his chair. “As you wish, Your Honor. But if that’s the case, then I beg you to consider the plight of the soldiers tasked with fighting these terrorists. Shiner weaponry is advancing quickly, and traditional tactics aren’t keeping up. By not utilizing solaether ourselves, we’re putting our forces at a disadvantage.”

“We can manage without that trash,” Cannonade scoffed.

“Agreed,” said von Schornstein, “but perhaps Lord Caraway is correct about one thing: we need something to level the playing field.”

Mayor Trotzig and the two military ponies leaned in with interest. “Anything in mind, Lord von Schornstein?” Trotzig asked.

Von Schornstein smiled. He reached into his coat’s inner pocket and drew out a tiny glass vial. Inside it was a purple liquid that glowed softly. He saw the scowl on Lord Caraway’s face and his own smile grew proportionately.

“I have some ideas…”