Astroturf: It's What's For Dinner
It was a truth nearly universal to all sapient species: Puberty was awkward. Even species that didn’t have to deal with hair in unusual places, whether they already had full coats or weren’t mammals, still had to confront changing bodies, changing moods, changing societal expectations, and myriad other forms of change in what had been a largely understandable existence.
The Crusaders weren’t exempt from the ravages of age. At sixteen, growth spurts of varying intensity had left Apple Bloom more than a head taller than Scootaloo and never-you-mind pounds heavier. Nopony had asked if the pegasus was her daughter yet, but she fully expected to hear the question in five years’ time.
Possibly less if Scootaloo kept clambering over her. Scoots didn’t have much to show in her body, but her wings had finally grown in, and she insisted on using Apple Bloom as a mobile pommel horse whenever possible.
Thus, she was the one who spotted the trouble while the two of them were on the way back from a cutie mark consultation, from the vantage point of just having vaulted off of Apple Bloom’s head.
She paused mid-hoofspring, hovering as she squinted. “Is that Snips and Snails?”
“Sure is a crowd,” Apple Bloom said from her vantage point. Ponies and other creatures had certainly gathered around something, enough that most of the newcomers were likely gathering just to see what had caught the others' interest. “If they’re in the middle, we may wanna see what’s what.”
Scootaloo lowered herself enough to nudge Apple Bloom's withers with a forehoof. “You can just say you’re morbidly curious.”
That got a smirk. “Hey, yer usin’ the word-a-day calendar Sweetie got ya fer Hearth’s Warmin’.”
“It was a gift.” Scootaloo stuck out her tongue and landed on Apple Bloom's back. Going by how there were only three points of contact digging in to Bloom’s ribs, her friend was probably pointing ahead triumphantly. “Now onward, to glory!”
“Or somethin’ t’ do that ain’t farm chores.” Apple Bloom pressed onward regardless.
“Same difference.”
Creatures quickly made room for a not-quite-mare who was already taller than her sister. Ponyvillians loved their street theater, but they loved not bothering ponies who helped distribute cider every fall even more. Soon enough, the two had front-row access to Snips pacing and muttering in front of one of the town’s fountains, his horn firing off frustrated sparks.
“Hey there.” Puberty had been kind to Snails, though keeping up his buckball training had likely contributed to that. He’d grown into his legs, coming out sleek and athletic in a way Apple Bloom might have found attractive if she hadn’t known him since he’d thought eating paste was the height of entertainment. “Where’s Sweetie?”
Scootaloo hopped off of Apple Bloom a moment before she would’ve gotten bucked off, shrugging her wings once she landed. “She said she had maintenance lined up, so your guess is as good as ours.” Sweetie Belle turning out to have been a robot since shortly before the Crusade started had been as notable as Twilight Sparkle becoming an alicorn, which was to say it had been exciting for a week before becoming the new normal once the next bit of Ponyville madness cropped up.
That brought Apple Bloom's thoughts back to the current issue. “So, what’s got Snips’s horn in a twist?”
“Well—”
"I'll tell you what!" Snips had definitely grown taller. He'd also grown longer, grown wider, and had even grown a wispy attempt at a goatee. But beyond the purely physical, nopony could claim he’d grown up. “It’s outrageous! It’s unconscionable!”
Snails gave a dopey grin that hadn't changed one bit. “Oh hey, yer usin’ the word-a-day calendar I got ya for Hearth’s Warmin’.”
“Of course I am. It was a gift." Snips snorted, his furious grimace not shifting one bit. "Unlike this tail slap in the face!”
Apple Bloom cocked an eyebrow in the family tradition. “And what’s ‘this’?”
“Yeah," added Scootaloo, "you guys get told off for trying to bother an Ursa Minor again?”
“That was one time, eh!” Coming from Snails, that mild annoyance was the equivalent of an indignant shout.
“You two will want to hear this most of all!” Coming from Snips, that indignant shout was the equivalent of a mild annoyance.
“Will we, now?” said Apple Bloom, mildly annoyed.
“Oh yeah. It hits Sweetie Belle at least as hard as it hits us.”
The Crusaders shared a glance. Years of collaboration had honed their nonverbal communication to a razor's edge, and neither had seen anything that might cut back. Yet. Scootaloo took the initiative. “Okay, you have our attention. What’s this about?”
“Better idea, I can show you.” Snips, who was still built like a dachshund with hooves, looked around Scootaloo to the assembled crowd, which had only grown in the meantime. “Hey, how many ponies here got help from the Crusaders?”
Many hooves went into the air. A few more recent non-equine clients offered their own appendages. Those cases were more challenging, but still well worth the effort... though Apple Bloom wasn't sure if that was a good thing just now.
But under another hoof, Sweetie was one of her best friends. A sister, a lifelong partner, a... Well, the three of them were still figuring out some the details of just what their relationship was becoming, but the point was that she did owe it to Sweetie to at least see what this was all about.
Snips waved them along as he moved away from the fountain, the crowd parting for him as he approached. “Come on! We’re not going to let them trample all over Sweetie!”
“We’re not?” Going by Snails's unfocused look of surprise, his brain hadn't yet realized his legs were already following Snips.
Scootaloo looked up at Apple Bloom. "Who's 'them'?"
There was a time and place for caution and careful thought. In Apple Bloom's experience, that was after she'd rushed in to see how the situation reacted. “We'll find out when we get there. C’mon!”
The situation had yet to react.
“Snails?”
“Yeah, Apple Bloom?”
Apple Bloom herself had.
“I thought you said somepony was persecutin’ Sweetie.”
“Oh, did you get a word-a-day—?”
“Zip it." And she wasn't happy. She thrust a hoof at their destination. "Care t’ tell me how Shed Tales of all places is crackin’ down on one o’ my best friends?”
Shed Tales was virtually identical to any other Ponyville cottage, the only distinguishing feature a sign hanging over the door, painted with an unusually pink gecko holding a quill. Apple Bloom hadn’t known where Snips was leading the impromptu herd, but she certainly wouldn’t have guessed the headquarters for a speculative fiction magazine. A few ponies on the edges of the group were already wandering off in disbelief.
Snips nodded fast enough for his goatee to lose cohesion, pointing at a window by the front door. “See for yourself!”
A hoof-written sign hung in that window, proudly proclaiming "Story Admissions Open!" Below that were several other lines of text in increasingly fresher ink, with plenty of space for more:
Subject to editorial approval.
Stories must be in Ponish.
No metareference.
And, freshest of all:
No AI-generated or -assisted stories.
“Huh," said Scootaloo. “I didn’t know there were any other robots in town.”
“Weeeeell," Snails drawled, "Miss Cheerilee always said—”
Scootaloo gave a dimsissive nicker. “Eh, the courts finally got her to attend those mandatory therapy sessions.”
A cleared throat turned everypony's attention to the doorway, and to the creature standing in it while giving the crowd a wary look. “Uh, can I help… all of you?”
The murmuring crowd fell silent. A few on the periphery tried to both make no sudden moves and run for their lives, which led to a lot of nonchalant whistling and one case of going so stiff, the mare in question tipped over sideways.
The white dragon with red spots (or possibly red dragon with white spots; one didn't ask those kind of questions after Zecora's tutelage) scratched his unusually streamlined muzzle. "Ponies," he said mostly to himself. "Doubt I'll figure you all out for another few centuries."
Snips rushed over to bring himself eye-to-eye (or at least eye-to-knee) with the dragon, thrusting a forehoof at him. “We’re here to fight injustice and discrimination!”
That got a long, contemplative look. “Okay, I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.”
Scootaloo shrugged her wings. "Yeah, most of us aren't sure what he's talking about either."
"Sorry 'bout this, Mister...?" Apple Bloom trailed off, holding out a forehoof. Her volunteer work at the School of Friendship let her meet most of Ponyville's non-equine residents, but an increasing number were moving in for other reasons.
“Peregrine." The dragon gave the offered hoof a quick shake. "I took over for the old editor a while back." He frowned and glanced about the crowd. "You're not with the Campaign for Equal Flights, are you?”
"The what?"
"Good. I am not in the mood for their kind of nonsense today." Peregrine gave an angry huff that came with a burst of vivid blue flame. A few more ponies snuck away.
“We did want to ask about your ban on AI,” said Scootaloo.
“Oh. That." Peregrine rolled his eyes. "Look, I’ve already had to deal with way too many creatures trying to what-about their way past a very clear rule. I’m not taking any more comments on the matter.”
“But our best friend’s an arcane intelligence!” cried Apple Bloom.
"That..." Peregrine trailed off, scratching his chin with a sound like a whetstone on an axe. "Raises a lot of questions, actually. Who—"
“What’s going on, Perry?"
Puberty wasn't kind to most creatures. When growing up was a matter of migrating a central processor to a larger chassis, it mostly meant bumping into things for a few days. Sweetie Belle had figured that out months ago, and Rarity insisted on her getting the scratches buffed out as soon as she could. As such, the young mare who walked out of the cottage was a model of grace and elegance, marred only slightly by visible seams in her outer plating and the faint whine of servomotors.
She blinked as she took in the crowd, stopping when she reached the other Crusaders. "Apple Bloom? Scootaloo?”
“Sweetie!” Both rushed up to give her a hug, which she gladly returned.
“What’re you doin’ here?” said Apple Bloom.
“I’m the main story approver. What are you doing here?”
The three of them stared at each other in mutual incomprehension for a few moments. Scootaloo broke the silence. “Wait, this is that big journalism gig you were telling us about last week?”
“We couldn’t do it without her," said Peregrine. "We get so many submissions, there’s no way we could pick out the best without a creature who can read ten thousand words a minute.”
Apple Bloom scowled. “And ya won’t even let ‘er submit a story?”
Peregrine faceclawed. “How did you ponies even find out about that mess?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” added Sweetie.
“Hey Snips, where ya goin’? They’re talkin’ aboot ya!”
All of them turned to Snails, and from him to Snips, who didn't have nearly enough of a crowd left to vanish into.
"Uh. Ahem." Snips offered a nervous smile.
“Oh. Right" Peregrine cracked his neck, wings spread. There was a lot of neck to get through, but he managed to wrap up by the time he got to Snips. "You. Now I remember you”
“Eh heh heh…" The colt backed up a few steps, eyes darting about for an escape route. "You must have me mistaken for somepony else.”
“Ah, don’t be shy, pal." Snails blithely trotted to his side, patting him on the back. "You were real proud about not just bein' my manager anymore.”
“Snails?" Snips squeaked, sweat soaking into his facial coat. "Buddy?”
"Signin’ up with the Flimflam brothers."
“Pal?”
“Gettin’ in on the ground floor.”
Snips kicked Snails in a rear cannon.
"Testin' their new products." A few moments later, Snails blinked and frowned. "What was that for?"
“Snails,” Snips said flatly.
"That's me."
“Please stop talking.”
"'Kay."
Apple Bloom strode up to Peregrine's side. “What Flimflam product, exactly?”
“Well…" Snips took another look around. The other Crusaders had positioned themselves around him. A new crowd was forming, but none of them looked like they were siding against the fillies. He huffed and put his muzzle in the air. "I mean, if you must know, it’s called the Generative Prose Trimmer, and it’s the future. You feed in books to train it and it writes brand new ones!”
“I’ve seen his submissions," Sweetie deadpanned. "It literally chops up books and puts the words back together. It’s like a ransom note translated from Yakyakistani through four other languages into Ponish.”
Snips sneered. “You’re just afraid of change.”
“I am literally a thinking machine. That toy is an insult to everything I am and represent.”
“You’re just jealous that it wrote ten whole stories in a day!”
“That’s the thing," said Peregrine. "It wrote them. Whether they were good or bad—and they were very bad—doesn't matter. What does is that they weren’t yours. Getting an automaton to churn out slush is just automated plagiarism." His lips peeled back in the beginning of a snarl. "It’s not your story to tell.”
All the arrogance bled out of Snips at the first sight of fangs. “B-but I gave it—”
Peregrine leaned in close. “Colt, let me tell you what your options are here: You can walk away. You can actually write your own submission, which we will consider. Or you can keep arguing the semantics of ownership with a dragon.” He puffed a cloud of smoke in Snips's face for emphasis.
Snips, to his credit, picked the first option. Though "walk" undersold just how he chose to leave.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Peregrine," said Snails, waving as he went after his friend.
"Nice colt, that one. Bit of a cracked egg, but it takes all kinds."
Apple Bloom cleared her throat, one hooftip dragging through the dirt. “Sorry for the trouble.”
“We were just trying to defend our friend,” added Scootaloo.
“You could have talked to me about it first,” said Sweetie.
Apple Bloom nodded. "Probably shoulda." She sighed. "Too much razzmatazz goin' on t' get a thought in edgewise. That colt's learnin' somethin' from the Flimflams."
Peregrine shrugged his wings. "As long as I don't have a bunch of protestors stomping around the place, I'm happy. Sweetie, you want to throw in a blurb in the next issue from a real AI's perspective?"
That got a grin. "You sure I won't be violating the new policy?"
"You'll have written it," he said as he went back inside. "That's what matters."
Sweetie followed. "Let me throw it together and go through the rest of the inbox. Shouldn't take more than half an hour, girls."
Scootaloo groaned, already clambering up on Apple Bloom's back. "Might as well be all day. Want to see what Twist is doing in the meantime?"
Apple Bloom shook her head. "Can't. She went back to her home planet for the summer."
Author's Note
I am fully aware of the irony of using a piece of AI-generated art for the cover of this story. That's why I used one.
Personally, I like the idea of Applejack ending up as the shortest of her siblings. Which, in that family, is a bit like being the lightest elephant on the savannah.
Shed Tales began as a My Tiny Gecko fanzine. Equestria has very loose intellectual property laws, which are usually used for good.
The Campaign for Equal Flights fights for the rights of all winged sapients, most of whom don't realize any of their rights need to be fought for. Many of them, when informed of this, wish the Campaign would stop.
Sometimes dumb ideas demand their time in the sun. This was one of those times.
