Behold the Light—It Beckons

“By the sweat of our brows and the labor of our hooves, we made Baltimare what it is today!”

The bombastic cry of a mare elevated atop a podium behind a murmuring crowd seized Light’s attention as he walked by the city’s largest marketplace. While not planned, he had a passing interest to catch one of these communist rallies, not because he believed them, but because he wished to hear the craft of rhetoric employed by the agitators. How they stirred up the common pony to speak out against the status quo. Given his own special talent, he paid particularly close attention to the spoken word.

“You know it, my fellow workers! The political class and barons of industry wouldn’t be sitting so high and pretty if it wasn’t for us!’

A collective sound of agreement echoed within the crowd. The agitator in question wore a tweed, woolen suit of an unflattering, drab gray color, clashing horribly with her dark brown coat and bright blue mane and tail.

“We built this city! Our collective work made them rich! And what do we get in return?”

Bright blue mane? Light cocked his head, intently scrutinizing the agitator’s movements, words, and appearance. He had met some… amusingly colored ponies in his life, but never one whose color palette argued with itself in quite such a fashion as this mare’s. It had to be a wig of some sort. And her posture and hoof movements…

“A poor pony’s wage and stale bread! Nothing by comparison! We live in slums and cramped apartments while the fruits of our labor gorge the fat in their cozy mansions!”

It felt… off. Every time his talent triggered, he could never place a concrete hoof as to why, but it had yet to fail him. Something in this mare’s words simply did not sound right. Light perked an ear, honing in on how she delivered her message.

“We deserve better than this! Collectively, we are stronger than them! The power to change the world is in our hooves!” She raised a defiant hoof dramatically into the air. “In our desperation, we were convinced to surrender it for pennies! I say we seize it back!”

Light nodded. That had to be it: it was all too fluid and practiced; too smooth and clean. He quietly huffed in amusement. No common worker could afford the sort of education and training to speak in such a practiced fashion. She was an elite in disguise. His talent alerted him to the “offness,” and he parsed the rest with ease.

The roar of the crowd washed over his thoughts as Light listened in a final time.

“Comrades—“

Light winced at the word.

“—join us! They will hear our power and we will make them listen!’

The crowd continued to roar as they stomped their hooves in further agreement. Light simply shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t think the agitator was a spy—no, her words certainly carried an impassioned conviction within them. She may have believed her own message, but she certainly was no factory laborer. Her delivery and practiced motions betrayed her true form: an actor fallen into her role, a charlatan taking advantage of the plight of the poor.

Leaving the crowd behind, Light Shine left the marketplace, navigating on instinct as he pressed on to his intended destination. The walk gave him time to further reflect on the rally—a practiced actor stirring up the common worker to rise up against their capitalist employer. Well, a presumed actor. Truthfully, all his special talent gave him was a feeling of sincerity in a pony’s spoken word. Most of the time, anyhow. It had yet to fail at guiding him whenever it acted up; though to this day he still would not be able to explain why or how to anyone that would ask about it. It remained a mystery to him as well. There were times when concentrating on the words behind the words would bring out a deeper understanding. Sometimes it simply was a gut feeling. Regardless of when or how it manifested, Light would at times simply “know” the sincerity behind somepony’s words.

He broke his train of thought momentarily to confirm his bearings: a look to his left, then a glance to his right confirmed that he neared the end of his journey. Turning down one more street, he subconsciously engaged his idle “autopilot” and returned to his thoughts.

For as oft as he had amateurishly studied his special talent, he still felt that there was much more to be discovered. He had yet—in the thirty-five years since gaining his cutie mark—to discover how to fully control it. Or what, precisely, triggered its activation. That was not to say that he had not made some progress in understanding his talent—for many years he thought it only applied to the sincerity of his own words. Discovering that it could also parse the sincerity of others came as quite the surprise after hearing an old friend of his lie to his face. Well, less “lie” and more “speak the truth and not believe a word uttered from his own mouth”.

He came to a stop and focused on the street before him. There, nestled in a corner of an intersection, was his destination. It looked the same as it had twenty-five years ago. He resumed his approach.

As for the communist agitator? Well, he would never be completely certain of her true intentions or background, but he had learned enough of the world around him to be reasonably certain about his extrapolation. He shook his head, and cast the thoughts aside. Enough of that nonsense.

He had arrived at the local restaurant he had grown attached to during his time at the academy. Light pulled out his pocket watch to check the time: precisely eleven AM. Just in time. Stuffing the watch away, he pressed the door open and was greeted with the familiar tingle of the entrance bell. The smells of Coltjun spices, freshly baked cornbread, and, most prominently, deep fried vegetables wafted his nostrils, eliciting a smile as memories of meals of yesteryear came rushing to his mind. And, if he recalled correctly, there should be a—

“Welcome, friend, to d’Gravy Boat! Grab a number, sit ‘cherself down, and we’ll be whi’chu inna jiff!”

There it was. All these years and Gravy Boat still hollered his greeting from the kitchen to entering customers. Light exhaled an exaggerated breath of satisfaction. With all the uncertainty brewing in society at large, and especially in his personal life, he took refuge in the knowledge that some things still retained their persistent, comforting charm in spite of the changing world around them. Peering around the small restaurant, he took inventory of its current patrons, and caught the sight of a familiar pony seated in one of the booths. A number would not be needed this time.

Light pranced over to the booth, and beamed a bright smile. “Stormy!”

The earth pony in question—his deep, intensely dark blue coat contrasting sharply against the bright colors of the restaurant—stepped out of the booth and embraced his friend with a warm hug. “Good to see you, Light.”

Accepting the embrace, Light reciprocated with a friendly pat on the back. “I am delighted that you were able to join me for a short reunion!”

Stormy Seas chuffed. “Not that difficult when a commodore makes a request for a ‘consultation and coordination visit’.”

Light chuckled. “I simply wished to make sure that our two task forces are up to speed regarding patrolling schedules.”

Stormy shook his head and smirked. “This isn’t about patrol schedules. I know you too well for that.” He glanced back at the table.

“Oh, stuff it with protocol and just sit down.” Light waved a hoof at the table, and sat down himself, with Stormy following suit. “And yes, the request was a pretense. I know that submarine and surface flotillas follow unrelated schedules.”

“Then—“ Stormy stopped himself as a pegasus mare approached the booth.

“Welcome to d’Gravy Boat! My name’s Sunshine Celery, and I’ll be delighted to serve you two gents! What’ll it be for drinks?” the server greeted, expertly flipping two menus from under her wing and tossing them onto the table.

“Coffee, black,” Stormy answered without skipping a beat.

The server marked the drink down, and glanced over at Light. “And for you?”

He cleared his throat, eliciting an eye roll from Stormy, who knew exactly what was coming. “A Keowen hot chocolate with two tablespoons of extra cream, mixed with half a teaspoon of hazelnut, and a quarter teaspoon cinnamon, with a large dollop of whipped cream on top.” He nodded with a satisfied grin, and looked over at the server.

”So one Captain’s Cocoa, gotcha.”

Light shuddered his head in disbelief as Stormy raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you have that as a menu item now?”

The server smiled, and waved a wing playfully. “Oh sure! Gravy added it to the menu after an old regular asked for it every time he came. It’s pretty popular in the winter time, but…” A puzzled look crossed Sunshine’s face. “...not usually in the summertime.” She brightened up. “Not to worry, we still can make it for you! I’ll be back!”

The server trotted off toward the kitchen, leaving Light and Stormy to themselves.

“Just how often did you eat here back in the day?” Stormy asked.

“Oh, not that often.” Light looked up into the air, bobbing his head playfully as he mocked an estimate in his head. “Maybe… two or three times a week?”

Stormy merely stared.

”What? I rather fancy this place!” Light laughed. “I honestly had no idea that they named that drink after me!” He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hoof. “Never mind that though. How fares the submarine service?”

”Nothin’ really to say,” Stormy said. “It’s probably as exciting as patrolling the Fire Sea.”

”Undoubtedly. Why, we had to rescue a poor fisherpony trapped at sea a few weeks ago! The fellow confused east with west!” Light chuckled at the memory.

”He… what? How!”

Two mugs plopped onto the table. “Here ya go, gents! Black coffee and a Captain’s Cocoa!” Sunshine flashed a chipper smile. “Oh! Gravy wants to know if you still like your eggs on the biscuit and paprika on your gravy, Mr. Shine.”

Light blankly stared for a moment, then laughed. “He still remembers? And how did he know… ah, right. Cocoa in the middle of summer. Well! Inform the good sir that, yes, I still prefer my favorite dish the same as always!”

“Will do!” Sunshine offered a wink, jotted a note on her notepad, then addressed Stormy. “What can I get ya?”

Stormy flapped the menu open and quickly scanned its entries until his eyes stopped on one item. “Peanut butter-infused waffles?”

Sunshine chuckled. “Those are deeee-licious!”

“Then I’ll have those with a side of mixed berries: strawberries, blueberries, blackberries.”

“Right you are! I’ll be back with your order!” She trotted off once again to the kitchen.

A bemused humph escaped Light. “Huh. I honestly never would have imagined.”

Stormy raised an eyebrow. “Sure you didn’t. A stallion of your personality and charisma? Nope, never.”

Light waved a dismissive hoof. “Ignoring the implied accusation of such a comment, have you kept up on the political and social events of late?”

”About what, exactly?” Stormy held up an accusing hoof. “And don’t say ‘anything’, ‘cause I know you’re going somewhere with this.”

”Fair enough, dive right to the heart of the matter, then.” Light tossed a quick glance around to gauge for potential listening ears. Few other patrons were at the restaurant at this hour, being just before the traditional dinner rush; planned timing on his part, of course, avoiding both sitting next to others and a longer wait time for their meal. Two other booths held occupants, but both were situated far enough away that the noise of the kitchen, the bustle of the street outside, and Gravy Boat’s cheerful yet distant ramblings provided enough of an audio shroud to satisfy Light’s concern.

”What are your impressions of the communist sympathizers here in Baltimare?”

Stormy lifted his mug for a sip and nodded in satisfaction. “That’s good coffee. Communists? I sympathize with their plight, but they’re being played for fools.”

Light followed suit and partook a sip of his own drink. The rich concoction elicited fond memories of his last time here as a recently promoted captain. “Not that I disagree, but why do you say that?”

The dark stallion cast his gaze out the window next to their booth. “I think everypony knows that the mayor and his… let’s call ‘em ‘business partners’, are corrupt and self-serving. A lot of ponies suffer because of it. But communism ain’t the way to do it. And even if it were, you’ll never convince me that this is a movement led by factory workers.”

”Intellectuals or other well-educated ponies.”

Stormy sipped his coffee. ”Yep.”

“I would imagine their ulterior motive is to set up a communist ‘utopia’ entirely designed to still funnel money and power into their hooves. I have yet to hear, see, or read anything from their movement that declares any meaningful solution beyond seizing and distributing the assets of the wealthy.” Light scoffed at the thought. “Building a movement upon the foundation of theft to counter theft. The irony.” He lifted his mug for a drink.

Stormy held up his coffee before his muzzle, bringing it right to his lips. “Luna wouldn’t have allowed this.” He glanced at Light, a knowing look in his eyes, and downed a gulp of his drink.

An instinctual scowl seized Light Shine’s expression. With the return of Luna a little over seven years ago, his friend had grown rather attached to her. It had led to a number of interesting conversations between the two of them: who was the better princess, who had better policies, even who was the prettier. In the end, none of it really mattered, and they had always laughed at the absurdity of the argument.

His tone suggested far more gravity than mere pedantry. “Luna? She is far too indisposed with her silly little campaign for thestrals to bother with a labor dispute,” Light countered.

“Silly?” Stormy set his mug aside, folded his forelegs on the table, and leaned forward. “She’s at least doing something.”

Light sipped from his cocoa, and glanced over to see Sunshine approaching with their meals, offering her a welcoming smile.

“Alright you two! Your ‘breakfast for dinner’ has arrived!” Sunshine set the waffles in front of Stormy, and the platter of biscuits and gravy in front of Light. “Anything else I can grab for ya?”

Both Light and Stormy shook their heads. “No, I believe we are content for now. Thank you, Sunshine,” Light replied.

”Alrighty then! Y’all enjoy, ya hear?” Sunshine gave a grin, nodded, and trotted off.

The two sat in relative quiet as they began eating their respective meals. Stormy did bring up a good point—at least on the surface. With tensions rising from the changelings in the west, the concerns with Stalliongrad to the north, and now communist strikes and odd thestral behavior domestically, it certainly appeared as though Celestia sat comfortably in her Canterlot palace, content to do nothing as the world around her fell to darkness. No, Light believed, Celestia was dealing with the dangers within and without in her usual way—patiently. She had ruled over a prosperous Equestria for hundreds upon hundreds of years, and guided it through many challenges. She could see the larger picture, surely, and knew how to handle it far better than any mere pony.

He set his silverware down and broke the quiet. “I have no doubt that Luna certainly would more…aggressively pursue overt actions to bring an immediate resolution to the issues at hoof, but I trust that Celestia has a grander plan in motion that will net far greater and more long-term benefits. We simply must be patient and trust her judgement.”

Stormy set his fork down and swallowed a bite. “For how long? I don’t agree with the communists, but there are serious problems that need addressing. And what about the thestrals? Luna’s the only one that’s doin’ anything about them.”

“You have thestral ponies serving in your crew, do you not?” Light cut a piece of his meal, and forked it in preparation to partake, but waited for his friend’s response.

“I do, yes. What of it?”

”Tell me what happened to them two weeks ago. What uniquely affected them, and them alone.” He forked his prepared portion into his mouth.

”They all passed out at the same time, and when asked, they said it was a shared dream about how to integrate into Equestria better. Nothin’ came of it.” Stormy’s face subtly scrunched in suspicion. "Why? I assume the same happened with your thestral crewponies.”

Light bobbed his head in half-agreement, before half-shrugging. “More or less. My executive officer acted agitated before collapsing. After learning it affected all thestrals, we scried their minds, and found out they all had Nightmare Moon haunting their dreams. So I sedated them all as a precaution.”

”You… sedated them? Light, all due respect, sir, but why would you do that?”

The stress on “sir” stung the air with a sharp disagreement. Ever since his own promotion, Light had asked to never be addressed by rank or with an honorific when engaged in casual conversation with his friend. He inhaled a deep breath to temper his own impulse to offer a curt retort. “Because…” He let the breath out. “…because I did not trust them. Not with Nightmare Moon peering into their heads.”

Stormy fidgeted with his food for a moment, forking a bite, and twirling it slowly. “What’s wrong with a little nightmare?”

The choice of words had to be deliberate. Even still, there was no way that his friend meant the Nightmare. Surely not. “A terrible dream of terrors and fears is one thing, my friend. A shared… vision of the Nightmare herself? Between only those of her kind?” Light caught the subtle cringing in his friend’s face, and immediately regretted his choice of words.

”Her kind?”

”Now listen, Stormy—“

”No, you listen, Light.” Stormy set his fork down again. “I say this because I am your friend. This is precisely why Luna is championing their cause. Why I champion their cause. Because of instinctual bigotry toward them being a little different. And that difference isn’t even much more than being naturally nocturnal. Yeah, so there’s some loonies out there, but you can’t tell me there aren’t some fanatics that all but worship ‘oh so perfect and mighty majesty’ Celestia. Sir.”

The second “sir” dug deeply at Light Shine’s sensibilities, and he locked eyes with his friend. ”And suppose she returns, Stormy. What if this is a portent of things to come?”

The dark stallion shook his head. “We’re not doing this right now. That’s borderline fearmongering, and you know it.”

”Fearmongering?” Light scoffed. “Thestrals do not just have a shared vision of the literal embodiment of dark evil that knocks them all out and not have it raise alarm bells! The thestral campaign is forcing the issue and is oddly timed with such a frightening event.”

Stormy simply stared at his yellow-coated friend of twenty years, the faintest hint of disappointment in his eyes. “Sir—“

Light winced. ”Do not ‘sir’ me, Stormy. Our friendship is old enough for me to know that your use of that ‘honorific’ in casual conversation is nothing more than a veiled insult to my character.”

Stormy curtly dipped his head, stuck a hoof into his right jacket pocket and fished out some bits. “For dinner.” He stood up. “Don’t let the light blind you.”

A sigh escaped Light’s lips. The pun on his own name was a familiar one—something his friend had used as a precaution in the past in more than one conversation—and in times past, he would find the adage amusing. This time, however, it cut into his conscience like a poisoned barb—it didn’t help that a familiar tingle flushing down his muzzle and face informed him that his talent had triggered at his friend’s words. Light momentarily closed his eyes and shook his head. How could his own friend not see? He looked up. The intent behind Stormy’s words surely was to advise the best he knew how; it would only be fair to offer the same in return.

“May you navigate safely out of the storm.”

Stormy gave no reaction and walked away from the table to the exit, leaving Light alone at the table. Letting out a sigh, he reached for his mug and sipped. The cocoa was now cold. He set it aside and looked out the window, catching his friend walking away. Their conversation had held a certain… wrongness within it. To his recollection, any disagreements the two had in the past never felt quite this tense or combative. Was Stormy under the influence of Nightmare Moon? Light shuddered at the thought—why would he even think that? Nightmare Moon no longer existed. She faced defeat at the hooves of the Element Bearers over seven years ago. She was just a silly nightmare now, right?

His body shuddered again. Why, then, did he fear that she wasn’t?