Behold the Light—It Beckons

Baltimare was not the largest nor most important port in Equestria, but it certainly liked to act it. A regular stream of cargo ships flowed in and out of the city’s various docks, creating an illusion that all Equestria relied upon this stream of goods. In truth, Baltimare’s reach within the nation of ponies extended only into the so-called “Southern Colonies.” Unlike much of the northern half of Equestria’s eastern coast, the southwest region of the nation—from Baltimare to Stableside—lagged far behind in its efforts to modernize and industrialize.

Celestia certainly encouraged those efforts, but made no effort to press the issue. Her little ponies could do as they please, so long as they were happy. Alas, as with anything uttered by a ruler or politician, the common pony naturally divided itself between agreement and dissatisfaction with the sentiment. Many saw no need to change their traditions, and appreciated the Princess’ benign neglect. Others were dissatisfied that Celestia “allowed” the regional barons of industry and commerce to divert resources to their own personal projects instead of building up the burgeoning communities scattered throughout the area.

And still others felt that Celestia intentionally ignored the southwest because, well…

“All thestrals?”

Light nodded. “Yes, sir. All sixty-two serving aboard the Cloudsdale.”

Before him, behind a grand bureau, sat a squat, maroon-colored unicorn stallion dressed in an admiral’s uniform. Serving as the Equestrian Navy’s regional commander of the Baltimore-based fleet, Rear Admiral Hatch Anchor fixated upon a set of three separate reports levitating before him in the glow of his magic.

“Coral Shelf states in his report that nothing happened beyond an unusual dizzy spell”—he glanced up at Light—“the non-magical kind, and says that it is his belief that any connection with the others is coincidental.” Exchanging Coral’s report with another, Hatch cleared his throat before continuing: “Holly Jasper states that she elected to scry the minds of all those rendered unconscious and found visions of Nightmare Moon.” He set the papers down and leaned forward with folded forelegs. “Commodore, it’s one thing to make a medical exception based on circumstantial evidence to scry crewponies’ minds, but sedation? Your medical officer raised questions about it, and nothing came of the situation to warrant that action. Setting your report aside, I want to hear from your mouth why you did what you did.”

Here, then, was the fallout. A more devious or self-conscious commander would have tried to hide his actions. Such a commander would never have all but ordered his medical officer to file a report. Light knew that Coral would file a report regardless, and had Holly’s official statement on the matter never existed, this easily would have been swept aside as an intraship matter—Light’s word against Coral’s, and Light had far more sway and veterancy than Coral.

But that’s what a self-centered, devious commander would do. Pragmatic, even.

Light was none of those. Honest to a fault, he believed that truth would always prevail. Who was right mattered less than what was right. Of course, he now sat before his commanding officer facing the ugly question of whether or not what he did was indeed the right course of action.

He bobbed his head to acknowledge the line of inquiry. “Sir, no one simply has a dream with Nightmare Moon without there existing a deeper meaning buried within it, especially if that dream appears to be a shared one.” He cleared his throat. “There is a significant amount of… fervor throughout Equestria at present regarding the integration of thestrals.”

Hatch leaned back in his chair, his face lacking any indication of emotion. Still, the shift in posture signaled that Light now sailed upon dangerous waters.

”Coral’s behavior immediately prior to falling unconscious struck me as odd, given his mention of some ‘call to return home’ from Princess Luna. Couple that with the other sixty-one thestral crewponies also suffering not only the same sudden onset of unconsciousness but also a shared vision of one of Equestria’s greatest threats?” He stiffened, eking out a smidgen more straightness in his posture. “Sir, nothing may have happened, but I believe I acted in such a fashion to prevent a ‘something’ from occurring.”

Hatch sat silently after Light finished his defense. The ticking of a wall clock heightened the unease present in the back of Light’s mind, poking and prodding at his mental fortitude. The lack of a prompt response suggested that some sort of bureaucracy lurked behind the admiral’s pending decision. Light held his composure as the admiral mulled over his thoughts.

After an agonizingly long minute, Hatch abruptly stood up and approached the bay window and looked out upon the port and the city of Baltimare beyond. “C’mere, Mr. Shine.”

Light Shine stood up and paced himself carefully over to join the admiral at his window. To the right of the view, the naval base and commercial port serving Baltimare held dozens of vessels anchored at their berths or loading bays. Light’s own ship, the Cloudsdale, rested near the far edge of the naval base, with two of her fleet mate destroyers anchored beside her. The industrial sector of Baltimare occupied the majority of the view, with the Hayseed Swamps barely visible through the haze of factory smog.

”Take a look there.”

Light looked out in the direction that Hatch nodded, down in the streets near one of the larger factory complexes. The most prominent factory in the complex had stylized signage of the owning company: “Baltimare Royal Steelworks.” Directly below it, occupying the majority of the open grounds, gathered a large crowd of workers around a singular pony standing upon a ramshackle platform.

”See that crowd?” Hatch asked.

”Of course, sir.”

Hatch let out a humph. “It’s a strike. Baltimare is a breeding ground for communist sympathies and anti-princess rallies. Communists.” Hatch shook his head. “I trust Princess Celestia’s judgment overall, but there is trouble brewing here. The southwest is generally not pleased with how Canterlot has handled development down here. You’re from Stableside, right?”

Light nodded. “Yes, sir. I am.”

”Then you should know how tenuous the situation is down here.”

A slight wince broke across Light’s muzzle. “Actually, no, sir, I do not.”

Hatch raised an eyebrow, tilting his head, giving Light a sideways look of bewilderment. “You don’t? And don’t tell me it’s because of your tour out on the Fire Sea.”

“No, sir—” Light shook his head in response, “—quite the contrary. I have kept close correspondence with Ivy and my family about events in Stableside.”

”I suppose if anyone would keep you in the loop—“ Hatch grunted. “—it would be that darling writer wife of yours.”

As far as he knew, Ivy Scrollheart—or rather, Ivy Scrollshine as she liked to call herself now—diligently kept him well informed as to the general activity within Stableside and the surrounding area. She loved to craft stories, and Light thoroughly enjoyed reading them. “And she does. I believe it is more that Stableside is known for its strong pro-Celestia sentiments. My hometown is not known for…” Light nodded his head in the direction of the strike below. “…deviant political thought.”

A bemused chuckle escaped from Hatch. “‘Deviant political thought!’ Oh Light, you are a character. It’s a good thing I’m not inclined toward any ‘deviant political thought’ myself.”

“If I may, sir, what is the relevance of all this?”

Hatch half-coughed and returned to his seat. “Sit back down, Commodore.”

Light obeyed, returning to his rigid seated posture.

“Listen, Light.” Hatch let out a tired sigh. “Under normal circumstances I’d sweep this under the rug and tell you to watch yourself the next time you want to sedate somepony, but—“

A knot turned in Light’s stomach at the admiral’s heavy drop of the last word.

”—circumstances dictate differently.” Hatch tapped his forehooves together. “The local thestrals have been up in a tizzy of late, and I don’t doubt that word of your decision to sedate your thestral crew hasn’t already been spread among their ranks. Maybe you stopped a mutiny or fight.” He shrugged. “Maybe you didn’t. We’ll never know, but thestrals are going to assume the worst regardless.”

”So—“

”So I will be placing you on probation until further notice.”

Light slumped in his chair as his heart sank. It was such a… trivial matter! Probation? What he did hardly affected the well-being of those thestrals, and was well within his right as a commanding officer. It wasn’t—

“I know this doesn’t seem fair to you,” Hatch continued, “but I need to try and prevent adding fuel to the fire. I can’t speak for the rest of Equestria, but Baltimare is teetering on the edge of chaos.”

Light perked up. “From… communists and thestrals? We have it so good in Equestria; have none of them seen what it is like to live outside it?”

“That isn’t the point, and I know you know that. All they see are their own lives and the lives of those around them. And if putting you on probation—for a short while—can help to soothe their frayed nerves, then that is what I will do.” The admiral leaned back in his chair again. “Light, I know you of all ponies understand this.”

Light sat silently for an eternal heartbeat. Logically, yes: the demands of a greater whole superseded the desires of one mere pony. But emotionally?

He stared for one eternal heartbeat longer, casting a long, unfocused gaze past Hatch and at the window. Twenty-five years in Celestia’s service. Each year spent playing the tedious political game against complacency and stagnation within the upper ranks. Only two years ago had they finally acquiesced and granted him the commission of commodore and “rewarded” him with the small Baltimare squadron.

He broke his gaze and locked eyes with Hatch. It wasn’t fair to judge the peacetime navy of Equestria. If anything, his commission was a miracle amidst the stranglehold of of said complacency and stagnation. No, if his probation helped Celestia maintain continued peace in some small way, then—

“Yes, sir, I do.”