Loose Endsby FlenserChaptersOut of the Quantum SingularityAnd Into the PalaceFlies in the OintmentOut of ControlTurned OverOut of the Quantum SingularityThe second I cross the event horizon it's all over. I'd gone in thinking Doc Wechsler was away from the entry point, but all he'd done was flip around and wait for me on the other side of the portal. When I arrive he's right behind me, ready and waiting, and he doesn't waste any time getting down to business. As I try to get my bearings, something hard and cold as steel slides between my ribs with mechanical precision, and my back arches as pain I don't know how to describe overloads my nerves. My Glock falls uselessly to the soft grass about a second before I do. You'd think I was new to this kind of thing, but I'm not. I have no excuses: cloak and dagger have been my stock-in-trade for a long, long time now. Maybe too long. I try to get to my knees but I can't manage it. He's missed my heart, but as I start gasping for breath I realize he's punctured a lung. If I'm very lucky, I might still survive this, but I'm not a man who's known for his luck. "Walker here... I'm down," I whisper, hoping Control can still get my signal through the event horizon. It's all I can manage, though -- it's hard enough to just keep breathing, and the Doc isn't going to let me keep doing that much longer. When I try to say anything more, he kicks me, hard, right in the face. And again, for luck, I guess. And one more time, in the ribs -- and when he connects I hear something cracking in my chest. Third time's the charm, they say. I don't feel charming. I spit out a tooth and lay on the grass, panting, bloody and beaten. “Goodbye, agent,” I hear the Doctor say, his voice soft but very near. "The Queen appreciates your sacrifice." I wrench my eyes open and lift my head to find him watching me, his green, acid stare as sharp and piercing as the shiv he'd buried in my back. I can tell I'm starting to go into shock: he doesn't look like a man anymore, but instead some winged black shadow out of a forgotten nightmare. I shiver, and he smiles an ugly smile before he turns and runs, his research still tucked protectively under his wing. His arm. Whatever. I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. There are broken, static mumblings in my ear. Apparently the earpiece works across the event horizon after all. “Walker, this is Control. Abrams -- ETA five minutes. What’s your -- we can’t locate --” “...doesn’t matter,” I murmur. I'm falling fast. Control probably can’t help me anymore, and I’m pretty sure nobody else can either. My head's swimming and my chest is on fire, and it’s getting harder to fight it. Any of it. Besides, what the hell am I fighting for, anymore? Maybe I should just -- “What the hay -- AJ, git over here!” I don’t recognize the deep voice, but it’s definitely not coming out of my headset. I hear someone approaching, moving quickly with a strange gait. Without warning I'm lifted to rest on my side, while a gentle pressure eases down on my back, covering the wound. I open my eyes again and blink, trying to focus, but all I can make out is a yellow hoof, attached to a red-furred leg, not far from my face. Delusions. I know what that means. I'm losing oxygen. My lungs are probably starting to fill up with blood. If I don't get into a hospital soon I'm done for. Resigned, I close my eyes again. I feel time slipping away from me, but I’m not sure how much of it's passing between each of my ragged, crackling breaths. I start to nod off, but a new voice, more feminine than the first, nudges me gently back towards consciousness. “...we’ve gotta save ‘im, but there’s blood everywhere! Y’all get goin’, find Twi and the rest --” I wince, almost ashamed. I'm a federal agent; I'm supposed to die somewhere anonymously and quietly, not cause a public spectacle. I want to apologize to someone, but for some reason I can't seem to think of the right words to say. Black clouds drifts all around me as more and more voices began to chatter. The sounds anchor me to reality, even as I wish they'd just be quiet. It'd be so much easier for everyone if they'd just let me go. “-- Redheart, he’s over here, ya gotta --” “...have to keep the pressure steady! I'll take over. AJ, get me another bandage, this one's soaked --” They sound so concerned. It almost cheers me in a way to know that someone still cares about me. Jackie stopped years ago. Maybe I did too. It’s comforting, somehow, knowing I'm going to die in a place where people still care about me. “Save it? How do I save it? I don’t even know what it is!” “It’s okay,” I try to say, but I’m pretty sure my lips aren't working anymore. “Not worth the trouble. Just let me go.” They ignore me and talk some more anyway. I hear some of it, not that it makes any sense. “Over here, Twi! It’s tryin’ to talk! Can ya --” “Highness, I’m sorry, but there’s just no way --” “... Starswirl’s spell! What if I --” “...don’t know. Isn’t that really dangerous?" "...simply can't let the poor dear suffer like this..." "...can I try on his glasses? Pleeeeease?" “...don't have time. We have to try this now or we’ll lose him. Elements, stand with me!” Finally the voices grow softer, much softer and darker and calmer and peaceful, so peaceful. I’d forgotten peaceful, forgotten how it felt, how it sounded, how beautiful it could be -- and how purple it was... How purple it was? Sure, why not. It doesn't last, of course. Nothing ever does, but especially not peace, or beauty, or any of that. Slowly, surely, I begin to hear noises where there'd briefly been silence; I begin to sense light where once there'd been only dark. And purple. And purple? Why purple? I can feel my brows crease in a frown as the question crosses my mind, and that's the first time I realize I'm still alive. Every inch of my body aches, from the tips of my ears all the way down, but I'm alive. Squinting against the unfamiliar light, I open my eyes. Definitely a hospital. Not one I recognize -- truth be told, it looks a bit like something out of the 1950s -- but at least it means I'm in professional care. I lever myself up to a sitting position and -- Stare. I stare. I hadn't meant to, but when I reached to lift my sheets up and saw my hand, I saw something worth staring at, so I stare at it. My hand, that is. I stare at my hand. Rather, at what ought to be my hand, but isn't. At my hoof. Because it's a hoof, a horse's hoof, not a hand. Which it should be. A hand, I mean. Not a hoof. I turn it around, fascinated, rotating it slowly around to get a good look. I reach up with my other hand, which also happens to be a hoof -- points for consistency -- and I knock them together a couple of times to get a feel for them. Sure enough, they're just what they look like. Hooves. They're more sensitive than I'd imagined, but they're definitely hooves. I peek under my sheets. Yep. Four hooves all told, not to mention a healthy-looking coat of dark brown fur, a salt-and-pepper tail, and a couple of other details not worth mentioning, though not necessarily disappointing. Like I said, points for consistency. Just to be sure, I swish the tail. Yep, that's mine, too. How novel. "Nurse?" I call out calmly. My voice is deeper and more graveled than I'm used to hearing, so I may have to cancel any plans for a singing career, but at least I can talk, even though I'm not very human anymore. "Nurse?" Not hearing an immediate reply, I take a quick stock of the room I'm in. It's plain, with a simple bed, clearly made with equine proportions in mind. The windows are lower than I'm used to, but obviously the right height for an average-height pony. Shelves and drawers, all built at the same scale as everything else. I look down at my hooves again and take a long breath. As a special agent, you train for all kinds of contingencies and you learn all sorts of skills, but the most important thing you ever learn is to roll with the punches. You learn to deal with what's staring you in the face, and to set your expectations aside, because your assumptions will get you killed. There's no point freaking out about losing an eye or a hand -- or even becoming a small horse -- when there's still a bad guy to bring down or a mission to complete. I'm alive, and the Doctor's loose here, wherever 'here' is, with some incredibly dangerous technology. I have other questions, sure, but there's a bad guy to bring down and a mission to complete. I can freak out about hooves later. And I probably will. Just, not now. My timing's really good, too, because right as I'm making that decision, a petite equine -- call her 'pony-sized' -- with her pink mane caught up in a nurse's cap, pushes through the door and finds me sitting up. "You're awake!" she gasps, and rushes to my side, her hooves striking against the floor tiles almost like women's heels as she moves. "You shouldn't be sitting up yet, you know," she says, pushing gently at my chest to get me back into the bed. "You were hurt very badly." I suppose part of me should be more surprised at this than I am, but considering my current state, a talking nurse-pony really isn't much of a stretch. Roll with the punches, right? I'm not sure how to play this yet, so I keep things close to my chest. "I'm okay, really, it's not a problem," I say, resisting her push. Either she's tougher or I'm weaker than I expected, but either way I'm only barely able to stay upright. "Look, I appreciate your help, but what I need right now is some information, and probably someone in an official capacity to talk to." She frowns her disapproval but reluctantly nods her head. "All things considered... you're probably right. Okay. I'll let them know you're awake." "Them? I've had visitors?" I ask, my attention caught. As weird as things had gotten, I'd give my eye teeth to see Abrams walk in that door right about now. "Just for a few minutes," the nurse said, her stern look quickly reappearing. I smiled winningly, but she only narrowed her eyes at me and harumphed her way out the room. Good enough. The sooner I get things straightened out, the sooner I get back on the hunt. There's a Doctor out there I owe, and I pay my debts with interest. And Into the Palace"The Princess will see you now." I've always been a light sleeper, so the second the guard speaks I start awake, blinking to get my bearings. As strange and unpredictable as the day's been, this whole napping-on-my-feet thing has come as a pleasant surprise amidst all the chaos. I could really get used to it. Which is good, because I may have to. But I'm not going to think about that right now. What I do think about is where I am, and it only takes a second to recognize the place: the antechamber to the throneroom in the capital city of Canterlot. I've been stuck here for hours -- I haven't figured out where my CSAR watch, my Ray-Bans or any of my other equipment went yet, so I can't be sure, but three hours is probably a good estimate. I grunt and shake myself to get the blood flowing. My legs are stiff, I'm hungry, I'm tired and I'm anxious as hell, but this is what I've been waiting all day for, so as the pair of guards push the massive doors open, I move quickly past, hooves echoing on the stone floor, and I flash them a nod of respect as I go. Call it professional courtesy: I've been in their shoes before. Though, then, it was the leather-soled variety, not -- No, I'm not going to think about that, either. I pass the doors and take a quick look around as I head for the far end, where there's a small gathering surrounding the throne. I'd been in a throneroom or two in my time overseas, but this one really stands out from the rest. Mammoth, intricate stained glass murals at every arch, flowing waterfalls, sumptuous tapestries, rich velvets -- it's like some incredibly beautiful, idealized medieval fantasy court come to life. Which, given what else I've learned about the country called Equestria over the last few hours, doesn't actually come as much of a surprise. Waking up in a hospital as a brown-haired pony - wait, sorry: "earth" pony - was merely the insane beginning to what's probably been the longest, weirdest and most confusing day of my life. I've had the same training any other special agent gets on diplomacy: cultural diversity, common social deviances, alternate forms of governance and all kinds of analyses on ethical relativity and religious belief, but nothing in my repertoire had prepared me for this place. When I'd told Nurse Redheart I needed to talk to someone in charge, she'd showed surprising tenacity in breaking through the bureaucracy to get me an audience. I could see she wasn't the kind of person... pony... who took 'no' for an answer, and though I was glad she wasn't aiming her laser-like focus at me, it was good to have her as an ally. While we were waiting for my ride to the palace -- my chariot, actually -- she'd given me a crash course on her home. My head was still reeling, but I'd managed to put together a few facts. For instance: Equestria has no humans, anywhere, at all. Instead, it's populated by the kinds of sentient beings that would make C. S. Lewis feel right at home. Talking ponies, pegasi, unicorns, griffons, minotaur - open up any book of fables and pick a weird creature, and chances are you can find a living one somewhere nearby. Equines are clearly the majority here, but there are plenty of others represented. While I was still waiting inside the hospital room, this had all seemed a bit... fanciful? But all it had taken was a look outside the window to dispel those doubts. What's more, magic... well, it just works here. It doesn't seem like a very professional evaluation, or even an appropriate word to use, but I may as well call it that -- the locals do, and I can't think of a better way to put it. Unicorns, common enough here, actually levitate and manipulate objects with some kind energy surrounding their horns. Apparently, extremely talented ones can do a lot more than that. And no, it's not hearsay, I've seen them do it for even mundane, simple tasks. It's not special, it's just run of the mill reality here. Truth is I'd say it all sounded like horseshit, pardon the pun, but if you'd told me yesterday I'd be a pony today I'd have called that horseshit too. Roll with the punches, right? Right. And now, as I near the throne itself, I'm about to deal with the craziest part of all of this. This Princess I'm meeting, Celestia, isn't just a Princess in the classical, monarchic sense. As far as the locals are concerned, she's some kind of living goddess who's apparently responsible for little things like making the sun rise every day. If this were anywhere else I'd smell a scam with an abusive despot and a nation full of patsies, but with everything else I've seen today, with all the other hard-and-fast rules of reality breaking around me like bones in a vice, who am I to say otherwise? At the very least, I'm not counting the possibility out. Not entirely. Anyway, it really doesn't matter, because the fact is she rules Equestria, and she's the ultimate authority here. I have to make her understand how big this problem is, how dangerous the Doctor is, how deadly the weapon he's stolen is. I'm going to need reinforcements, quickly, before the Doctor has a chance to rebuild that weapon here. Bottom line, I'm going to need her help. I take a deep breath. None of this is in the frigging service manual. Doesn't matter. Here goes nothing. I smile as I approach the dais and attempt a respectful bow. It doesn't go too great -- I haven't exactly had much practice with four feet -- but I manage not to tip over, so I suppose that's something. "Rise, Walker," she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. My pulse speeds up just a hair: if she's not a goddess, she sure as hell has the voice of one. Clumsily, I get back to my feet and get a quick look at the group. A pair of guards, heavily armored grey unicorns, stand at attention at either side of the throne, watching me closely. They're quick, they're observant and they're obviously well-trained. Knowing what I know now about unicorns, I don't think I'd even stand a chance against those two if I were driving a tank. I'm impressed, and that isn't easy. Halfway up the dais, there's another pair: they're not perfectly matched, like the guards, but they seem to mirror each other unconsciously -- siblings, maybe? One unicorn, strong and confident, white with a blue mane, red uniform, polished partial breastplate. One alicorn, purple, shifting uncomfortably and refusing to meet my gaze -- I frown. That's a very familiar purple. Where did I see that color last? I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. Finally, there's Celestia herself, standing at the top of the dais, before the throne. And she's -- Magnificent. There's just no other word. A flowing, prismatic mane, a pristine, perfectly white coat, deep, knowing violet eyes and the hint of a secret smile under her regal demeanor all add up to the kind of beauty that you only read about in storybooks. Sure, sometimes you might be lucky enough to see a picture -- like the aurora set afire at the poles of the earth, or the lost splendor of an ancient civilization from half a world away -- but it's always second-hand, always someone else's story, and you sure as hell never get to see it for yourself. Suddenly, I'm willing to accept that this creature might just be a goddess after all. "Majesty," I murmur, looking away, surprised I can even remember the word. She chuckles, the sound nearly musical. "There's no need to stand on ceremony, Walker. Twilight tells me you've had a trying day." I shake myself again, trying to collect my thoughts. "I'm -- yeah, you could say that," I say, taking another long breath as I force myself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry, Highness. This is a lot to take in at once. I wish I could spend some time and take it all in, but --" "Of course," she says, nodding. "Introductions are in order, and then we should hear your story. To my right," she says, gesturing to the powerful white unicorn, "is my guard captain, Shining Armor." I bow to him with sincere respect. You don't mess with the guy running the local muscle, especially when he looks as tough as he does smart. "To my left is Twilight Sparkle," Celestia continues, gesturing to the uncomfortable purple alicorn. "She is Equestria's newest princess, and my closest counsel. You should know that Twilight is the one responsible for --" "Let's... just hear his story first," the purple alicorn says, shifting her feet uncomfortably. I cock my head sideways at her, frowning and a bit curious, but she still refuses to meet my gaze. Celestia shrugs. "Very well. Walker, you have our ears." # I go through the story, basically start to finish, skipping the less important parts to stress the vital ones. They take it all in without pause and wait for me to finish before they start asking questions. "The other two agents were already dead," I say, getting to the end of the tale. "I don't know if the Doc did it, but he was missing, they were dead and the plans were gone, so my responsibility was clear: I went through the portal in pursuit. Unfortunately, he took me by surprise, neutralized me and got away. From what I saw before I lost consciousness, he's got the blueprints to the tunneling device." Celestia nods, her expression thoughtful. "Are those blueprints detailed enough for him to recreate this device?" "He developed them himself, so if anyone can, he can. In my... uh, world, I'd feel confident he couldn't fabricate the parts outside of a lab, but with magic so freely available -- I'd prepare for the worst." "At least he's easy to spot," Shining Armor said thoughtfully. "All we have to do is put out the word: nopony will be able to miss someone like that. We'll have him in custody before he can get very far." "With all due respect, he was resourceful enough to kill two highly trained special agents," I say, trying hard not to sound like I was questioning Shining Armor's judgment. "That may not mean much to you, but they were equipped to deal with people like him. He's bound to know you'll be looking for him. He planned this all extremely well." "I just don't understand why this device of yours is so dangerous," Twilight says, briefly meeting my gaze before averting her eyes again. "It just seems like a convenient way to travel from one place to another, that's all." "Twilight, whoever owns this device would be unstoppable," I say, briefly catching her gaze. "They could tunnel through steel walls to raid a sealed treasury... they could eliminate key supports from infrastructure and topple entire cities... they could even bore a hole through reality big enough to lead an entire army directly into a fortress like this one. The military possibilities are endless." Twilight and Shining Armor trade a worried look. "Lead an army into a fortress?" the white unicorn says, his voice suddenly sounding a bit stressed. "This device... can it get through magic?" I blink. I'm not a scientist or a magician, but I understand the basics of the project -- all of us had been given the briefing before assuming our duties at the lab. "I can't be sure about magic, but the way the quantum tunnel's created, when it comes across a barrier, the waveform generator -- the tunnel -- alters frequencies until it finds one the barrier can't interfere with. Once it finds that frequency, it simply moves through the barrier as though it's not even there. If the, uh, the magic has some kind of physical manifestation, I don't think it'd be any more effective against the tunnel than any other kind of wall." Shining Armor curls his lips into a scowl. "And when was the last time we were worried about an army getting through our defenses?" "You don't think... Queen Chrysalis?" Twilight replies, her eyes widening. "Wait a minute," I interrupt, frowning. "Queen? Doctor Wechsler said something about a queen when he left me in the dirt," I say, wincing at the memory. "Something about his queen appreciating my sacrifice. Does that mean anything to you?" All three of them stop and stare at me, and I figure that's a yes. Even Celestia looks a bit concerned. "Can you describe this Doctor?" she asks. "Does it matter?" I ask. "He's human, like m-- like a human. Two legs, two arms, walks upright, hair on top of his head. He's going to stand out." "Humor us, Walker." I shrug. "Sure. Average height, oily black hair, beady green eyes. Shifty. Hums to himself a lot." "Oh, this is not good," Twilight says. "This is not good at all." Flies in the Ointment"I knew I could count on you," she says, her voice honeyed and deadly. "How long until the device is ready?" The room is pitch-black, a forgotten, dank chamber deep underground. A remnant of pre-Celestine times, perhaps: a rough, ancient shelter from the depredations of Discord. Her Majesty remembers it, as she remembers all things: with anger and with malice. And her memories, like her hatreds, run long and deep. "It will be a while yet, my Queen," he replies, nervously readjusting his wings. "Three months if I'm forced to use enslaved unicorns for the fabrication process; less if we can find more cooperative workers." "I've waited a very long time for this," she replies, her voice briefly hardening. "We've seen what rushing things can do. A few months more is nothing. The unicorns will be sufficient." "As you command, my Queen," he murmurs, beginning to bow, but she presses on, not yet finished with him. "Prepare for some new arrivals. The others were successful. They'll be joining you here soon." "Here, Majesty?" he asks, suddenly concerned. "Right here? So close to --" "They will all require access to your fabrication facilities, 'Doctor,'" she says, taunting him with the name that was briefly his. "We are not yet finished with the other side, but it's time for this part of the plan to come to fruition." "Majesty... with five, it will take much more time -- there are so many of us, so near the enemy... might it be wiser to relocate to the Everfree --" "Enough," she says, green energy crackling like bottled lightning around her vile, ruinous horn. "You forget your place. You do my will, and mine alone. Nothing else matters." "Y-yes, my Queen," he stutters, bowing in a reflexive cower. "Of course, my Queen. But what if we're discovered?" She laughs then, the sound unearthly and poisonous in the still air, and he shivers in pleasure and fear as he listens to her words. "That's what we want them to do, Doctor," she whispers, her green eyes bright with fury and dark magic. "But don't worry. You'll be ready when they find you." Out of Control"So the reason I'm... what I am, is because --" "I did it," she says, still refusing to look at me when she says it. "I -- I turned you into a pony. I mean, it took all of us -- the Elements, I mean -- but I was the one who figured it out. There was this spell that -- you know Starswirl the Bearded? Um, no, of course you -- well anyway, he tried to create a spell to transform himself, it was in this book you see, but it wasn't complete, and when I first used it..." We're back in Ponyville, and I'm on a dirt path heading out to Sweet Apple Acres. Apparently, that's where they found me after the Doctor -- sorry, the changeling -- tried to kill me. The smell of apples is weirdly familiar, though I don't remember having specifically noticed it before. Of course, I'd been busy dying when I was here the first time, so apples probably hadn't been my top priority. I'm walking side by side with one of Equestria's princesses, Twilight Sparkle. A pair of armored unicorn guards pace us maybe fifty feet behind, watching me closely. And, I now know why that weird purple color keeps flashing through my head. It's not just the color of Twilight's coat, but also of her magic, which she'd used abundantly to keep me from dying. The color seems oddly vibrant to me now, as though her magic has become part of me -- which, based on what she's saying, it probably has. She's still talking about the spell, all nerves and worry, because she's the one who took my human body away from me. It was her magic that had -- "Saved me," I interrupt her as she rambles on about the spell, forcing the thought through my lips before I say something else entirely. "You saved me, you know that. None of you had ever seen anything like -- like what I was." She peers tentatively over at me, her face still screwed into a concerned expression. "No. We had no idea what you were. All we knew was that you could talk, and you were hurt -- Walker, there was so much blood," she said, wincing. "We had to try to save you, but nobody knew how. If you'd been a griffon or a minotaur we could have found a book or something, or if you'd been a different animal then Fluttershy might have --" "I understand," I interrupt again, a bit more gruffly than I mean to. "You've got nothing to apologize for. I owe you my life, all of you." "You're still angry about it, though," she says. "I can tell." I grit my teeth. "Look. I have..." I don't have time for this right now. "I'm not angry at you, Twilight," I say, stopping in the road and turning to her; her guards tense briefly, but relax when it's clear all I'm doing is talking. "I had a lot of things up in the air when this happened. Personal things. And now I don't know if I'll... if I can ever..." "I never meant to do this to you," she says, pain evident on her face. "I wanted to help you, not hurt you." Deep down I know that, but she's right. I'm angry. I'm damned angry, even dangerously angry. Eventually, I'm going to have to deal with that anger head on. But this... this princess, this weird, self-conscious purple alicorn -- she kept me alive when she could have let me die. She and her friends took a chance they didn't have to take on me, and I owe it to her to be honest with myself. And if I have to be honest with myself, then I have to admit that the reason I'm angry has nothing to do with being a little pony, and everything to do with being a lousy person. I take a long breath and let it out. "You're a sweet girl, you know that?" I say, smiling faintly. "But you can't fix everything. I screwed things up all on my own, in my own world, a long time before I ever met you. I was selfish, and I waited a long time before I tried to set things right. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe I'll never set them right." She tries to speak up, but I cut her off before she can get going. "It doesn't matter. It's not important right now. What's important is your people, princess. What's important is a changeling with a quantum tunneling device. I'll manage my personal problems when this is all over with. If we're still friends then, I'll let you watch over me while I get messy drunk. You guys get messy drunk here, don't you?" She giggles, part surprise and part nervous energy. "Sweet Apple Acres makes a mean hard cider." "Then you owe me the first round when this is done." For the first time since I've seen her, she smiles at me. "Control," I say hesitantly, flicking my long brown ears in annoyance. The only piece of equipment I'd been able to recover so far was my wireless headset, which Nurse Redheart had kept for me at the hospital. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't exactly fit in my ear anymore, so one of Twilight's friends, a stylish white mare with a long purple mane, had attempted to attach it to a jauntily cut strip of off-white fabric. The fabric loops around the base of my ears well enough, but the headpiece keeps sagging when I let my ears relax, and then it tickles the fuzz on the inside of my ears something fierce. It looks ridiculous, but so do I, and we both have jobs to do. I just hope the damned thing is picking up my voice. I look over to the pony at my left: Twilight and I had picked him up when we got to the farm, and I got a chance to thank the fellow who'd found me. Big Macintosh is a tall, sturdy stallion with a thick red coat of fur, a sliced green apple on his flank and an amiable smile, and he's just escorted us to the field where he'd found me. The unicorn guards, still silent, take up positions behind us as I turn to Mac. "You sure this is the place, Mac?" I ask him. The scent of apples is thick enough, but there's no sign of the exit portal anywhere. "Eyup," he finally says, glancing from side to side and nodding. I nod in return and clear my voice. I appreciate men of few words, and I appreciate them even more when they've saved my life. "Control, this is Walker. Over." Static. Not sure what I'd expected. Even if there'd been an open portal, I was pretty sure I'd have had to step through to establish a connection. Without a portal -- "Walker? Agent Walker?" Well I'll be damned. Luck hasn't completely abandoned me after all. "Control, I copy. This is Agent Walker, over?" "Agent Walker, this is Control, where the hell have you been?" "I've been injured, Control. Doctor Wechsler stole the quantum --" "We know about the theft, Agent. Wechsler is one of five team leads who've stolen their own work and disappeared from a secure top-secret research facility without leaving a trace. Do you have any idea where they've gone?" My eyes widen a bit. Five missing top secret projects? "I have a good idea, Control. Go to Wechsler's facility and re-open the quantum portal; you should be able to create a tunnel large enough to send in reinforcements. I have a secure staging ground and the cooperation of --" "Negative, Agent. Wechsler's modifications to the tunneling device have been sabotaged. We've been able to re-establish the tunnel, but only at the wave-particle scale. Matter portaling is not an option. Agent, are you saying you're on the other side?" I grit my teeth again. "Confirmed, Control. I am on the other side of the quantum tunnel." "Give us your GPS location," comes the voice. "We'll send a team." "Negative, Control," I reply, my gut twisting as I say it. "The tunnel does not end at a terrestrial coordinate." There's a moment of silence before they reply this time. "Agent, please repeat?" "Repeating: the quantum tunnel does not exit at a terrestrial coordinate. Control, if you can't get that portal open, there's no way in hell you're getting a team here." And there's no way I'll ever see home again. Not Jackie, not Annie, not the house, none of it. It's all gone. Without warning, reality shifts; something in my face twitches in a way it shouldn't, a pain shoots across every nerve ending in my body, and though I'm trained in pain tolerance techniques, the only thing I manage to do is turn what should have been a scream into a bare-toothed growl. My legs collapse under me and I fall as my vision turns -- -- purple? "Twilight!" I manage from between clenched teeth. "What the hell --" "Oh no," I can hear her say, though her voice is strangely muffled. "I was afraid -- " and then sternly, as an order: "Get the Apples. Do it!" "Agent Walker?" comes the voice from my headset, faintly. The headset had to have fallen off, so I ignore it, focusing on the only two things I can manage - managing the intense pain, and Twilight. Or maybe I can't, I realize, as I hear the sound of galloping hooves, running off. "Princess," I grit, trying to call after her. "Twilight, what's --" "I'm right here," she breathes, her lips very near my ear, a hoof tenderly touching my body, as if testing it. "Breathe, Walker, just breathe. Your transfiguration matrix... I had to guess at it because you're not a pony. It's become unstable," she says, her hoof finally coming to rest on my chest, giving me an anchor, a center of calm I can focus on. "Meaning?" I rasp, my voice unsteady and quivering. "I... I think you'll be okay," she says, her voice steady despite a hint of worry, "but --" Suddenly, the pain stops - simply stops, without a flash or a bang or even a hint that a moment before I'd been in excruciating pain. My eyes clear abruptly, and I see Twilight's face, full of concern, hovering inches away from my own. I take in a breath, slowly and cautiously, and I watch her watching me. There's concern there, no question, concern and guilt and a bit of shame, but there's something else there too, something a little more than concern. Something I half-remember, like the details of a dream after you wake up. Something I've missed for so long I'd almost forgot it existed. Unconsciously, reflexively, I start to raise my hand to her cheek. She doesn't turn away, even though her eyes widen a bit, but I stop suddenly, halfway there, when I realize what I'm raising is actually a hand. My hand. My human hand. "Twilight!" comes an alarmed voice, yelling over the sound of thundering hooves, and within a moment there are five faces hovering over me instead of one -- in addition to Twilight, Mac's there with a worried frown, an elderly older mare squints down at me, a youngster with a red ribbon in her mane stares at me with wide eyes, and a strong chestnut mare, her long flaxen mane tied into a pony tail. In the confusion I drop my hand, and Twilight and I both look away, her to the approaching herd, me to... well, my hand, obviously. "He's okay," Twilight says, smoothly turning to speak to them as I flex my fingers. "He'll be fine. It's just that... the transformation spell I used was designed for ponies. I guessed at a few things, and I must have guessed wrong at one or two details. He's experiencing a transfluctuation." "Shoot Twilight, I can't even repeat that word, let alone know what it means," came the same voice; I looked up, briefly, to see that the speaker was the chestnut mare next to Mac with a flaxen mane and a cowboy's hat -- an irony I couldn't help but grin at, even as I turned my attention back to my hand. Which was connected to an arm, a real, human arm -- my arm, right down to the long scar from the knife fight I'd had eight years ago. "It means..." she looked to me again, a trace of a blush across her cheeks as she spoke. "His shape isn't stable. Intense emotions can destabilize his transformation matrix." I blink, looking down at the rest of my body -- my glorious, normal human body, and I draw in a breath sharply. "Is this what we wanted? Does it mean --" "No," she says, shaking her head sadly and again refusing to meet my gaze. "I'm sorry, Walker. It's only temporary, and because the aetheric matrix is misaligned, you're using up a lot of your own energy to compensate when this happens. It'll tire you out fast, and when you fall asleep, your matrix will just reset." "How fast? How long can I stay awake?" I ask, stifling a yawn. "It depends," she says. "With practice you might be able to hold your original shape for an hour, maybe even two, but right now --" I don't hear the rest. I remember a faint memory of being carried, and then nothing else as I fell into a deep, beautiful, peaceful sleep. Turned OverI open my eyes but there's not much to see. I'm in a small, rustic room, lying in a simple wooden bed. A lamp hung from a crossbeam above provides a dim, flickering light. One of the armored guards who'd accompanied me to the farm stands at attention in front of the door, and the same chestnut mare with the flaxen mane I'd seen earlier is sitting on the floor and watching me, a faint smile on her lips. Her hat sits on the dresser she's leaning against, and her mane is loose, cascading in long, silky waves down her neck. I blink and look away before I can call it staring, but it's a close thing, and it's definitely not something I want to think about right now. Yeah, I know. There's a lot of those kinds of things right now. There'll probably be a few more before I'm ready to deal with them. I'll burn that bridge when I get to it. "Welcome back, sugarcube," the chestnut mare says, noticing my movement and oblivious to my momentary distress as she stretches her neck. "Name's Applejack," she says, her voice a husky whisper in the quiet room. "Try to keep it hushed, it's late and the others are sleepin'." I glance down at my arm, remembering what had put me to sleep so abruptly, but I find what I'd feared and not what I'd hoped. A hoof and a foreleg - healthy, strong and whole, but not a hand, not an arm. Not a human. Before I can think to stop myself, I swear softly, cursing my anger and my luck in equal measures. Applejack hears my curse and nods once, understanding, her expression apologetic. "Ah'm sorry, Walker. Ya changed back right after ya fell asleep. Ah wish I had better news for ya," she whispered, getting stiffly to her feet. "Twi said ya'd feel okay after ya caught some Z's; she was here 'til an hour or so ago, but she was noddin' off so I sent her home. She's got a big day ahead of her." She peers at me then, squinting a bit. "You are okay, ain't'cha?" "Okay is relative," I whispered back, a small, forced half-grin on my face, "but yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for watching over me. You should get some sleep now." "Oh Ah'm okay -- relatively speakin'," she replies, matching my half-grin. "But you need some food in yer belly. Twi said ya'd be powerful hungry when ya finally came 'round." She's right, I realize, and when I pat my belly it growls in agreement. "You buying?" I ask. "Heck no, Ah'm cookin'!" she replies, then walks over to the foot of the bed and grins mischievously before grabbing the bedsheet with her teeth. Before I can voice an objection, she says "Lesh go!" in a loud stage whisper and pulls the top sheet off of me. I flinch, briefly recalling my modesty, and then I catch a glance of my brown-furred body -- and I realize that I'm no more exposed than she is. I swish my tail in mild annoyance, more at myself than anything else. She cocks a quizzical eyebrow at me, the sheet still hanging from her mouth. "Shmthn' wrong, shugarcuue?" I snort, a little more literally than usual, and roll awkwardly out of the bed. "Nusshin at all, shugarcuue," I reply, briefly flashing her a grin before she tosses the sheet back over my head. "I'll have to pass out in your orchard more often if I get fed like this," I say as I smell the pastries coming out of the oven. Apples aren't generally my thing, but Applejack had seemed so proud of her produce that it didn't seem right to pass on her offer. Besides, I can honestly say I'm pretty damned hungry by now, and I'm not likely to do much tasting anyway. "Well Ah don't know much else about ya, but at least ya seem to have good taste," Applejack says, smiling at me as she lifts two racks of turnovers out of the oven. I hadn't thought hooves and cooking would go together, but the ponies here seem to have adapted to an awful lot of familiar technology, even if they're a bit behind the curve compared to home. That alone raises more questions than it answers, but for now I'm too hungry to care about the details. She deftly deposits one rack of turnovers onto a plate, replaces it, and bumps the oven door shut again with a playful toss of her rump, depositing the plate on the table between us. "A cook and a showman," I say, smiling despite myself at the display. "I'm impressed." "That's showmare to you, and you can wait to be impressed 'til after you've had yourself a taste," she says, gesturing to the plate of pastries. "Go on now, don't be shy." Honestly, I expect average. No hands, old equipment and a completely different culture should probably result in something I can barely swallow, so the fact that it smells edible is already more than I'd hoped for. And, honestly, it doesn't matter, because I need the food, so I clumsily grab a turnover with both hooves, blow on it to cool it off, and tear off a chunk. She's watching me as I chew, so I try to get a taste in between wolfing bites down, and I smile at her when I slow down enough to briefly appreciate the turnover. On the one hand, the apples are -- well, apples. Good apples, but apples regardless, and I've never been a huge fan. On the other hand, though, the pastry itself is astonishingly good - light, crisp and airy with a hint of butter. Apples be damned, this pony can bake. "Whatcha think, big fella?" she asks, a little hesitantly. "Did I cook this batch too long? Ah had to eyeball 'em, the timer woulda woke half the house --" "Shuup," I say, my mouth still mostly full. "Besht affle turoover ever." Which makes her smile, and isn't a lie, either. I swallow the bite in my mouth and peer at her oven. "You ever try making croissants?" Before she can answer, the door to the kitchen unexpectedly squeaks open; I expect one of the guards posted at the door, but instead it's a rumpled-looking, bleary-eyed Big Macintosh. "Turnovers," he blinks, taking a long whiff, then peering at Applejack. "Ya made turnovers, and ya didn't wake me?" "Oh, keep yer voice down," Applejack whispers, mock-scolding him as she pushes the plate towards him. "Ya big turnover thief. Take that and give Twi's buddies some, they gotta be famished by now." "Eeyup," Mac said, winking once at me slyly before taking the plate in his mouth and leaving the way he came. "I like him," I say, swallowing another bite. "He's got style." Applejack laughs, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight. "That's gotta be the first time Ah ever heard anyone say that about Mac." "Well that's a shame," I say, munching on my turnover. "There's a lot of style in being straightforward and honest." "Ah'm... glad to hear ya say that, big fella," she says, cocking her head thoughtfully at me. "Careful though, ya keep that kinda thinkin' up and ya might just lose them buddies of yours." "I had a feeling they weren't for decoration," I grunt between bites. "Not that I could do a damned thing to anyone without my equipment even if I wanted to, but if they like your turnovers as much as Mac seems to I may never be able to get rid of them." "Oh say, your equipment, that's right," Applejack says, eyebrows raised. "After we got you settled, me, Mac and Applebloom scoured the orchard again for ya. We found yer watch. It got stamped on a bit, but we sent it over to Fixie. She'll have it patched right up for ya in the mornin', I reckon." I gulp. "Wait, what? Fixie? Someone's fixing that watch? Where is it?" "Fixie! Quick Fix. Finest mechanic, tinker and engineer this side of Manehattan. Helps us out with the farm equipment whenever we have troubles. She's top-notch, lives right in Ponyville. Don't you worry none about --" "You don't understand," I say, not completely able to keep the concern out of my voice. How can I explain how the Bureau 'safeguards' special-issue covert electronics without causing a panic or getting someone killed? "Sugarcube?" Applejack says, her eyes narrowing at me. "Get me to her," I say, standing and moving from the table. "She might be in danger." "From a watch?" Her face scrunches up into a half-amused, half-bewildered look. "No time for questions," I reply, and I head for the door. "We'll talk on the way." To her credit, Applejack takes my word for it, and within a minute me and my entourage are galloping out of Sweet Apple Acres, Applejack in the lead. I'm right behind her, doing my best not to fall on my face as I attempt to gallop for the first time. Right behind me are the pair of unicorn guards Twilight left behind to keep tabs on me, their armor clanking harshly in the quiet night. "You said dangerous," Applejack yells behind her. "But it's just a watch. You sure it can't wait 'til mornin?" "Does Fixie like to work late?" "Heck yeah! Sometimes she'll turn on them lights and they'll still be on when the sun comes up --" "Then it can't wait," I yell. "Get us there as fast as you can!" Fortunately for me, the road between Ponyville and Sweet Apple Acres is well-maintained, at least from an equine point of view. The footing's solid but not packed too hard, the weather's been dry and the ruts aren't too deep, so we make good time despite my awkward gait. Moving quickly once we're in Ponyville, Applejack brings us directly to a mid-sized house on the outskirts of town. The yard is cluttered and a little overgrown, with several expensive-looking carriages lined up and apparently awaiting repair, but the way to the front door is clear enough, and there's definitely a light on inside the house. "Fixie!" Applejack calls out, banging on the door. "Fixie! It's AJ!" "Round back!" calls another feminine voice in reply, and Applejack leads us past the carriages to a massive garage and workspace connected to the side of the house. We enter without any further announcement, passing a trolley with an acetylene torch in one corner, a massive collection of spare parts, screws and assorted hardware, and something that looks suspiciously like an early combustion engine. A pair of folding metallic wings and a half-assembled control box hang on the far wall, beyond the workbench and above a huge clutter of empty cardboard parcel boxes. And my watch. It's here, floating in mid-air above a workbench and surrounded by a dimly glowing aura, its color nearly identical to the coat of the chocolate-colored, vanilla-maned unicorn mare who's sitting at the bench and staring at it thoughtfully. Her horn glows dimly, the same deep rich brown hue surrounding the base of her horn. She doesn't turn to greet us, but she waves absently. "AJ," she says, her voice a bit scratchy. "You brought company?" "Sure did, Fixie," Applejack nods. "Walker, you had something to say about that watch of yours?" "So you're the pony this belongs to, eh?" Fixie says, still not turning to look at us as she levitates a screwdriver up to tap the watch's bevel. "This is a piece of work, Walker. Where'd ya get it?" My eyes widen as she does that. Most of the electronics are already dangling out of the watch, and the metal of the screwdriver comes dangerously close to an exposed contact point I recognize as one of the watch's three charge ignition triggers. "Quick Fix," I start. "You --" "Fixie," she corrects me, then turns and eyes me with a look I'm not sure how to interpret. "Call me Fixie, handsome," she says, nodding once before turning her attention back to the watch. I guess that takes the guesswork out of interpreting her expression, but I don't have time for it, and neither does she, even if she doesn't know it. "Fixie, please put the watch down. Very carefully." She frowns then, looking offended. "Look pal, I see this watch is your baby, but relax, willya? I can take it from here. It's just a watch, not some metamagical doohickey." "Look, you're --" I stop myself, taking a long breath. "I'm sure you're a very good mechanic --" "Engineer," she corrects me, a bit of irritation bleeding into her voice. "I got my diploma. You wanna see it?" "No. Okay. Look," I breathe, deciding to risk the truth. "You need to know there's a micro-charge in that watch. If you close that circuit --" "Oh, ya mean this thingie?" she says, levitating her screwdriver near the exposed contact. "NO!" I shout, reaching forward to try and pull the watch away, but before I can snatch it from her she moves the screwdriver and touches the contact. Everything goes into slow motion then. I know I have less than a second before the charge detonates, and I know she's too close to survive the blast. It's my fault the watch is in her hands, not hers. My decision's clear. I throw myself at her. I shut my eyes as I anticipate the explosion, trying to get her out of harm's way with the split second we have left. The nearest unicorn guard, ever vigilant, moves to intercept me, but he's too far away to stop me, or to get himself hurt. My aim is true, and I barrel into Fixie, knocking her off her stool as I wait for the blast to erase us both. Unexpectedly, the loudest sound in the room is Fixie and I crashing into her jumble of empty delivery boxes. There's no explosion, no fire, no smell of charred flesh -- just the two of us, limbs wrapped awkwardly around each other, cradled by crumpled cardboard. "You coulda just asked for a date, ya know," the chocolate-furred mare purrs mischievously, and softly enough that only I can hear her. Before I can even think to respond, though, I'm being moved, levitated, lifted out of her arms, and her cardboard boxes, by a pair of highly armored and unamused unicorn guards. "Guys, guys, it's okay," Fixie says, standing up, shaking herself off and coming to my defense as I float in midair. "It's okay, put 'im down. He thought the watch was gonna blow me up." "He what now?" asks Applejack, her eyes widening. "That doohickey was attached at the sprocket here, see?" she says, explaining as she returns her attention to the watch, levitating it and rotating it in place to make her point. "So when you pop the sucker open, the circuit closes, that thingummer over there slides a hidden panel in this cylinder here, and lets some pretty potent stuff mix together -- and kaboom!" she said. "That's what happens if you're not that good, anyway. 'Course, I am that good." She tilts her head up to me and smirks. I stare at Fixie with a combination of respect and amazement. Nobody at the bureau could disarm that watch with the kind of tools she had lying around here. "How did you piece all of that together without setting it off?" I ask. "Some of this tech is pretty advanced -- see this thing here, acts like a level but there's no float! -- but you can't out-clever ol' Fixie when it comes to this stuff. Sensed the primary trigger mechanism even before I popped the hatch on this baby. Don't worry, it's harmless now." "That doesn't explain why his watch was set to blow up in the first place," the first guard interrupts, keeping his stern look focused on my upside-down face. "He's obviously a risk. We need to bring him back to the Palace to --" "Guys, really?" she asks, shaking her head. "You two are soldiers, he's a soldier. Celestia don't want your weapons falling into the enemy's hands, right? Well, neither do his people. They just didn't count on me being so darn good." The second guard seems to waver a bit, but the first holds his ground. "You could have been killed." "Not by Walker," Fixie says, walking over to my hovering form. "In case you didn't notice, he just finished tossing his own sorry butt on the ground trying to save me." "That's the truth," Applejack says, backing Fixie up. "What's more, the second he heard what we did with his watch, he had to get here no matter what. You two heard it all, you were standin' guard right outside the kitchen." Finally, the first guard relents, and he releases me to land roughly on my own feet. Hooves. Whatever. "I'll be making a report to the Captain when I'm relieved of duty," he says, still watching me suspiciously. "Sorry for the trouble," I say to him, finally allowing myself to breathe. "I never thought someone would try to take it apart. I never even thought I'd find it again." He doesn't break his scowl, but he nods once at me in return, then moves with his companion to take up a position at the garage entrance. "I'm gonna go have a quick chat with him," Applejack says, heading off towards the guards. "See if I can't cool him down a bit. And you, Fixie, you and your damned practical jokes -- you know you're just as bad as Dash sometimes." "Sweet-talker," Fixie says, chortling to herself as Applejack heads off. I frown as Applejack leaves, finally putting two and two together, and I turn my gaze back to Fixie. "You knew the watch was disarmed," I say to her. "Yeah," she says, a slow grin edging her lips upwards. "And you made me think you were going to set it off anyway." "Yeah," she repeats, still grinning. "You -- that -- that's a hell of a joke to pull," I say, shaking my head. "I thought you were going to die, you know that?" "Yeah," she says again, her grin fading quickly. "It's almost as funny a joke as the time I got a watch to fix that had a bomb hidden in it." I look away, and I know she's right to be angry about it. "Look, I'm sorry. If I'd known they were sending you that watch... I didn't think anyone would --" "Shush," she said, putting a hoof to my snout. "Your watch tried to kill me, but you tried to save me. Sounds like we're even to me, and when those tightasses in the metal suits loosen up a bit, they might even see you're a pretty decent stallion." "How is my making a fool of myself going to prove that?" She smirks and shakes her long ivory-colored mane in an over-the-top attempt to look sexy. "Not everypony throws themselves in front of a beautiful young filly in distress to save her from a bomb, ya know?" The penny drops, at last. "...and if I'd turned and run the other way, then --" "Then we'd all know you weren't such a decent stallion after all," she says. "You're good," I say after a moment, allowing her a small smile. "You're damned right I am," she replies, matching my smile and raising me a wink.
Out of the Quantum SingularityThe second I cross the event horizon it's all over. I'd gone in thinking Doc Wechsler was away from the entry point, but all he'd done was flip around and wait for me on the other side of the portal. When I arrive he's right behind me, ready and waiting, and he doesn't waste any time getting down to business. As I try to get my bearings, something hard and cold as steel slides between my ribs with mechanical precision, and my back arches as pain I don't know how to describe overloads my nerves. My Glock falls uselessly to the soft grass about a second before I do. You'd think I was new to this kind of thing, but I'm not. I have no excuses: cloak and dagger have been my stock-in-trade for a long, long time now. Maybe too long. I try to get to my knees but I can't manage it. He's missed my heart, but as I start gasping for breath I realize he's punctured a lung. If I'm very lucky, I might still survive this, but I'm not a man who's known for his luck. "Walker here... I'm down," I whisper, hoping Control can still get my signal through the event horizon. It's all I can manage, though -- it's hard enough to just keep breathing, and the Doc isn't going to let me keep doing that much longer. When I try to say anything more, he kicks me, hard, right in the face. And again, for luck, I guess. And one more time, in the ribs -- and when he connects I hear something cracking in my chest. Third time's the charm, they say. I don't feel charming. I spit out a tooth and lay on the grass, panting, bloody and beaten. “Goodbye, agent,” I hear the Doctor say, his voice soft but very near. "The Queen appreciates your sacrifice." I wrench my eyes open and lift my head to find him watching me, his green, acid stare as sharp and piercing as the shiv he'd buried in my back. I can tell I'm starting to go into shock: he doesn't look like a man anymore, but instead some winged black shadow out of a forgotten nightmare. I shiver, and he smiles an ugly smile before he turns and runs, his research still tucked protectively under his wing. His arm. Whatever. I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. There are broken, static mumblings in my ear. Apparently the earpiece works across the event horizon after all. “Walker, this is Control. Abrams -- ETA five minutes. What’s your -- we can’t locate --” “...doesn’t matter,” I murmur. I'm falling fast. Control probably can’t help me anymore, and I’m pretty sure nobody else can either. My head's swimming and my chest is on fire, and it’s getting harder to fight it. Any of it. Besides, what the hell am I fighting for, anymore? Maybe I should just -- “What the hay -- AJ, git over here!” I don’t recognize the deep voice, but it’s definitely not coming out of my headset. I hear someone approaching, moving quickly with a strange gait. Without warning I'm lifted to rest on my side, while a gentle pressure eases down on my back, covering the wound. I open my eyes again and blink, trying to focus, but all I can make out is a yellow hoof, attached to a red-furred leg, not far from my face. Delusions. I know what that means. I'm losing oxygen. My lungs are probably starting to fill up with blood. If I don't get into a hospital soon I'm done for. Resigned, I close my eyes again. I feel time slipping away from me, but I’m not sure how much of it's passing between each of my ragged, crackling breaths. I start to nod off, but a new voice, more feminine than the first, nudges me gently back towards consciousness. “...we’ve gotta save ‘im, but there’s blood everywhere! Y’all get goin’, find Twi and the rest --” I wince, almost ashamed. I'm a federal agent; I'm supposed to die somewhere anonymously and quietly, not cause a public spectacle. I want to apologize to someone, but for some reason I can't seem to think of the right words to say. Black clouds drifts all around me as more and more voices began to chatter. The sounds anchor me to reality, even as I wish they'd just be quiet. It'd be so much easier for everyone if they'd just let me go. “-- Redheart, he’s over here, ya gotta --” “...have to keep the pressure steady! I'll take over. AJ, get me another bandage, this one's soaked --” They sound so concerned. It almost cheers me in a way to know that someone still cares about me. Jackie stopped years ago. Maybe I did too. It’s comforting, somehow, knowing I'm going to die in a place where people still care about me. “Save it? How do I save it? I don’t even know what it is!” “It’s okay,” I try to say, but I’m pretty sure my lips aren't working anymore. “Not worth the trouble. Just let me go.” They ignore me and talk some more anyway. I hear some of it, not that it makes any sense. “Over here, Twi! It’s tryin’ to talk! Can ya --” “Highness, I’m sorry, but there’s just no way --” “... Starswirl’s spell! What if I --” “...don’t know. Isn’t that really dangerous?" "...simply can't let the poor dear suffer like this..." "...can I try on his glasses? Pleeeeease?" “...don't have time. We have to try this now or we’ll lose him. Elements, stand with me!” Finally the voices grow softer, much softer and darker and calmer and peaceful, so peaceful. I’d forgotten peaceful, forgotten how it felt, how it sounded, how beautiful it could be -- and how purple it was... How purple it was? Sure, why not. It doesn't last, of course. Nothing ever does, but especially not peace, or beauty, or any of that. Slowly, surely, I begin to hear noises where there'd briefly been silence; I begin to sense light where once there'd been only dark. And purple. And purple? Why purple? I can feel my brows crease in a frown as the question crosses my mind, and that's the first time I realize I'm still alive. Every inch of my body aches, from the tips of my ears all the way down, but I'm alive. Squinting against the unfamiliar light, I open my eyes. Definitely a hospital. Not one I recognize -- truth be told, it looks a bit like something out of the 1950s -- but at least it means I'm in professional care. I lever myself up to a sitting position and -- Stare. I stare. I hadn't meant to, but when I reached to lift my sheets up and saw my hand, I saw something worth staring at, so I stare at it. My hand, that is. I stare at my hand. Rather, at what ought to be my hand, but isn't. At my hoof. Because it's a hoof, a horse's hoof, not a hand. Which it should be. A hand, I mean. Not a hoof. I turn it around, fascinated, rotating it slowly around to get a good look. I reach up with my other hand, which also happens to be a hoof -- points for consistency -- and I knock them together a couple of times to get a feel for them. Sure enough, they're just what they look like. Hooves. They're more sensitive than I'd imagined, but they're definitely hooves. I peek under my sheets. Yep. Four hooves all told, not to mention a healthy-looking coat of dark brown fur, a salt-and-pepper tail, and a couple of other details not worth mentioning, though not necessarily disappointing. Like I said, points for consistency. Just to be sure, I swish the tail. Yep, that's mine, too. How novel. "Nurse?" I call out calmly. My voice is deeper and more graveled than I'm used to hearing, so I may have to cancel any plans for a singing career, but at least I can talk, even though I'm not very human anymore. "Nurse?" Not hearing an immediate reply, I take a quick stock of the room I'm in. It's plain, with a simple bed, clearly made with equine proportions in mind. The windows are lower than I'm used to, but obviously the right height for an average-height pony. Shelves and drawers, all built at the same scale as everything else. I look down at my hooves again and take a long breath. As a special agent, you train for all kinds of contingencies and you learn all sorts of skills, but the most important thing you ever learn is to roll with the punches. You learn to deal with what's staring you in the face, and to set your expectations aside, because your assumptions will get you killed. There's no point freaking out about losing an eye or a hand -- or even becoming a small horse -- when there's still a bad guy to bring down or a mission to complete. I'm alive, and the Doctor's loose here, wherever 'here' is, with some incredibly dangerous technology. I have other questions, sure, but there's a bad guy to bring down and a mission to complete. I can freak out about hooves later. And I probably will. Just, not now. My timing's really good, too, because right as I'm making that decision, a petite equine -- call her 'pony-sized' -- with her pink mane caught up in a nurse's cap, pushes through the door and finds me sitting up. "You're awake!" she gasps, and rushes to my side, her hooves striking against the floor tiles almost like women's heels as she moves. "You shouldn't be sitting up yet, you know," she says, pushing gently at my chest to get me back into the bed. "You were hurt very badly." I suppose part of me should be more surprised at this than I am, but considering my current state, a talking nurse-pony really isn't much of a stretch. Roll with the punches, right? I'm not sure how to play this yet, so I keep things close to my chest. "I'm okay, really, it's not a problem," I say, resisting her push. Either she's tougher or I'm weaker than I expected, but either way I'm only barely able to stay upright. "Look, I appreciate your help, but what I need right now is some information, and probably someone in an official capacity to talk to." She frowns her disapproval but reluctantly nods her head. "All things considered... you're probably right. Okay. I'll let them know you're awake." "Them? I've had visitors?" I ask, my attention caught. As weird as things had gotten, I'd give my eye teeth to see Abrams walk in that door right about now. "Just for a few minutes," the nurse said, her stern look quickly reappearing. I smiled winningly, but she only narrowed her eyes at me and harumphed her way out the room. Good enough. The sooner I get things straightened out, the sooner I get back on the hunt. There's a Doctor out there I owe, and I pay my debts with interest.
And Into the Palace"The Princess will see you now." I've always been a light sleeper, so the second the guard speaks I start awake, blinking to get my bearings. As strange and unpredictable as the day's been, this whole napping-on-my-feet thing has come as a pleasant surprise amidst all the chaos. I could really get used to it. Which is good, because I may have to. But I'm not going to think about that right now. What I do think about is where I am, and it only takes a second to recognize the place: the antechamber to the throneroom in the capital city of Canterlot. I've been stuck here for hours -- I haven't figured out where my CSAR watch, my Ray-Bans or any of my other equipment went yet, so I can't be sure, but three hours is probably a good estimate. I grunt and shake myself to get the blood flowing. My legs are stiff, I'm hungry, I'm tired and I'm anxious as hell, but this is what I've been waiting all day for, so as the pair of guards push the massive doors open, I move quickly past, hooves echoing on the stone floor, and I flash them a nod of respect as I go. Call it professional courtesy: I've been in their shoes before. Though, then, it was the leather-soled variety, not -- No, I'm not going to think about that, either. I pass the doors and take a quick look around as I head for the far end, where there's a small gathering surrounding the throne. I'd been in a throneroom or two in my time overseas, but this one really stands out from the rest. Mammoth, intricate stained glass murals at every arch, flowing waterfalls, sumptuous tapestries, rich velvets -- it's like some incredibly beautiful, idealized medieval fantasy court come to life. Which, given what else I've learned about the country called Equestria over the last few hours, doesn't actually come as much of a surprise. Waking up in a hospital as a brown-haired pony - wait, sorry: "earth" pony - was merely the insane beginning to what's probably been the longest, weirdest and most confusing day of my life. I've had the same training any other special agent gets on diplomacy: cultural diversity, common social deviances, alternate forms of governance and all kinds of analyses on ethical relativity and religious belief, but nothing in my repertoire had prepared me for this place. When I'd told Nurse Redheart I needed to talk to someone in charge, she'd showed surprising tenacity in breaking through the bureaucracy to get me an audience. I could see she wasn't the kind of person... pony... who took 'no' for an answer, and though I was glad she wasn't aiming her laser-like focus at me, it was good to have her as an ally. While we were waiting for my ride to the palace -- my chariot, actually -- she'd given me a crash course on her home. My head was still reeling, but I'd managed to put together a few facts. For instance: Equestria has no humans, anywhere, at all. Instead, it's populated by the kinds of sentient beings that would make C. S. Lewis feel right at home. Talking ponies, pegasi, unicorns, griffons, minotaur - open up any book of fables and pick a weird creature, and chances are you can find a living one somewhere nearby. Equines are clearly the majority here, but there are plenty of others represented. While I was still waiting inside the hospital room, this had all seemed a bit... fanciful? But all it had taken was a look outside the window to dispel those doubts. What's more, magic... well, it just works here. It doesn't seem like a very professional evaluation, or even an appropriate word to use, but I may as well call it that -- the locals do, and I can't think of a better way to put it. Unicorns, common enough here, actually levitate and manipulate objects with some kind energy surrounding their horns. Apparently, extremely talented ones can do a lot more than that. And no, it's not hearsay, I've seen them do it for even mundane, simple tasks. It's not special, it's just run of the mill reality here. Truth is I'd say it all sounded like horseshit, pardon the pun, but if you'd told me yesterday I'd be a pony today I'd have called that horseshit too. Roll with the punches, right? Right. And now, as I near the throne itself, I'm about to deal with the craziest part of all of this. This Princess I'm meeting, Celestia, isn't just a Princess in the classical, monarchic sense. As far as the locals are concerned, she's some kind of living goddess who's apparently responsible for little things like making the sun rise every day. If this were anywhere else I'd smell a scam with an abusive despot and a nation full of patsies, but with everything else I've seen today, with all the other hard-and-fast rules of reality breaking around me like bones in a vice, who am I to say otherwise? At the very least, I'm not counting the possibility out. Not entirely. Anyway, it really doesn't matter, because the fact is she rules Equestria, and she's the ultimate authority here. I have to make her understand how big this problem is, how dangerous the Doctor is, how deadly the weapon he's stolen is. I'm going to need reinforcements, quickly, before the Doctor has a chance to rebuild that weapon here. Bottom line, I'm going to need her help. I take a deep breath. None of this is in the frigging service manual. Doesn't matter. Here goes nothing. I smile as I approach the dais and attempt a respectful bow. It doesn't go too great -- I haven't exactly had much practice with four feet -- but I manage not to tip over, so I suppose that's something. "Rise, Walker," she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. My pulse speeds up just a hair: if she's not a goddess, she sure as hell has the voice of one. Clumsily, I get back to my feet and get a quick look at the group. A pair of guards, heavily armored grey unicorns, stand at attention at either side of the throne, watching me closely. They're quick, they're observant and they're obviously well-trained. Knowing what I know now about unicorns, I don't think I'd even stand a chance against those two if I were driving a tank. I'm impressed, and that isn't easy. Halfway up the dais, there's another pair: they're not perfectly matched, like the guards, but they seem to mirror each other unconsciously -- siblings, maybe? One unicorn, strong and confident, white with a blue mane, red uniform, polished partial breastplate. One alicorn, purple, shifting uncomfortably and refusing to meet my gaze -- I frown. That's a very familiar purple. Where did I see that color last? I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. Finally, there's Celestia herself, standing at the top of the dais, before the throne. And she's -- Magnificent. There's just no other word. A flowing, prismatic mane, a pristine, perfectly white coat, deep, knowing violet eyes and the hint of a secret smile under her regal demeanor all add up to the kind of beauty that you only read about in storybooks. Sure, sometimes you might be lucky enough to see a picture -- like the aurora set afire at the poles of the earth, or the lost splendor of an ancient civilization from half a world away -- but it's always second-hand, always someone else's story, and you sure as hell never get to see it for yourself. Suddenly, I'm willing to accept that this creature might just be a goddess after all. "Majesty," I murmur, looking away, surprised I can even remember the word. She chuckles, the sound nearly musical. "There's no need to stand on ceremony, Walker. Twilight tells me you've had a trying day." I shake myself again, trying to collect my thoughts. "I'm -- yeah, you could say that," I say, taking another long breath as I force myself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry, Highness. This is a lot to take in at once. I wish I could spend some time and take it all in, but --" "Of course," she says, nodding. "Introductions are in order, and then we should hear your story. To my right," she says, gesturing to the powerful white unicorn, "is my guard captain, Shining Armor." I bow to him with sincere respect. You don't mess with the guy running the local muscle, especially when he looks as tough as he does smart. "To my left is Twilight Sparkle," Celestia continues, gesturing to the uncomfortable purple alicorn. "She is Equestria's newest princess, and my closest counsel. You should know that Twilight is the one responsible for --" "Let's... just hear his story first," the purple alicorn says, shifting her feet uncomfortably. I cock my head sideways at her, frowning and a bit curious, but she still refuses to meet my gaze. Celestia shrugs. "Very well. Walker, you have our ears." # I go through the story, basically start to finish, skipping the less important parts to stress the vital ones. They take it all in without pause and wait for me to finish before they start asking questions. "The other two agents were already dead," I say, getting to the end of the tale. "I don't know if the Doc did it, but he was missing, they were dead and the plans were gone, so my responsibility was clear: I went through the portal in pursuit. Unfortunately, he took me by surprise, neutralized me and got away. From what I saw before I lost consciousness, he's got the blueprints to the tunneling device." Celestia nods, her expression thoughtful. "Are those blueprints detailed enough for him to recreate this device?" "He developed them himself, so if anyone can, he can. In my... uh, world, I'd feel confident he couldn't fabricate the parts outside of a lab, but with magic so freely available -- I'd prepare for the worst." "At least he's easy to spot," Shining Armor said thoughtfully. "All we have to do is put out the word: nopony will be able to miss someone like that. We'll have him in custody before he can get very far." "With all due respect, he was resourceful enough to kill two highly trained special agents," I say, trying hard not to sound like I was questioning Shining Armor's judgment. "That may not mean much to you, but they were equipped to deal with people like him. He's bound to know you'll be looking for him. He planned this all extremely well." "I just don't understand why this device of yours is so dangerous," Twilight says, briefly meeting my gaze before averting her eyes again. "It just seems like a convenient way to travel from one place to another, that's all." "Twilight, whoever owns this device would be unstoppable," I say, briefly catching her gaze. "They could tunnel through steel walls to raid a sealed treasury... they could eliminate key supports from infrastructure and topple entire cities... they could even bore a hole through reality big enough to lead an entire army directly into a fortress like this one. The military possibilities are endless." Twilight and Shining Armor trade a worried look. "Lead an army into a fortress?" the white unicorn says, his voice suddenly sounding a bit stressed. "This device... can it get through magic?" I blink. I'm not a scientist or a magician, but I understand the basics of the project -- all of us had been given the briefing before assuming our duties at the lab. "I can't be sure about magic, but the way the quantum tunnel's created, when it comes across a barrier, the waveform generator -- the tunnel -- alters frequencies until it finds one the barrier can't interfere with. Once it finds that frequency, it simply moves through the barrier as though it's not even there. If the, uh, the magic has some kind of physical manifestation, I don't think it'd be any more effective against the tunnel than any other kind of wall." Shining Armor curls his lips into a scowl. "And when was the last time we were worried about an army getting through our defenses?" "You don't think... Queen Chrysalis?" Twilight replies, her eyes widening. "Wait a minute," I interrupt, frowning. "Queen? Doctor Wechsler said something about a queen when he left me in the dirt," I say, wincing at the memory. "Something about his queen appreciating my sacrifice. Does that mean anything to you?" All three of them stop and stare at me, and I figure that's a yes. Even Celestia looks a bit concerned. "Can you describe this Doctor?" she asks. "Does it matter?" I ask. "He's human, like m-- like a human. Two legs, two arms, walks upright, hair on top of his head. He's going to stand out." "Humor us, Walker." I shrug. "Sure. Average height, oily black hair, beady green eyes. Shifty. Hums to himself a lot." "Oh, this is not good," Twilight says. "This is not good at all."
Flies in the Ointment"I knew I could count on you," she says, her voice honeyed and deadly. "How long until the device is ready?" The room is pitch-black, a forgotten, dank chamber deep underground. A remnant of pre-Celestine times, perhaps: a rough, ancient shelter from the depredations of Discord. Her Majesty remembers it, as she remembers all things: with anger and with malice. And her memories, like her hatreds, run long and deep. "It will be a while yet, my Queen," he replies, nervously readjusting his wings. "Three months if I'm forced to use enslaved unicorns for the fabrication process; less if we can find more cooperative workers." "I've waited a very long time for this," she replies, her voice briefly hardening. "We've seen what rushing things can do. A few months more is nothing. The unicorns will be sufficient." "As you command, my Queen," he murmurs, beginning to bow, but she presses on, not yet finished with him. "Prepare for some new arrivals. The others were successful. They'll be joining you here soon." "Here, Majesty?" he asks, suddenly concerned. "Right here? So close to --" "They will all require access to your fabrication facilities, 'Doctor,'" she says, taunting him with the name that was briefly his. "We are not yet finished with the other side, but it's time for this part of the plan to come to fruition." "Majesty... with five, it will take much more time -- there are so many of us, so near the enemy... might it be wiser to relocate to the Everfree --" "Enough," she says, green energy crackling like bottled lightning around her vile, ruinous horn. "You forget your place. You do my will, and mine alone. Nothing else matters." "Y-yes, my Queen," he stutters, bowing in a reflexive cower. "Of course, my Queen. But what if we're discovered?" She laughs then, the sound unearthly and poisonous in the still air, and he shivers in pleasure and fear as he listens to her words. "That's what we want them to do, Doctor," she whispers, her green eyes bright with fury and dark magic. "But don't worry. You'll be ready when they find you."
Out of Control"So the reason I'm... what I am, is because --" "I did it," she says, still refusing to look at me when she says it. "I -- I turned you into a pony. I mean, it took all of us -- the Elements, I mean -- but I was the one who figured it out. There was this spell that -- you know Starswirl the Bearded? Um, no, of course you -- well anyway, he tried to create a spell to transform himself, it was in this book you see, but it wasn't complete, and when I first used it..." We're back in Ponyville, and I'm on a dirt path heading out to Sweet Apple Acres. Apparently, that's where they found me after the Doctor -- sorry, the changeling -- tried to kill me. The smell of apples is weirdly familiar, though I don't remember having specifically noticed it before. Of course, I'd been busy dying when I was here the first time, so apples probably hadn't been my top priority. I'm walking side by side with one of Equestria's princesses, Twilight Sparkle. A pair of armored unicorn guards pace us maybe fifty feet behind, watching me closely. And, I now know why that weird purple color keeps flashing through my head. It's not just the color of Twilight's coat, but also of her magic, which she'd used abundantly to keep me from dying. The color seems oddly vibrant to me now, as though her magic has become part of me -- which, based on what she's saying, it probably has. She's still talking about the spell, all nerves and worry, because she's the one who took my human body away from me. It was her magic that had -- "Saved me," I interrupt her as she rambles on about the spell, forcing the thought through my lips before I say something else entirely. "You saved me, you know that. None of you had ever seen anything like -- like what I was." She peers tentatively over at me, her face still screwed into a concerned expression. "No. We had no idea what you were. All we knew was that you could talk, and you were hurt -- Walker, there was so much blood," she said, wincing. "We had to try to save you, but nobody knew how. If you'd been a griffon or a minotaur we could have found a book or something, or if you'd been a different animal then Fluttershy might have --" "I understand," I interrupt again, a bit more gruffly than I mean to. "You've got nothing to apologize for. I owe you my life, all of you." "You're still angry about it, though," she says. "I can tell." I grit my teeth. "Look. I have..." I don't have time for this right now. "I'm not angry at you, Twilight," I say, stopping in the road and turning to her; her guards tense briefly, but relax when it's clear all I'm doing is talking. "I had a lot of things up in the air when this happened. Personal things. And now I don't know if I'll... if I can ever..." "I never meant to do this to you," she says, pain evident on her face. "I wanted to help you, not hurt you." Deep down I know that, but she's right. I'm angry. I'm damned angry, even dangerously angry. Eventually, I'm going to have to deal with that anger head on. But this... this princess, this weird, self-conscious purple alicorn -- she kept me alive when she could have let me die. She and her friends took a chance they didn't have to take on me, and I owe it to her to be honest with myself. And if I have to be honest with myself, then I have to admit that the reason I'm angry has nothing to do with being a little pony, and everything to do with being a lousy person. I take a long breath and let it out. "You're a sweet girl, you know that?" I say, smiling faintly. "But you can't fix everything. I screwed things up all on my own, in my own world, a long time before I ever met you. I was selfish, and I waited a long time before I tried to set things right. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe I'll never set them right." She tries to speak up, but I cut her off before she can get going. "It doesn't matter. It's not important right now. What's important is your people, princess. What's important is a changeling with a quantum tunneling device. I'll manage my personal problems when this is all over with. If we're still friends then, I'll let you watch over me while I get messy drunk. You guys get messy drunk here, don't you?" She giggles, part surprise and part nervous energy. "Sweet Apple Acres makes a mean hard cider." "Then you owe me the first round when this is done." For the first time since I've seen her, she smiles at me. "Control," I say hesitantly, flicking my long brown ears in annoyance. The only piece of equipment I'd been able to recover so far was my wireless headset, which Nurse Redheart had kept for me at the hospital. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't exactly fit in my ear anymore, so one of Twilight's friends, a stylish white mare with a long purple mane, had attempted to attach it to a jauntily cut strip of off-white fabric. The fabric loops around the base of my ears well enough, but the headpiece keeps sagging when I let my ears relax, and then it tickles the fuzz on the inside of my ears something fierce. It looks ridiculous, but so do I, and we both have jobs to do. I just hope the damned thing is picking up my voice. I look over to the pony at my left: Twilight and I had picked him up when we got to the farm, and I got a chance to thank the fellow who'd found me. Big Macintosh is a tall, sturdy stallion with a thick red coat of fur, a sliced green apple on his flank and an amiable smile, and he's just escorted us to the field where he'd found me. The unicorn guards, still silent, take up positions behind us as I turn to Mac. "You sure this is the place, Mac?" I ask him. The scent of apples is thick enough, but there's no sign of the exit portal anywhere. "Eyup," he finally says, glancing from side to side and nodding. I nod in return and clear my voice. I appreciate men of few words, and I appreciate them even more when they've saved my life. "Control, this is Walker. Over." Static. Not sure what I'd expected. Even if there'd been an open portal, I was pretty sure I'd have had to step through to establish a connection. Without a portal -- "Walker? Agent Walker?" Well I'll be damned. Luck hasn't completely abandoned me after all. "Control, I copy. This is Agent Walker, over?" "Agent Walker, this is Control, where the hell have you been?" "I've been injured, Control. Doctor Wechsler stole the quantum --" "We know about the theft, Agent. Wechsler is one of five team leads who've stolen their own work and disappeared from a secure top-secret research facility without leaving a trace. Do you have any idea where they've gone?" My eyes widen a bit. Five missing top secret projects? "I have a good idea, Control. Go to Wechsler's facility and re-open the quantum portal; you should be able to create a tunnel large enough to send in reinforcements. I have a secure staging ground and the cooperation of --" "Negative, Agent. Wechsler's modifications to the tunneling device have been sabotaged. We've been able to re-establish the tunnel, but only at the wave-particle scale. Matter portaling is not an option. Agent, are you saying you're on the other side?" I grit my teeth again. "Confirmed, Control. I am on the other side of the quantum tunnel." "Give us your GPS location," comes the voice. "We'll send a team." "Negative, Control," I reply, my gut twisting as I say it. "The tunnel does not end at a terrestrial coordinate." There's a moment of silence before they reply this time. "Agent, please repeat?" "Repeating: the quantum tunnel does not exit at a terrestrial coordinate. Control, if you can't get that portal open, there's no way in hell you're getting a team here." And there's no way I'll ever see home again. Not Jackie, not Annie, not the house, none of it. It's all gone. Without warning, reality shifts; something in my face twitches in a way it shouldn't, a pain shoots across every nerve ending in my body, and though I'm trained in pain tolerance techniques, the only thing I manage to do is turn what should have been a scream into a bare-toothed growl. My legs collapse under me and I fall as my vision turns -- -- purple? "Twilight!" I manage from between clenched teeth. "What the hell --" "Oh no," I can hear her say, though her voice is strangely muffled. "I was afraid -- " and then sternly, as an order: "Get the Apples. Do it!" "Agent Walker?" comes the voice from my headset, faintly. The headset had to have fallen off, so I ignore it, focusing on the only two things I can manage - managing the intense pain, and Twilight. Or maybe I can't, I realize, as I hear the sound of galloping hooves, running off. "Princess," I grit, trying to call after her. "Twilight, what's --" "I'm right here," she breathes, her lips very near my ear, a hoof tenderly touching my body, as if testing it. "Breathe, Walker, just breathe. Your transfiguration matrix... I had to guess at it because you're not a pony. It's become unstable," she says, her hoof finally coming to rest on my chest, giving me an anchor, a center of calm I can focus on. "Meaning?" I rasp, my voice unsteady and quivering. "I... I think you'll be okay," she says, her voice steady despite a hint of worry, "but --" Suddenly, the pain stops - simply stops, without a flash or a bang or even a hint that a moment before I'd been in excruciating pain. My eyes clear abruptly, and I see Twilight's face, full of concern, hovering inches away from my own. I take in a breath, slowly and cautiously, and I watch her watching me. There's concern there, no question, concern and guilt and a bit of shame, but there's something else there too, something a little more than concern. Something I half-remember, like the details of a dream after you wake up. Something I've missed for so long I'd almost forgot it existed. Unconsciously, reflexively, I start to raise my hand to her cheek. She doesn't turn away, even though her eyes widen a bit, but I stop suddenly, halfway there, when I realize what I'm raising is actually a hand. My hand. My human hand. "Twilight!" comes an alarmed voice, yelling over the sound of thundering hooves, and within a moment there are five faces hovering over me instead of one -- in addition to Twilight, Mac's there with a worried frown, an elderly older mare squints down at me, a youngster with a red ribbon in her mane stares at me with wide eyes, and a strong chestnut mare, her long flaxen mane tied into a pony tail. In the confusion I drop my hand, and Twilight and I both look away, her to the approaching herd, me to... well, my hand, obviously. "He's okay," Twilight says, smoothly turning to speak to them as I flex my fingers. "He'll be fine. It's just that... the transformation spell I used was designed for ponies. I guessed at a few things, and I must have guessed wrong at one or two details. He's experiencing a transfluctuation." "Shoot Twilight, I can't even repeat that word, let alone know what it means," came the same voice; I looked up, briefly, to see that the speaker was the chestnut mare next to Mac with a flaxen mane and a cowboy's hat -- an irony I couldn't help but grin at, even as I turned my attention back to my hand. Which was connected to an arm, a real, human arm -- my arm, right down to the long scar from the knife fight I'd had eight years ago. "It means..." she looked to me again, a trace of a blush across her cheeks as she spoke. "His shape isn't stable. Intense emotions can destabilize his transformation matrix." I blink, looking down at the rest of my body -- my glorious, normal human body, and I draw in a breath sharply. "Is this what we wanted? Does it mean --" "No," she says, shaking her head sadly and again refusing to meet my gaze. "I'm sorry, Walker. It's only temporary, and because the aetheric matrix is misaligned, you're using up a lot of your own energy to compensate when this happens. It'll tire you out fast, and when you fall asleep, your matrix will just reset." "How fast? How long can I stay awake?" I ask, stifling a yawn. "It depends," she says. "With practice you might be able to hold your original shape for an hour, maybe even two, but right now --" I don't hear the rest. I remember a faint memory of being carried, and then nothing else as I fell into a deep, beautiful, peaceful sleep.
Turned OverI open my eyes but there's not much to see. I'm in a small, rustic room, lying in a simple wooden bed. A lamp hung from a crossbeam above provides a dim, flickering light. One of the armored guards who'd accompanied me to the farm stands at attention in front of the door, and the same chestnut mare with the flaxen mane I'd seen earlier is sitting on the floor and watching me, a faint smile on her lips. Her hat sits on the dresser she's leaning against, and her mane is loose, cascading in long, silky waves down her neck. I blink and look away before I can call it staring, but it's a close thing, and it's definitely not something I want to think about right now. Yeah, I know. There's a lot of those kinds of things right now. There'll probably be a few more before I'm ready to deal with them. I'll burn that bridge when I get to it. "Welcome back, sugarcube," the chestnut mare says, noticing my movement and oblivious to my momentary distress as she stretches her neck. "Name's Applejack," she says, her voice a husky whisper in the quiet room. "Try to keep it hushed, it's late and the others are sleepin'." I glance down at my arm, remembering what had put me to sleep so abruptly, but I find what I'd feared and not what I'd hoped. A hoof and a foreleg - healthy, strong and whole, but not a hand, not an arm. Not a human. Before I can think to stop myself, I swear softly, cursing my anger and my luck in equal measures. Applejack hears my curse and nods once, understanding, her expression apologetic. "Ah'm sorry, Walker. Ya changed back right after ya fell asleep. Ah wish I had better news for ya," she whispered, getting stiffly to her feet. "Twi said ya'd feel okay after ya caught some Z's; she was here 'til an hour or so ago, but she was noddin' off so I sent her home. She's got a big day ahead of her." She peers at me then, squinting a bit. "You are okay, ain't'cha?" "Okay is relative," I whispered back, a small, forced half-grin on my face, "but yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for watching over me. You should get some sleep now." "Oh Ah'm okay -- relatively speakin'," she replies, matching my half-grin. "But you need some food in yer belly. Twi said ya'd be powerful hungry when ya finally came 'round." She's right, I realize, and when I pat my belly it growls in agreement. "You buying?" I ask. "Heck no, Ah'm cookin'!" she replies, then walks over to the foot of the bed and grins mischievously before grabbing the bedsheet with her teeth. Before I can voice an objection, she says "Lesh go!" in a loud stage whisper and pulls the top sheet off of me. I flinch, briefly recalling my modesty, and then I catch a glance of my brown-furred body -- and I realize that I'm no more exposed than she is. I swish my tail in mild annoyance, more at myself than anything else. She cocks a quizzical eyebrow at me, the sheet still hanging from her mouth. "Shmthn' wrong, shugarcuue?" I snort, a little more literally than usual, and roll awkwardly out of the bed. "Nusshin at all, shugarcuue," I reply, briefly flashing her a grin before she tosses the sheet back over my head. "I'll have to pass out in your orchard more often if I get fed like this," I say as I smell the pastries coming out of the oven. Apples aren't generally my thing, but Applejack had seemed so proud of her produce that it didn't seem right to pass on her offer. Besides, I can honestly say I'm pretty damned hungry by now, and I'm not likely to do much tasting anyway. "Well Ah don't know much else about ya, but at least ya seem to have good taste," Applejack says, smiling at me as she lifts two racks of turnovers out of the oven. I hadn't thought hooves and cooking would go together, but the ponies here seem to have adapted to an awful lot of familiar technology, even if they're a bit behind the curve compared to home. That alone raises more questions than it answers, but for now I'm too hungry to care about the details. She deftly deposits one rack of turnovers onto a plate, replaces it, and bumps the oven door shut again with a playful toss of her rump, depositing the plate on the table between us. "A cook and a showman," I say, smiling despite myself at the display. "I'm impressed." "That's showmare to you, and you can wait to be impressed 'til after you've had yourself a taste," she says, gesturing to the plate of pastries. "Go on now, don't be shy." Honestly, I expect average. No hands, old equipment and a completely different culture should probably result in something I can barely swallow, so the fact that it smells edible is already more than I'd hoped for. And, honestly, it doesn't matter, because I need the food, so I clumsily grab a turnover with both hooves, blow on it to cool it off, and tear off a chunk. She's watching me as I chew, so I try to get a taste in between wolfing bites down, and I smile at her when I slow down enough to briefly appreciate the turnover. On the one hand, the apples are -- well, apples. Good apples, but apples regardless, and I've never been a huge fan. On the other hand, though, the pastry itself is astonishingly good - light, crisp and airy with a hint of butter. Apples be damned, this pony can bake. "Whatcha think, big fella?" she asks, a little hesitantly. "Did I cook this batch too long? Ah had to eyeball 'em, the timer woulda woke half the house --" "Shuup," I say, my mouth still mostly full. "Besht affle turoover ever." Which makes her smile, and isn't a lie, either. I swallow the bite in my mouth and peer at her oven. "You ever try making croissants?" Before she can answer, the door to the kitchen unexpectedly squeaks open; I expect one of the guards posted at the door, but instead it's a rumpled-looking, bleary-eyed Big Macintosh. "Turnovers," he blinks, taking a long whiff, then peering at Applejack. "Ya made turnovers, and ya didn't wake me?" "Oh, keep yer voice down," Applejack whispers, mock-scolding him as she pushes the plate towards him. "Ya big turnover thief. Take that and give Twi's buddies some, they gotta be famished by now." "Eeyup," Mac said, winking once at me slyly before taking the plate in his mouth and leaving the way he came. "I like him," I say, swallowing another bite. "He's got style." Applejack laughs, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight. "That's gotta be the first time Ah ever heard anyone say that about Mac." "Well that's a shame," I say, munching on my turnover. "There's a lot of style in being straightforward and honest." "Ah'm... glad to hear ya say that, big fella," she says, cocking her head thoughtfully at me. "Careful though, ya keep that kinda thinkin' up and ya might just lose them buddies of yours." "I had a feeling they weren't for decoration," I grunt between bites. "Not that I could do a damned thing to anyone without my equipment even if I wanted to, but if they like your turnovers as much as Mac seems to I may never be able to get rid of them." "Oh say, your equipment, that's right," Applejack says, eyebrows raised. "After we got you settled, me, Mac and Applebloom scoured the orchard again for ya. We found yer watch. It got stamped on a bit, but we sent it over to Fixie. She'll have it patched right up for ya in the mornin', I reckon." I gulp. "Wait, what? Fixie? Someone's fixing that watch? Where is it?" "Fixie! Quick Fix. Finest mechanic, tinker and engineer this side of Manehattan. Helps us out with the farm equipment whenever we have troubles. She's top-notch, lives right in Ponyville. Don't you worry none about --" "You don't understand," I say, not completely able to keep the concern out of my voice. How can I explain how the Bureau 'safeguards' special-issue covert electronics without causing a panic or getting someone killed? "Sugarcube?" Applejack says, her eyes narrowing at me. "Get me to her," I say, standing and moving from the table. "She might be in danger." "From a watch?" Her face scrunches up into a half-amused, half-bewildered look. "No time for questions," I reply, and I head for the door. "We'll talk on the way." To her credit, Applejack takes my word for it, and within a minute me and my entourage are galloping out of Sweet Apple Acres, Applejack in the lead. I'm right behind her, doing my best not to fall on my face as I attempt to gallop for the first time. Right behind me are the pair of unicorn guards Twilight left behind to keep tabs on me, their armor clanking harshly in the quiet night. "You said dangerous," Applejack yells behind her. "But it's just a watch. You sure it can't wait 'til mornin?" "Does Fixie like to work late?" "Heck yeah! Sometimes she'll turn on them lights and they'll still be on when the sun comes up --" "Then it can't wait," I yell. "Get us there as fast as you can!" Fortunately for me, the road between Ponyville and Sweet Apple Acres is well-maintained, at least from an equine point of view. The footing's solid but not packed too hard, the weather's been dry and the ruts aren't too deep, so we make good time despite my awkward gait. Moving quickly once we're in Ponyville, Applejack brings us directly to a mid-sized house on the outskirts of town. The yard is cluttered and a little overgrown, with several expensive-looking carriages lined up and apparently awaiting repair, but the way to the front door is clear enough, and there's definitely a light on inside the house. "Fixie!" Applejack calls out, banging on the door. "Fixie! It's AJ!" "Round back!" calls another feminine voice in reply, and Applejack leads us past the carriages to a massive garage and workspace connected to the side of the house. We enter without any further announcement, passing a trolley with an acetylene torch in one corner, a massive collection of spare parts, screws and assorted hardware, and something that looks suspiciously like an early combustion engine. A pair of folding metallic wings and a half-assembled control box hang on the far wall, beyond the workbench and above a huge clutter of empty cardboard parcel boxes. And my watch. It's here, floating in mid-air above a workbench and surrounded by a dimly glowing aura, its color nearly identical to the coat of the chocolate-colored, vanilla-maned unicorn mare who's sitting at the bench and staring at it thoughtfully. Her horn glows dimly, the same deep rich brown hue surrounding the base of her horn. She doesn't turn to greet us, but she waves absently. "AJ," she says, her voice a bit scratchy. "You brought company?" "Sure did, Fixie," Applejack nods. "Walker, you had something to say about that watch of yours?" "So you're the pony this belongs to, eh?" Fixie says, still not turning to look at us as she levitates a screwdriver up to tap the watch's bevel. "This is a piece of work, Walker. Where'd ya get it?" My eyes widen as she does that. Most of the electronics are already dangling out of the watch, and the metal of the screwdriver comes dangerously close to an exposed contact point I recognize as one of the watch's three charge ignition triggers. "Quick Fix," I start. "You --" "Fixie," she corrects me, then turns and eyes me with a look I'm not sure how to interpret. "Call me Fixie, handsome," she says, nodding once before turning her attention back to the watch. I guess that takes the guesswork out of interpreting her expression, but I don't have time for it, and neither does she, even if she doesn't know it. "Fixie, please put the watch down. Very carefully." She frowns then, looking offended. "Look pal, I see this watch is your baby, but relax, willya? I can take it from here. It's just a watch, not some metamagical doohickey." "Look, you're --" I stop myself, taking a long breath. "I'm sure you're a very good mechanic --" "Engineer," she corrects me, a bit of irritation bleeding into her voice. "I got my diploma. You wanna see it?" "No. Okay. Look," I breathe, deciding to risk the truth. "You need to know there's a micro-charge in that watch. If you close that circuit --" "Oh, ya mean this thingie?" she says, levitating her screwdriver near the exposed contact. "NO!" I shout, reaching forward to try and pull the watch away, but before I can snatch it from her she moves the screwdriver and touches the contact. Everything goes into slow motion then. I know I have less than a second before the charge detonates, and I know she's too close to survive the blast. It's my fault the watch is in her hands, not hers. My decision's clear. I throw myself at her. I shut my eyes as I anticipate the explosion, trying to get her out of harm's way with the split second we have left. The nearest unicorn guard, ever vigilant, moves to intercept me, but he's too far away to stop me, or to get himself hurt. My aim is true, and I barrel into Fixie, knocking her off her stool as I wait for the blast to erase us both. Unexpectedly, the loudest sound in the room is Fixie and I crashing into her jumble of empty delivery boxes. There's no explosion, no fire, no smell of charred flesh -- just the two of us, limbs wrapped awkwardly around each other, cradled by crumpled cardboard. "You coulda just asked for a date, ya know," the chocolate-furred mare purrs mischievously, and softly enough that only I can hear her. Before I can even think to respond, though, I'm being moved, levitated, lifted out of her arms, and her cardboard boxes, by a pair of highly armored and unamused unicorn guards. "Guys, guys, it's okay," Fixie says, standing up, shaking herself off and coming to my defense as I float in midair. "It's okay, put 'im down. He thought the watch was gonna blow me up." "He what now?" asks Applejack, her eyes widening. "That doohickey was attached at the sprocket here, see?" she says, explaining as she returns her attention to the watch, levitating it and rotating it in place to make her point. "So when you pop the sucker open, the circuit closes, that thingummer over there slides a hidden panel in this cylinder here, and lets some pretty potent stuff mix together -- and kaboom!" she said. "That's what happens if you're not that good, anyway. 'Course, I am that good." She tilts her head up to me and smirks. I stare at Fixie with a combination of respect and amazement. Nobody at the bureau could disarm that watch with the kind of tools she had lying around here. "How did you piece all of that together without setting it off?" I ask. "Some of this tech is pretty advanced -- see this thing here, acts like a level but there's no float! -- but you can't out-clever ol' Fixie when it comes to this stuff. Sensed the primary trigger mechanism even before I popped the hatch on this baby. Don't worry, it's harmless now." "That doesn't explain why his watch was set to blow up in the first place," the first guard interrupts, keeping his stern look focused on my upside-down face. "He's obviously a risk. We need to bring him back to the Palace to --" "Guys, really?" she asks, shaking her head. "You two are soldiers, he's a soldier. Celestia don't want your weapons falling into the enemy's hands, right? Well, neither do his people. They just didn't count on me being so darn good." The second guard seems to waver a bit, but the first holds his ground. "You could have been killed." "Not by Walker," Fixie says, walking over to my hovering form. "In case you didn't notice, he just finished tossing his own sorry butt on the ground trying to save me." "That's the truth," Applejack says, backing Fixie up. "What's more, the second he heard what we did with his watch, he had to get here no matter what. You two heard it all, you were standin' guard right outside the kitchen." Finally, the first guard relents, and he releases me to land roughly on my own feet. Hooves. Whatever. "I'll be making a report to the Captain when I'm relieved of duty," he says, still watching me suspiciously. "Sorry for the trouble," I say to him, finally allowing myself to breathe. "I never thought someone would try to take it apart. I never even thought I'd find it again." He doesn't break his scowl, but he nods once at me in return, then moves with his companion to take up a position at the garage entrance. "I'm gonna go have a quick chat with him," Applejack says, heading off towards the guards. "See if I can't cool him down a bit. And you, Fixie, you and your damned practical jokes -- you know you're just as bad as Dash sometimes." "Sweet-talker," Fixie says, chortling to herself as Applejack heads off. I frown as Applejack leaves, finally putting two and two together, and I turn my gaze back to Fixie. "You knew the watch was disarmed," I say to her. "Yeah," she says, a slow grin edging her lips upwards. "And you made me think you were going to set it off anyway." "Yeah," she repeats, still grinning. "You -- that -- that's a hell of a joke to pull," I say, shaking my head. "I thought you were going to die, you know that?" "Yeah," she says again, her grin fading quickly. "It's almost as funny a joke as the time I got a watch to fix that had a bomb hidden in it." I look away, and I know she's right to be angry about it. "Look, I'm sorry. If I'd known they were sending you that watch... I didn't think anyone would --" "Shush," she said, putting a hoof to my snout. "Your watch tried to kill me, but you tried to save me. Sounds like we're even to me, and when those tightasses in the metal suits loosen up a bit, they might even see you're a pretty decent stallion." "How is my making a fool of myself going to prove that?" She smirks and shakes her long ivory-colored mane in an over-the-top attempt to look sexy. "Not everypony throws themselves in front of a beautiful young filly in distress to save her from a bomb, ya know?" The penny drops, at last. "...and if I'd turned and run the other way, then --" "Then we'd all know you weren't such a decent stallion after all," she says. "You're good," I say after a moment, allowing her a small smile. "You're damned right I am," she replies, matching my smile and raising me a wink.
