While Scootaloo had been out and about, Rainbow Dash had been busy as well; as soon as the last cold rehearsal was done, she put the Wonderbolts in charge of moving everything to the freshly finished Thunderdome and setting up for the show that evening. Spitfire and the crew immediately flew the Thunderstreak over and began the long process of unloading and setting up of all the lighting, gear, costumes and props.

Dash herself though had another more important appointment. The moment she'd handed off her last memo, she had beelined to another part of town for her scheduled appointment at one of Windy City's three hospitals.

The Windy City Flightless Foal's Clinic.

It wasn't a large institution; it was actually rather small and antiquated, compared to the facilities in places like Manehattan or Phillydelphia. (The name went back to a time when Windy City was almost entirely a pegasus-only town.) It only had twenty or so patients at any time. And much of the more advanced medical research was taking place elsewhere. But it was still an iconic institution in the region; it still clung to a reputation for work with the physically disadvantaged. So pretty much every handicapped child in the city- pony, donkey, gryphon, thestral, zebra or other- found their way there at one point or another.

It didn't take her long to decide that visiting was both the best, and the worst thing that had happened to Dash since she'd become a Princess. The moment she had entered the clinic she had been all but mobbed by gleeful children of every species- flying or non. The smiles on their faces at being visited by a Princess of Equestria... "A real live Princess!"... accompanied by a quartet of Wonderbolts would buoy her spirit for days afterward. And the sight of so many colts, fillies, and cubs with deformed or missing limbs, trapped in braces, or confined to wheelchairs would break her heart every time she remembered it.

After spending an hour or two with the children, she sprang her surprise: All the children would be going on a special field trip today... to the opening of the new Wonderbolts show! They would all have seats in a special section just for them, right in the Royal box, and get to see the whole show for free. There would even be popcorn and cotton candy! This went over about like she'd expected; prior to the announcement they'd just thought she was awesome. Now, they thought she'd hung the sun and moon.

The caregivers had dispersed the gleeful children, taking them back to their rooms to prepare for their outing. Once the last foal had given her a final heart-melting hug and galloped off, Dash had gotten down to the more serious business she had come here for. She trotted over to the receptionist. "Excuse me, is Doctor Hospice Care in?" she asked. "I had an appointment to speak to him..."

"He's in a meeting with the administrators, your Highness," the mare behind the counter said, dipping into a nervous little curtsey. "I can go in and fetch him if you like-"

Dash waved her off. "Nah, nah, I'll wait," she said. "And cut it out with the bowing and stuff, okay? It just makes me feel weird." She stood there for a few minutes, leaning against the counter and tapping her hoof idly as she stared off in the middle distance, completely oblivious to how she was making the poor receptionist increasingly nervous with her presence. Nice building, she thought. Very old and, whats the word, genteel? Lots of paintings and curly armed furniture, very "old money."Hmmm. Her hoof tapped in time with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

A throat cleared nervously behind her. "Your Highness," the receptionist said meekly. "Perhaps you'd like to peek in? They're just down the hall, second door on the left-" she pointed.

Dash sighed in relief. "Yeah, thanks- this waiting thing really isn't working for me..." she flapped down the hallway and landed outside the door. She almost barged in, but at the last moment she remembered herself... some of those etiquette lessons her staff kept trying to hammer in her head were sticking, anyway... and hesitated. The door was cracked open; she decided to listen to see if they were wrapping up. She peeked in.

Well, somepony was wrapping up. There were four ponies sitting at a meeting table, three on one side, one on the other. The three ponies had doctor's coats, but something about them made Dash think that they looked more like business ponies. The mare in the middle of the two stallions was speaking. "...The fact remains, Doctor Hospice, that your handling of patient cases does not... does not correspond with the caregiving philosophy of this institution," she said.

The unicorn stallion on the other side of the table looked way more like a doctor. He was white with a silver mane and goatee, and his doctor's coat was creased and rumpled like someone worked in it. He had a stethoscope around his neck and on his flank, and a pair of half-moon spectacles on his muzzle. He was also grinding his teeth. " I thought the philosophy of this institution," he said slowly, "was to heal."

One of the business stallions sighed and shook his head in a longsuffering manner, as if he were dealing with a particularly stubborn child. "Doctor Hospice, for over a hundred years we have provided treatment to handicapped children of every race. That is our mission statement."

"But that is precisely the problem," Hospice said. "You've got a philosophy of 'treating the children,' but nopony here has a dedication to treating the children's condition. Summer Day could be out of his wheelchair, at least walking in braces, with the newer therapy methods. And Spring Shower, there are new medicines up for pony testing right now that could get her feathers growing in properly. I could improve the condition of half the children here at the least if we pursued remedial methods aggressively. But any attempts I make to introduce therapy or pursue more advanced treatments has been ignored or even obstructed-"

"Because it's not helpful, Hospice," the stallion on the left, a stodgy balding orange pegasus, said. "We determined ages ago that the best approach for dealing with children who are permanently handicapped is to give them psychiatric counseling..."

"To accept their fate?" Hospice said. "Is that what you mean? Is that what you want me to do to 'treat' these children? To tell these children to give up, that there's no hope?"

The tweedy blue stallion on the mare's right spoke up. "Dr. Hospice, anything else is cruel!" he said. "You're making these crippled children cling to hope like a crutch!"

There was a long pause. Hospice's glare was so cold the desk-pony's fur should have frosted. "I'll just let you sit there and contemplate how stupid what you just said actually is," he said in a voice as flat as a tundra. The tweedy pony at least had the grace to look sheepish.

The mare spoke again. "Dr. Hospice, To help them accept their condition, and embrace their place in the handicapped community- your approach is hurting their self esteem. And word is getting out, too. You're starting to offend the handicapped community in Windy City..."

"THEY DON'T NEED A COMMUNITY, THEY NEED HEALING!" Hospice roared, slamming his forehooves down on the table so hard that it jumped off the floor. "And they HAVE a community... Equestria! Not some clique of college-student victimhood enablers-"

"That will be quite enough," the mare snapped. Hospice bit off his words and glared down at the table. The mare continued in an emotionless voice. "Doctor Hospice, your impartiality has been compromised by how close you are to some of these children. You cannot keep advocating extreme, foolishly heroic efforts-"

"Advising ponies to pursue the newest medical breakthroughs is not 'foolishly heroic', Doctor Catheter," Doctor Hospice growled stubbornly.

"-Advocating foolishly heroic efforts," she continued firmly, talking over him. "You are only upsetting the parents and making it more difficult for the children to accept their situation. You may mean well, but you don't know when to quit." She almost sounded sympathetic.

"The discussion is moot, anyway. We and the other senior members have decided to turn down your request for implementation of the new physical and thaumaturgical regimens suggested by our colleagues from Our Lady of Sunrise Hospital. Their work is... innovative. But much of it is just obvious showboating, stuff done to make a quick flash in the medical publications and with their financiers. And that sort of thing... isn't in the best interests of the Clinic.

She and the other two got to their hooves. "We're going to make this request only once, Doctor. Stick to the approved treatments and therapy, and stop... filling your patients' heads with nonsense." As one they turned and marched single-file out of the room, only stopping briefly in startlement to bow to the Princess waiting outside the door.

Once they were gone she quietly edged inside. "Doctor Hospice?"

Hospice was still sitting at the table, staring at it's surface like he could see the future in the wood grain. "Your Highness," he said without looking up. "Welcome back."

Dash shrugged over her shoulder. "That last bit there was rough," she said. She cocked an eyebrow and waited for him to fill in the details.

"It's the... new medical philosophy that's taking hold," he sighed. "Spearheaded by some of our local crop of Ivory Tower intellectuals, career students and Liberal Arts ninnies. A whole activist group dedicated to 'protecting the handicapped community.' Except their idea of 'protecting...' " He stopped and thumped his hoof on the table. "They don't want to cure physical handicaps or treat them- they want to normalize them."

"Normalize?" Dash said.

"It's an idea taking hold in a lot of fields, Princess," he said, getting to his feet. "Psychology, psychiatry, health and nutrition, physical and mental disability... You can't tell a fat pony they're fat, that's 'fat shaming.' You can't say that a retarded pony is retarded, that's 'prejudice against the mentally challenged.' Crazy ponies aren't crazy, they're 'differently sane.' " He snorted. "You can't try and help the lame to walk or the flightless to take wing, because you're 'taking away their cultural identity. ' That would make them feel bad."

"What they really mean is that it would take away their victimhood," he growled. "Instead of being perpetual victims, victims that the self-anointed compassionate can drown in crocodile tears to make themselves feel noble, they'd be ponies battling to overcome an illness. They might even be whole someday, perfectly healthy and normal ponies. And the self-anointed can't have that. They don't want to help others, they just want someone they can slobber all over.

"Do you know what Body Integrity Identity Disorder is, your Highness?" he went on. "It's a mental illness, one that's on the rise all thanks to this 'enlightened' outlook. It's where someone who is perfectly healthy is obsessed with becoming blind, or deaf, or an amputee. So much so that they'll mutilate themselves, to try and feel 'complete.' That's how addicted some ponies are to the privileges of being a victim, how deluded they are into thinking that being crippled will make them special."

"Is this... really a thing?" Dash asked, disbelieving.

"...I once had a patient, a young mare who was so fixated and obsessed with blindness, with being 'special' by being blind, that she poured bleach in her own eyes to make herself 'complete.'" Dash shuddered, horrified. "Well, she got her wish. Incurably blind. Surprise, surprise.

"I had another patient. Son of two deaf ponies, he was hearing impaired too, but not so much that a hearing aid gemstone wouldn't fix it. It's not even outpatient surgery to implant them... he could have had full hearing in a single day. But his parents refused to let him get the implants because he wouldn't be part of their deaf community anymore, they said. He's an adult now, but he still refuses to get the implants because of the brainwashing his parents gave him. He basically inherited BIID from his parents- He thinks he'll be 'incomplete' if he lets the doctors make him whole.

"Tell me, Princess: is there any real, practical difference between the end result of those two stories?"

"We used to understand that if something was broken, you fixed it," he said, his tone becoming bewildered. "You didn't take it and tell it how wonderful it was to be broken. When did that start becoming sane?"

Dash didn't know what to say.

He took a long, cleansing breath. "But...forgive me, Princess," he said with a sad smile. "You're not here to talk about my on-the-job difficulties. I assume you want to hear about the test results."

"Yeah, got it in one," Dash said. Two or three days prior, Dash had brought Doctor Hospice aboard the Thunderstreak and had him give Scootaloo a full medical exam. Dash had told Scootaloo that it was 'just a checkup, like the Wonderbolts have every year...' a fiction that the Doctor and the Wonderbolts both helped her sustain. The truth was that Dash had been doing some heavy-duty research into pegasus physicians, especially those who dealt with flight disabilities. Her digging had revealed that Doctor Hospice Care was one of the most highly recommended doctors in the field and had been for decades. The instant she had his name and found out he was in the city, she'd all but dragged him aboard to diagnose Scootaloo. He'd run a battery of tests on the filly, taken some samples of blood and feathers, and had left, informing Dash that he'd have the results in a day or two. If he couldn't figure out how to help Scootaloo-

No. She would not think that way. He'd figure it out. He was literally the best of the best.

"Well if you'll follow me..." he said, leaving the room. Dash followed him down the hall to his office, where he dug a manila folder out of a filing cabinet and magically spread it out in the air for them both to read. "Okay, the good news first: Scootaloo's muscle, bone, and feather structure are all normal," he said. "Wings are a hair undersized, but wing size, contrary to folklore, has little to do with flight ability."

"I know," Dash said, thinking of Snowflake, the sergeant in Fluttershy's Guard, and rolling her eyes. The sight of THAT pony flying around, on wings smaller than Scootaloo's, had put Scootaloo in a funk for days...

"And her wingpower- good night, you saw it, she dragged the testing table halfway across the floor and me along with it!" He laughed ruefully. "Basically, we can eliminate ninety percent of the known physical causes for flight impediment, and pretty much all of the truly serious ones."

"Aaaaand the bad news?"

By way of answer he pointed to a particular false-color photograph of the filly in question. It was a profile view and showed bands of color over her body and surrounding her in the air. "That means we've narrowed it down to her thaumatic flow," he said. "That's... trickier.

"Her overall magical current is good- she can push enough magic out through her wings to propel herself forward. And quite powerfully, too. See my previous comment about her wingpower test. See also my bruises and sprained gaskin." Dash snorted in amusement. "But somehow she is incapable of turning any of that thrust into lift."

"You see, part of a pegasus' natural ability is the ability to feel the air with their magic," he went on.

"Yeah, I kinda know that, Doc," Dash said. She flapped one wing, amused.

"Ah, of course you would," Hospice conceded politely. "But in order to control the air around them the proprioreception of their magic field has to be functional."

"Pro-what?"

"How do I put this? It's the sense that lets you tell where your own limbs are, how they're positioned. Ever had to touch your wingtip to your nose with your eyes closed? You could do that because you could feel where both your nose and your wingtips were, from the inside. You do the same thing with your magic field; you can feel it, and feel with it... which lets you control what it does to the air it touches. But Scootaloo, for some reason, her magical sense of touch is... blocked or impaired."

"Like if your leg falls asleep," Dash provided. "You can still stand on it and walk on it, but you're all wobbly because you can't feel your leg, or the ground you're standing on. It's all numb."

"Exactly. Scootaloo can't fly because her magic field is 'numb.' She can't tell what it's doing, at least not fully. Oh, she has enough control that she can propel herself, and her cloudwalking is naturally automatic, but the complexities of flight are too much for her to handle."

"So how do we fix it?" Dash said, pressing.

"That's where it gets difficult," Doctor Hospice said with a frown. "This sort of problem is fairly rare, and it can be... very difficult to nail down. Rare neural conditions, brain damage-"

"Brain damage ?"

"Not very likely in this case, I assure you," Hospice soothed. " I did examine her after all- No concussions or signs of head trauma. She has a fairly tough little noggin." He gave a rueful smile."But it does happen. Cases of pegasi getting a concussion, being perfectly fine otherwise... but for some reason their ability to fly is impaired or even... shut off, like a light switch, only for it to suddenly return without explanation. There's even cases of hysterical paralysis: the patient suffers some terrible emotional trauma and their mind reacts by rendering them deaf, mute, lame, blind. Or unable to fly. Mind, not afraid or unwilling to fly... literally unable, as if their wings had been paralyzed or their magic had been somehow severed. Only when they have a breakthrough about their trauma do they regain function."

"So this could be all in her head?" Dash said. This was becoming frustrating!

"That is where the brain is located," Hospice snarked. He immediately became apologetic again. "Sorry. It's just that so many ponies get so glib about problems with the mind and brain, or problems between the brain and body..."

"Yeah, I get it." Dash ran a hoof through her mane, embarrassed. "Just because it's in your head doesn't mean it's not real."

"Exactly. In this case... it could be any one of a dozen difficult-to-diagnose problems, physical, psychological or even somewhere in between. It would take months, or even years of testing and therapy, and even then we might never nail down exactly what the problem is much less fix it." He seemed to age years. "I'm sorry, your Highness."

"What? Hey, don't be!" Dash said, deliberately projecting confidence. "I mean hey, you narrowed it down, that's more than all the eggheads before you accomplished combined! I mean, it'd be great if she could just take a pill or something and fix it... but at least now that we know where to look for a solution. We'll have Scootaloo's flying problem licked in no time."

He smiled at her as he magically shuffled the contents of Scootaloo's folder back together. "So you intend to pursue treatment? Our clinic does recommend you ought to focus on... transitioning Scootaloo into her life as a physically challenged pony, instead." His sarcasm was tart as a peeled lemon.

"Buck that and pluck that," Dash snorted. "Look, I get that... that victims of an illness need to come together to help each other overcome their problem, you know? But this whole "accepting" thing? ...Maybe I'm wrong. But it's just not my gig. And I'm not gonna apologize for that."

Doctor Hospice gave her a wry smile and a cocked eyebrow. "In that case, your Highness, unfortunately I have to tell you that I do not know of pony physicians who might help with this matter." He locked eyes with her and his horn glowed; a pencil and a piece of paper levitated over to the table behind him and began writing. "I cannot recommend several magical therapy clinics in Manehattan, and it is strictly against clinic policy to suggest you get Scootaloo regular counseling for possible psychological roots to the problem- there are certainly no names on this paper of therapists who would be willing to work personally with you- and I'm terribly sorry but I cannot write out a recommendation to my colleagues-" another paper levitated over and the quill kept writing-" or any suggestions for possible courses of therapy... I am sorry but," he shrugged as the papers floated over to her, "my hooves are hobbled." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "I wish you luck."

Dash snickered. "I like your style, Doc," she said as she took the paper in her wing. "Why do you work out here, if you're butting heads with these buttheads?"

He sighed. "I used to work in the Manehattan hospitals, but I wanted to specialize in helping the physically disabled. And back in the day, all the work in physical disabilities was here in Windy City."

"So what happened?"

He grimaced. "I got here... but the college activists got here first."

Glingle ingle ingle.

Dash looked down at her collarbone. "The heck? Oh yeah. Scuse me, doc." She plucked her compact out of its setting. Like the rest of them, when the Tree had reclaimed the Elements, she had taken the peytral/necklace left behind and had a jeweler reshape the empty setting to hold her compact. She carried it around so much she practically forgot it was there. She popped it out of the setting and flipped it open. "Yello- oh, hey Squirt! How'd the thing with the Fools go?"

Scootaloo's face appeared in the mirror and her voice, high and tinny, came out. "Dash, it's me! Scootaloo! You're not going to believe what the mayor did...!"

…

"He WHAT?" Dash roared. Eyes blazing she spun around. Where was Harshwhinny? She'd made herself scarce the moment they'd arrived- "HARSHWHINNY! Where-"

"Your Highness?" Harshwhinny's voice came from behind her.

"YAAGH!" Dash yelped. She spun around with her wings flared. Harshwhinny stood there, not moving an inch, save for her eyebrow arching upward. Dash scowled. "Man, I oughta hang a bell on you," Dash grumbled. She held up her compact. "Harshwhinny, did you hear-?"

"Mayor ignored you, sent out the goon squads, rounded up the Nobody's Fools and dragged them down to Watch headquarters and is having them AND your protege' booked on every charge he can think up," Harshwhinny summed up in her caustic drawl. "I believe those were the high points?"

Dash paced in a tight circle, snarling and grinding her teeth and gritting out words so bitten off they were barely syllables. "That- I- he- wha- who- NEV- rrrAARRrrgh!"

"I feel obligated to remind your Highness that flying over there and ripping the Mayor's head off with your bare hooves would negatively impact your public opinion ratings," Harshwhinny droned. Her lip curled. "Well. At least among ponies who don't know the mayor personally, one suspects."

"Right, right, gotta do the Princess thing," Dash growled, her mane and tail frizzing. "Killing ponies bad, even if make Dash happy." She re-opened her compact, planning to have Scootaloo hand off the compact to someone in charge... then closed it. "No. I don't want him to see this coming," she said. She thought a minute then opened the compact. "Scootaloo? Sit tight, help is on the way. No, it's cool, I'm not mad at you. I promise. Harshwhinny?"

"Yes, your Highness?"

"...Sic 'em."

---

It was a dismal scene at the University Peak Precinct. Unsurprising, because nopony there was particularly happy. The Nobody's Fools had been cuffed, wing-bound, horn-ringed, brought in on a paddy wagon and dumped unceremoniously in the lobby to wait, as they had been informed with great relish by a sadistically seething and slightly bleeding Mayor, to be interrogated and booked. They were lined up on a hard wooden bench along the wall waiting their turn; some were sulking, some were seething (or in Crackerjack's case muttering dire threats should he ever get his cuffs or horn ring off), some were in dread or even outright despair.

The watchponies who were processing them weren't in particularly cheery moods themselves. Quite a few were nursing bruises, and even minor burns. Oddly enough, though some were a little heavy-hoofed in their handling of the Fools, the general attitude among them was that the Mayor and to a lesser degree the Commissioner were more to blame for their discomfort. Crash-raiding a bunch of kids in their clubhouse because the Mayor was in a snit did not sit well with the average watchpony.

Many of the Fools were all but in tears. The Mayor had clapped eyes on Presto's laboratory and Softy's work shop and had flipped his freaking lid. He'd started screeching about "drug and explosive labs" and "smuggling dolls" and had the Watch confiscate everything. They'd confiscated Spritz's paints, Zonk's toolkit, Bowser's flower pots, even poor Wheezy's inhaler and allergy pills... pretty much everything in the Fool's basement hideout that wasn't nailed down.

They had thrown everything in boxes, dragged it back to the precinct house where it was all meticulously disassembled and examined- or in layman's terms, they destroyed everything and sifted through the pieces for incriminating evidence. The Nobody's Fools were forced to watch as their beloved possessions were methodically violated in the name of the law. Potion ingredients were dumped out and sifted; plants were dumped out of their pots; even poor Softy's plush toys were ripped open at the seams and turned inside out in the quest for something incriminating.

"-There's nothing there," the pony in charge of examining the "evidence" said in annoyance to the Mayor. "This stuff is just what it looks like; harmless, perfectly legal junk."

"Heyy," said one of the colts. He was ignored.

"Oh don't give me that! Look at this- chemicals, drug paraphernalia-" the Mayor sputtered.

"That's bog-standard chemistry set glassware," the forensic pony growled. "And over-the-counter materials and chemicals. You can buy that stuff at any corner alchemy shop. It's perfectly legal to own in these quantities, even with all the safety ordinances you passed, Mayor." As the Mayor ground his teeth, the forensic pony continued. "Likewise the rest of it. The paints are mixes of rainbow juice- they wash off with water. So forget accusing them of vandalism." He winced as he recalled the little grey pony's wail of despair when the janitor, under orders from the staff, came in and started sloshing soapy water over the murals covering the walls. "The tools you could find in any sports shop. The dolls had nothing inside them but stuffing. And you're going to have to push through a lot more nitpicking ordinances before skateboards and rollerskates are completely illegal to own. Sir."

The Mayor fumed. "Don't give me any of your backtalk, " he said, jamming his bandaged hoof under the watchpony's nose. "They're miscreants and troublemakers and we caught them trespassing on private Academy property with a stockpile of potential pranking paraphernalia. That's more than enough for any judge to send them to juvie hall all by itself!"

"Sure, when the judge is your cousin," someone muttered.

The mayor's head whipped around. "Who said that?" Nopony fessed up, of course.

Then things started REALLY going downhill; the parents arrived. Despite their stubbornness, the watch had managed to squeeze the identities and personal information out of several of them, and take targeted guesses at the rest. In short order several of the Fools were now dealing with at least one parent distraught at being summoned by the Law, or with the dread of waiting for their own parental unit to appear through the front door.

The first to arrive was a coal black earth stallion with a dark red mane and a pickaxe cutie mark. Contrary to expectations, he was not a miner. He was a road crew worker. But, on a rocky mountain like Windy City, road work involved a lot of quarrying. He was an enormous pony, easily as large as Big Macintosh, with a heavy jaw and more than a few nicks and scars on his hide.

He paid little heed to the chatter of the watchponies around him and plodded with heavy tread to where Crackerjack sat sulking. The unicorn colt was looking a bit rumpled and bruised, and had fetters on all four hooves, a ring on his horn and was attached by a chain to the leg of the bench he was sitting on. The stallion raised an eyebrow at the rather excessive restraints on the pint-sized colt, but said nothing.

Crackerjack saw the shadow of his father cover him. He looked up, all his fighting temper gone. "Hi, Dad," he said, cowed.

"Boy," His father said, noncommitally. There was no tone to his voice, just an acknowledgement. "What you in for, boy?"

Crackerjack shrugged meekly. "I think they're trying to decide what to charge us with," he said.

Jackhammer- because that was his name- looked over at the watch pony next to him. "What's with the cuffs and chains?"

The pony in question replied stiffly. "When we conducted the raid on their hideout, he resisted arrest and physically assaulted several officers," he said.

Jackhammer raised an eyebrow again. He also took note that the watch pony in question was sporting a black eye, a bandage over his muzzle and that his speech was muffled from a swollen jaw. "Is that how it works, now," he said coolly. "Break down a man's door, attack him and then yell 'stop resisting!' while you beat him down." He looked at Crackerjack. "This your work, boy?" he said, tipping his head at the pony's battered face.

Crackerjack gave him and the watchpony a sidelong glance. "Uh, yeah, kinda." He was visibly struggling to keep a straight face.

Jackhammer looked the watchpony in the eye. "Bet that usually works out way better for you, don't it," he said coolly, giving the pony's nose a none too gentle poke. The watchpony winced and stepped back, then glared at Jackhammer while he rubbed his nose, growling. "Now git a key and git those things offa my boy." The watchpony started to say something, but picked up on the growling bass in the massive earth pony's voice and wisely reconsidered. He got out a key, removed the hobbles and horn-ring, and skedaddled.

Jackhammer sat down next to his son."These the ponies you hang out with?" he said, indicating the other Fools on the bench.

"Yup," Crackerjack nodded without looking up.

Jackhammer mulled that over. "Wouldn't y' rather hang out with other unicorns, doin'... unicorn stuff?" he said. His tone was surprisingly cautious for one so large. "That's Why your ma and I put you in that magical primary school the Academy runs."

The look his son gave him was incredulous. "And what are 'unicorn things,' Dad?" he asked scornfully. "I just hang out with these guys because I like them, and they like me. And we all do stuff that we LIKE, not just the stuff we're supposed to. That's what I like about them. With them, it don't matter what you are."

"I can see that," his father said, taking note of the motley crew lining the wall.

"They don't think I'm too weak or puny or, or unicorny to be a fighter," Crackerjack muttered under his breath.

Jackhammer heard him. He winced, and was about to protest that Crackerjack was still too young, and just too small... then he caught another glimpse of that watchpony with the bandaged nose. The silence stretched on for a minute; he stuck his jaw out as he ruminated what he'd heard and seen. "Seems like you're liable to get in a lot o' scrappin', hanging out with this lot," he finally said.

Crackerjack looked unhappy, but he nodded.

"Seems to me you need to learn a little discipline about that sort o' thing." Crackerjack cringed, looking up at his father with a face full of woe.

"There's a fancy fighting school, a do-jo, or whatever...run by a minotaur... just downhill of here," he finally said. "Might do you a world o' good."

Crackerjack's face lit up with hope like the sun.

---

Over at one of the desks, a zebra in a watch uniform was typing in the information on a certain zonkey in handcuffs. "Name?"

"Uh, Zonk."

"Real name, kid," the zebra said sarcastically.

Zonk sighed, rolled his eyes fatalistically, and recited a serious of liquid-sounding syllables.

The zebra paused in his typing and gave him an unamused glare. "I bet you think that's funny, kid," he said.

"No, but my father thought it was hysterical," Zonk riposted dryly. "My mother, on the other hand, thought it was a name."

The zebra thought it over. "Ah. One of those." He resumed typing.

---

Foster had no warning. One minute he was being led over to a desk for processing or booking or whatever they called it, and he was suddenly struck amidships by a middle aged pegasus mare who began sobbing over him hysterically. "Oh Foster, Foster, where have you BEEN?" she wailed. "What happened to you?"

"Mom?" he gasped. "Mom, no, I'm fine-" Banana crème simply sobbed and clutched him tighter. Oh no, he thought. He looked around; yep, it was bad as he expected and getting worse. Here came his dad, Banana Bread, his grandfather Banana Supreme, his grandmother Banana Liqueur, his uncle Banana Smoothie- even his baby sister Banana Pudding was here. Augh! They mobbed him, shouting questions and imprecations.

"-Where have you been?-""

"-Arrested! When we heard-"

"-when you vanished. Your professors had no idea-"

"Wow! Are you gonna go to JAIL, Foster?" This last one cut through the hubbub like a thrown war axe. It came from a tiny yellow pegasus filly with freckles, a gap in her front teeth, A honey-colored mane tied up into two enormous pom pom ponytails, and a look of absolute adoration in her big blue eyes. She sounded as if being hauled off to prison was the most awesome idea ever. "Didja rob a bank?" she asked eagerly.

Foster ignored the rest of his family- it was easy to do, they were all standing there gaping in horror at the filly's artless outburst- and knelt down to look his little sister in the eye. "No, Nanner Puddin', I didn't rob a bank," he chuckled.

"Awww." She stuck out her lower lip as her sugarplum visions of gunfire and mayhem and daring daylight robberies were burst like a bubble.

"And no, I'm not going to jail either," he added. I hope. "Mayor Tubbyguts just wants to pick on me and my friends."

"Nanner" stuck out her tongue at the absent Mayor. "The big Doodyhead," she said.

Foster's smile got wider. "Missed you, Boogerface," he said to his favorite little sister.

She jumped forward and threw her forelimbs around his neck in a hug. "Missed you too, Boogerbrain."

It was then that the family matriarch Banana Liqueur resumed the assault. She came striding in, closing range like a man-of-war under full sail, and launched her first full broadside. "Is this what you've come to, Bananas Foster?" She said, her voice ringing off the walls. Every pony in the building surely could hear what she was saying- which he was sure was her intention. "You abandon your education at the Academy... not even dropping out properly, one day you just disappear! And now we find you've spent this last year or more running around with these vagrant criminal hooligans- The shame you've brought on the name Bananas by your actions, I-"

"Mother, enough," Banana Bread said wearily. "Son... why did you run off like that?"

"I didn't RUN OFF," Foster said, embarrassed at the floor show his family was putting on... and more at the way all his friends were gawking as they eavesdropped. "I broke off contact. There's a subtle difference."

"But why? Why would you give up all the opportunities of the Academy? A first rate education, a diploma that would open all sorts of doors, all those powerful and influential ponies you could have connected with..." Liqueur butted in again.

"BECAUSE THEY WERE WANKERS, GRANDMA!" Foster yelled. "All of them! The students were either trust fund foals with silver horseshoes up their butt who looked down on everyone, or dreadlock-maned ninnies who had a new stupid "cause" to protest every three days. And the professors were even worse! They were either slave drivers, or senile old locoweed-munchers who thought they were still fighting "the man" in their sixties." Due to his parents putting him in the business management end of the pool, of course, he had gotten most of the former in both cases. "And besides... I was flunking out." He looked away. The confession hurt more than he'd expected.

"Flunking out?" His uncle huffed. "Well if you'd just applied yourself, it-"

"I DID, I DID!" He yelled in frustration. "But take a look at my hip, already!" He stood up and waved his cutie mark- a banana peel and a fizzing cartoon bomb- in their faces. "Does that say 'business mega-mogul' to you? Are those bit coins or money symbols? NO! I'm a comedian! But you wouldn't believe me when I told you that! From the time I was a foal, you force-fed me the whole idea of a Banana Family Empire, that I was the heir to the throne, and I had to be ready. You also force fed me my weight in bananas, too. Banana mush when I was a baby. Bananas in my cereal. Banana cake for my birthday. Sun Dried Banana Flakes... If my mouth was open you stuffed a banana in it. Wouldn't do for the heir to the Chiquita Archipelago Banana Fortune to be seen not eating a banana would it?

You wouldn't let me take acting or performing courses, or join the acting club at school, or anything actually to do with my special talent. You forced me to take business classes, and management classes, and accounting- accounting, sweet Celestia, why not just poison me in my sleep? You made me join the Young Business Tycoon's Club, and sent me off to Entrepreneur's Summer Camp. Whoa, what a summer that was! 'Yay, kids, let's all gather round the campfire and learn how to do a Power Point Presentation! '

"-And I sucked at all of it! I was so bad at business I had to declare bankruptcy on my first lemonade stand! The bank foreclosed on my Daring Do Adventure Land Treehouse! I was the first twelve year old to be audited by the Equestrian Revenue service!

"I got to college on this stupid 'early start' program you stuffed me into and it was the same thing. YOU picked my major; business major, of COURSE. That was the deal- business major or nothin'. And in six months I crashed and burned. In ALL the courses. Do you get it yet? Crash. And. BURN. I went down in flames- AIEEEE, This is it, we're goin' down, Mayday, Mayday, ARRRGH KAWHOOM Oh the horror NO SURVIVOOOORRRRS!" He pantomimed a panicking helmsman guiding a flaming zeppelin to its final doom.

"So, I just... snapped one day. Got up in the middle of my accounting class, walked out of the classroom, walked out of the building, walked out of the campus and kept. WALKING." He bugged his eyes out at them.

"Mach One was a friend of mine. He found me wandering around Scholar's Peak like a zompony. He and the Nobody's Fools took me in, let me crash at their place while my brain re-wound itself. Yeah, I was sleeping in a basement on a stack of cardboard boxes. And you know what? My life was actually better.

"I started odd jobbing. Started doing a little streetcorner stuff, little comedy routines for money tossed in a hat. Even got a gig at a diner for a stand up routine a couple times. And guess what- surprise surprise, I'm GOOD at it! Wow, the guy with the cutie mark of a banana peel and a cartoon bomb is good at comedy. IMAGINE THAT, GRANDMA AND GRANDPA! WHAT A LEAP OF LOGIC!" His strangled shriek was was delivered point blank at his horrified grandparents' faces.

"I've spent the last year living my dream, but every minute of it looking over my shoulder, convinced that you were gonna send those hired goons of yours, those two enormous stallion who couldn't speak Equestrian, to find me and physically drag me back home to the island like you did when I was ten and tried to run away and join a travelling show. Do you know I've spent my entire life since with a pathological fear of unibrows? Even now I scream and wet myself when I heard a Hosstrian accent without warning.

"And now here you are, you finally came after me. And you know what? I DON'T CARE! I don't care if you scream at me, or yell at me, or threaten me, or cut me off, or disown me- I'm NOT going back, I'm NOT going to schmooze with the rich and worthless for you, I'm NOT going to be your heir apparent to your stupid Banana Empire!"

He grinned at them in wild-eyed maniacal triumph, his tie askew and his mane a tousled mess. His entire clan (with the exception of Nanner Puddin', who was giggling fit to bust) stared at him in wide eyed shock, and possibly a bit of fear, thoroughly cowed. All around, ponies- those in the watch and those in the Nobody's Fools- were fighting to keep from laughing. The desk jockeys and dispatcher were doubled over with silent laughter. Even the watch ponies were sniggering up their armored sleeves. "Oh, and one other thing," he said, suddenly calm and collected, his voice mellifluous. "Just for the record, in case anypony wonders, really all I'm trying to say is-"

He lunged over the rail, grabbed the microphone to the intercom off the dispatcher's desk, and screamed

"I."

"HATE."

"BANANAS!"

It took several minutes for all the ponies present to regain their composure.

---

It was not a good day for the Watch. While many of the kids they'd collared were getting chewed out for getting on the wrong side of the law, the law was finding out that many of the Nobody's Fools had a surprising number of parental figures in their corner. Wheezer was currently being fussed over by his mother, a chubby little olive-colored pony with a black mane in a bun and a baker's apron and a mothering attitude that hovered around her in a cloud. When she found out that her baby's medicines and inhaler had been confiscated had proceeded to turn into a screeching fury who had verbally torn through the arresting officers, leaving them shaking and broken in her wake- and hustling to get her baby's inhaler back to him.

Fledge's parents were no less formidable. His father was currently staring down a desk jockey with a gaze that could spot a vole scurrying through the grass at a thousand feet. "Are you telling me," he said in a deceptively calm voice, "That my son goes to visit his friends- who are some of North Face Leap's favorite clients, by the way- and you arrest him, throw him in a paddywagon and drag him down here to book him just for being present and in your reach?"

Another watchpony was undergoing something of a zen exercise, trying to deal with Bowser's parents. The two Diamond Dogs stared at him, uncomprehending, as he tried to explain for a third time why their adopted son was sitting cuffed to a stool. "So... he do nothing? Then why he here?"

"Your son is being held on suspicion of involvement with a group with possible ties to a suspected group with potential terrorist intentions..." he rattled off the legalese, hoping to buffalo them into turning their ire on their surely miscreant son.

Contrary to popular misunderstanding due to certain mentally deficient populations of their species roaming abroad in Equestria... Diamond dogs do not buffalo easily. The male of the pair looked at him with half-lidded, contemptuous eyes and began counting off on his fingers. "So...maybe involved with group that maybe connected to other group that maybe have plans that maybe terrorist..." He held up a paw. "Four maybes. You get one more maybe, you reach 'once upon a time.' " His eyelids drooped further. "We know ponies think Diamond Dogs stupid, but ROCKS not THAT dumb."

Still another was dealing with the ire of Flute's mother and father. And flubbing fantastically. "He resisted arrest, he's refused to cooperate with us, to answer any questions or give us any information when we demanded it-"

"He's a MUTE, you idiot!" Flute's mother said on an ascending shout. She had voice for opera and she knew how to use it. "How was he supposed to cooperate with you WHEN HE CAN'T EVEN SPEAK? ARE YOU OVERPAID THUGS DELIBERATELY TRAINED TO TERRORIZE THE HANDICAPPED?"

Her husband gave the mortified watchpony an amused look. "So tell me, young feller, how's that horseshoe you're wearing actually taste?"

Flute wasn't even paying attention. He was too busy helping Softy's mother comfort him as he tearfully looked over the boxes of maimed toys he had made... While Softy's father, a slate grey unicorn with eyes like chipped ice, went between eyeing the stack of "evidence boxes" full of the children's damaged possessions, and eyeballing another unfortunate watchpony like he was deciding which internal organ to remove first. "I hope you've got a receipt for all that," he said in a sibilant hiss.

Mayor Fussbudget was not a happy pony anymore. He sat in the Commissioner's office, listening to the uproar as the parents of the Nobody's Fools clashed with the City Watch's bureaucracy, nursing his bandaged leg, barking at his intern and contemplating his next move. This was not going as planned. It seemed these hoodlums were not, as he thought, a bunch of half-abandoned street urchins. They had parents. Involved parents. Some of them were even respectable.

Gold Star was sitting across from him, looking amused. "Welcome to the nitty-gritty world of law enforcement," he said. "Dealing with irate parents and guardians of children who've broken the law. Of course, it's worlds easier when you didn't bend the law yourself... or when they've actually done something to justify it."

"They're being arrested on suspicion of conspiracy to terrorism," the Mayor snapped. "That's perfectly legal."

Gold Star sat up behind his desk and leaned forward. "No, Mayor," he said calmly. "Reasonable suspicion is perfectly legal. And that's only good for briefly detaining somepony, not arresting them and throwing them in the clink, which requires probable cause. And you don't even have either of those, here."

"We got a warrant! They sent a terrorist threat to my office!" He held up the document in question.

"That warrant your cousin signed has holes in it you could drive the Friendship Express through," Gold Star snorted. "Somepony slipping a letter with a logo stamped on it onto your desk doesn't count as evidence. Anypony could have written that letter and drawn that logo based off that one colt's rainbow-paint murals. Your petty grudge against the Nobody's Fools has made you stupid." He looked out of the office window on the growing ruckus in the main floor. "The only reason I have cooperated with you is because you would have suspended me, appointed one of your cronies in my place, and then gone out with a brute squad and turned this fiasco into an outright tragedy."

Fussbudget turned from red to purple. He marched out of the office, intern scurrying in his wake. The moment he came into view the parents rounded on him and closed in. The din became deafening. Mayor Fussbudget seized the dispatcher's microphone (much to her annoyance, it was really getting on her nerves when ponies did that) and climbed up on a handy stool.

"NOW LISTEN UP!" he shouted. The crowd of angry parents quieted down. "These youngsters have been arrested, and are being detained, on suspicion of terrorist activity. We secured physical evidence of their involvement and a warrant for their arrest, complete with a judge's signature. They are not going ANYWHERE!"

"I beg to differ," somepony drawled.

Everyone turned to see who the speaker was. She stood in the door, in a short skirt and a long jacket with creases as crisp as new legal forms. She had panniers loaded with scrolls, polished hooves that shone like justice and a glare so hard it could etch glass.

"Hello again, Mayor," Harshwhinny said as she strode into the building. "I believe you know me. I am the personal assistant of Princess Rainbow Dash. I am here to see to the release of the ponies... and others... collectively known as the Nobody's Fools. Please get to it." She stood there with the air of someone pretending to wait patiently.

The collective response was best summed up as "What?" Several ponies in fact said this. Some were confused. A few were elated. One was infuriated. "WHAT?" Mayor Fussbudget said, sputtering. "Just who do you think you are?"

Harshwhinny's eyelids lowered a micrometer. "I believe I already stated that in full," she said, her lip curling.

"Poindexter!" the mayor shouted. Reading his boss' mind, the lanky intern scurried forward with the papers. "We have a warrant-" the Mayor started to rant. He snatched it from Poindexter and crammed it into her face.

Harshwhinny's sneer didn't budge an inch. "I could pilot Her Highness' royal zeppelin through the holes in that document," she said. "And even if it were worth more than the paper it was printed on... it's less than irrelevant." She reached into her pannier and pulled out a scroll, snapping it open so sharply one could almost hear the whipcrack. "Royal Pardon, from Her Highness Princess Rainbow Dash." She set it down and pulled out another with another snap. "Blanket amnesty for incidences involved in the arrest and incarceration of said individuals." She pulled out a third. "Blanket amnesty for any prior arrests, charges, crimes and misdemeanours."

Mayor Fussbudget seethed. He tried to play his last trump card. "Regardless, these have to go through the proper procedures and departments to-"

Without any other part of her expression changing, Miss Harshwhinny smiled at him. It was a sight to frighten full grown stallions. "Don't even try, Mayor," she said. "I've already filled out all the paperwork, and I've greased the wheels in all the right places so that the necessary documents are already in manila files all over City Hall marked "Filed Yesterday."

"Let me make it clear: You have screwed up. You've bent the law in more places than a Silly Straw, made a public spectacle of yourself doing it- brilliant move, by the way, bringing along a news reporter on your little "raid" in hopes of a photo op- and left a paper trail a blind idiot could follow. I'm a career bureaucrat. I know ALL the tricks, Mayor.

"The Nobody's Fools are walking out of here, and they're walking out of here with a clean slate. You give me even a moment's hassle on releasing these children and I will make you think you have your man-tackle in a pencil sharpener. I'm from the government, Mister Mayor, and I eat my own kind."

Fussbudget swallowed, sweat rolling down his temple. "Officers, release the suspects," he whimpered.

Foster leaned over to Spritz. "Dude. I'm kinda scaroused, right now." Spritz nodded, wide eyed.

Harshwhinny turned and faced the crowd. "On behalf of Her Highness," she said in a carrying voice, "I would like to apologize to all involved for the inconvenience and hardship this incident has caused." The mood of the crowd of parents improved notably. "By way of apology, Her Highness Princess Rainbow Dash has issued free passes to all the members of the Nobody's Fools, and their immediate families, to the grand opening Wonderbolts show tonight at the Thunderdome-" shouts of disbelief and surprise greeted this. The mood went relieved to festive. Harshwhinny looked down in her pannier. "And... ten-bit coupon stubs for the concession stand as well," she finished in a monotone. "We have transportation waiting outside to take you all to the stadium now." Happy, if happily bewildered, ponies began filing outside, golden tickets in hoof.

Harshwhinny turned back to the somewhat frazzled Watch and their train-wrecked Mayor. "I have been ordered to personally secure and escort the leader of the Nobody's Fools known as Mach One, and Her Highness' royal assistant Scootaloo," she said. "Where are they?"

"I'll take you to them." Gold Star had stepped out of the office and was standing behind the Mayor.

"Thank you." As Harshwhinny strode past the Mayor she fished a newspaper out of her pannier and tossed it to him. It struck him in the chest and fell to the floor in front of him, falling with the front page up. MAYORAL FIASCO, the headline blared. Above the fold was a full color photograph of the Mayor howling in pain as the Princess' enraged junior apprentice sank her teeth into his foreleg. WINNING FRIENDS AND INFLUENCING PEOPLE, the caption read. Mayor Fussbudget strikes again: Mayor arrests foster sister of new Princess in "raid" on local skateboarding club.

Fussbudget groaned.

---

Mach One and Scootaloo had been left alone in one of the precinct's spare offices, a watch pony standing guard at the open door. To "Separate the gang from the influence of their leader" and to "protect the filly from retaliation for being an informant," had been the reason given. Scootaloo knew better; that rotten Mayor was doing it to make the other colts scared by dragging Mach away...and to keep her from talking to the others so they'd keep thinking she really had ratted them out. The knowledge sat in her stomach like a lead ball.

They were sitting in opposite corners of the room, not saying anything. Mach One was carefully not looking at her, his face stony. Scootaloo wet her lips, trying to speak. Her tongue felt like it was made of stone. "I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I'm sorry, Mach, I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was with Rainbow Dash." She choked. "But I promise, I swear I didn't rat you out to the mayor!"

Mach lifted his head and looked at her in surprise. "I didn't!" she repeated. "I didn't tell anyone your names, or where your hideout was- not even Rainbow Dash! Heck, she woulda given me what for, if I broke my word to somepony like that! I was supposed to talk to you guys for her," she lamented. "To persuade you to come see her. She wanted to see you, it's really important... but that stupid Mayor found out I knew and... he must've had somepony tail me or something-" She started puddling up. She wiped at her eyes angrily.

"Wait wait wait, hold on," Mach said, holding up his hooves. "I believe you."

"You do?" she croaked tearily. "That I didn't squeal?"

"Uh, yeah," he said. He let out a little laugh. "I sorta figured that out when you bit the Mayor." He crossed the room, pulling a tissue from the box on the desk with his good wing. He dabbed at her eyes. "Come on now, tough girls don't cry..."

"Then—then why were you sitting there looking so mad?" she snuffled. She took the tissue from him and wiped her nose.

"I wasn't mad at you." He lowered his head and looked aside. "I was trying to figure out how to apologize to you."

"Wha? Why?"

"Because I've screwed up your life!" he said, his rump hitting the floor. "You're a Princess' assistant... hoofmaiden... foster... thingy. Whatever. You're up there with royalty! And now you've been arrested, and your name has been dragged in the mud. Because of US. Because of me." He hung his head.

Scootaloo started giggling through her sniffles. He looked at her, puzzlement on his face. "Boy, you REALLY don't know Rainbow Dash," she said. "She couldn't care less about this kind of thing. Shoot, she probably woulda sneaked out and tried to join the Nobody's Fools herself, if she thought she could!"

"So, what, she likes pranks or something?"

Scootaloo laughed. "She loves them! She pulls them all the time! She and Pinkie Pie used to prank everyone in Ponyville all the time."

"You're kidding."

Scootaloo snickered. "My favorite was the one she did with the four piglets."

Mach was hooked. "What did she do with the four piglets?" he asked, leaning in, an anticipatory smile on his face.

Scootaloo leaned in too. "Okay, so she borrowed four baby piggies from Applejack's farm," she said. "And she let them loose in Town Hall."

"That's, well, okay, kinda funny, but it's not much," Mach said, unimpressed.

"Well this is the good part," Scootaloo said. "Just before she let them loose, she painted numbers on their sides. One, Two, Three... and Five."

It took him a minute, then understanding blossomed on his face. "Oh that is brilliant and evil," he said.

Scootaloo cackled. "Mayor Mare spent the whole day going out of her mind trying to find Pig number Four!" she said gleefully. The two snorted and guffawed for a minute.

"Considering she pranked the Mayor, I get the feeling she's scraped up against the law herself a little bit," Mach One said.

Scootaloo smiled sentimentally. "Yeah," she said. "She's not gonna be too wound up about this. Especially since it was the MAYOR that screwed everything up." Her smile faded. "Do... do you think the other Fools are mad at me?"

Mach One thought. "Well, they might be a little bit mad you never told them you worked for a Princess," he said. "It sorta came out in an ugly surprise, after all. But they'll get over it. All us Fools have secrets, after all." he shrugged. "And if any of 'em are dumb enough to blame you for what happened, I'll have a word with 'em." He looked around. "Well," he said, his good cheer fading. "If we get out of THIS mess, anyway."

Somepony rapped on the door frame. The two looked up. Standing in the hallway were Gold Star and Harshwhinny. "Come along, you two," Harshwhinny said sternly. "We're going back to the Princess."

Mach's ears pricked up under his hoodie. "What? "We?" "

"Yes, you too," Harshwhinny said patiently. "Now that the Royal pardon has gone through, we need to be moving. Chop chop."

"Wait. What? Pardon?"

They marched out single file, Harshwhinny in the lead. When they reached the bullpen they found the Mayor still standing there, looking as depressed as a half-deflated parade float, and staring at the front page of a freshly printed newspaper. As they walked past, Mach looked over at the newspaper and read the headline. He sighed and shook his head.

The Mayor looked up at him and froze. In all the hubbub, he had never gotten a good look at the hoodied leader of the gang they'd rounded up. His face froze in horrified recognition. "You?" he croaked.

Mach One sighed, deigning to answer the unspoken question. "You always were a poozer, Uncle Fussbudget," he said, and walked on out without even looking back.