Onto the Pony Planet
Chapter 26: A Royal Meeting, part II
Admiral Biscuit

Lyra eyed the open half of the makeshift bench. We were supposed to only come inside for the food and tea, then take it back outside. That was the plan—I thought he understood. Her dress wasn't exactly made for sitting in, not without a whole bunch of awkward twisting around.

I can't stay standing, though—not with Princess Celestia already seated. She ran through a quick list of options in her head and rejected them all, before deciding simplicity was best. She stuck a hoof on the chair to hold it stationary, took a moment to compose herself, and pushed upward, while using a tiny bit of telekinesis to keep the hem of her dress out from underhoof. Her plate wavered briefly in her field, but she got her hind legs on the chair without slipping off or dropping anything.

She lifted her tail to push the dress as far back as she could, her face reddening slightly at the inappropriateness of the motion. Still, better that than using a noticeable amount of magic shifting the hem, which would be even less appropriate. Luckily, Celestia was focused on her plate, and Dale was focused on the princess.

She quickly dropped to her belly, letting her tail fall and her dress drape over the edge of the chair, before letting out a breath. I'm okay until I have to get back off this stupid chair.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Diamond Mint watching from the doorway to the dining room, a pot of tea and a tray of teacups floating beside her head.

Why did you let him bring out the chairs? Lyra mouthed at her.

She shrugged and tipped her ears back. It was his idea. What could I do?

Lyra rolled her eyes, then closed them. She took a deep breath and held it, picturing the placid rock garden in her mind. She couldn't change what had passed, but she'd have to make sure that Dale clearly understood what was supposed to happen next time.

She let out a long, slow exhale, and reached out her left forehoof just enough to lightly touch Dale's thigh, then she opened her eyes and pulled her plate closer.

Dale, she was happy to see, hadn't touched his food yet. Even if they hadn't had time to cover proper etiquette with Cheerilee, he'd been smart enough to bow without instructions, and had figured out he wasn't supposed to start eating until the tea was poured.

Right on cue, Diamond walked around them. She bowed slightly, making sure to let the serving tray also lower respectfully, then poured a cup for Princess Celestia.

After the princess had levitated it off the tray, Diamond turned and poured two more, offering one to Dale first. He glanced over at Celestia's cup and hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. Take it, Lyra thought, giving him a gentle nudge with her hoof.

Dale jerked, and then picked the cup and saucer off the tray. As soon as his arm had completely cleared the tray, Lyra took hers, holding it in place beside her plate.

A moment later, she wanted to kick herself. She and the Princess would have no difficulty with their food, but Dale had a challenge—with both hands full, he couldn't eat anything unless he drank all his tea first, and the only way he could drink would be if he used two fingers to hold the cup, while supporting the saucer with the others. There was no place to set it except the floor, and to do that would be incredibly gauche in any company, never mind the Princess's.

I could hold onto his plates with my field. Hopefully, he doesn't jerk away. She watched as Celestia lifted her teacup and took a sip. Lyra was just about to reach out when Dale set his plate on his knee. His brow furrowed as he brought the cup close to his lips, but he took a sip and let the flavor coat his palate before swallowing.

She breathed a sigh of relief at his creative solution and sampled her licorice tea. His method might not be conventional, but it was probably socially acceptable. I bet Princess Celestia sees all kinds of different social customs—I wonder how she keeps track of them all? While the university had held a semi-formal dinner for the minotaurs, she hadn’t actually paid all that much attention to what they were doing with their hands. Now she wished she had.

That led to thoughts of what else might go wrong, and she quickly tried to shove them back. Intellectually, she knew that Princess Celestia wouldn't get upset if everything didn't go exactly according to plan, but it would be a reflection on her, and she didn't need that.

She eyed the staircase warily. Any moment now, she expected Kate to come down. She knew Lecol and Redheart were up there, and if Rarity hadn't left, she was upstairs, too. In the backyard, they'd have been fine: Kate hadn't shown much interest in exploring outside, undoubtedly due to her injuries.

They ate in silence. Normally it would have been polite to make small-talk, but Lyra imagined that Princess Celestia was avoiding it in order to not make Dale feel uncomfortable. She surely knew that he didn't know much of their language, and it was hard to believe that Princess Celestia knew much of his. With all of her other responsibilities, it was impressive that she had learned any of it.

That was going to make the upcoming conversation very difficult. Lyra hoped that the Princess had a plan, because she wasn't sure she was ready to translate anything really important.

You should have spent more time studying. You knew Princess Celestia would be coming, and you knew it was your duty to make sure all of her words are understood. Anything less would be a failure.

Moller was idly tapping his pen on his desk when Richter walked in. It was the first time he'd seen the federal agent since the incident with the hair, although they had spoken on the phone a few times. Richter had gone back to his field office for a couple of days. Probably wanted to go over everything one more time on his home turf before he came back to Crazyville.

But that was unfair. The agent had probably gotten a dressing-down for failure to produce any viable suspects yet. The only good news was that in the interim, the local media had found something else to focus on, and the case hadn’t yet made national news.

"So I found a guy," Moller announced. "A professor who’ll be able to tie this all together."

"Oh, really?" Richter didn't sound enthused. "Got the answer, does he?"

"No." Moller tapped his pen against the desk a few more times before sticking it in his pocket. "No, he hasn't got an answer. He hasn't even got a theory, yet. I e-mailed him copies of some of the reports we've received so far to see what he makes of them."

"Despite what I said earlier, I've got my doubts." Richter pulled a chair across the office and sat down. "I don't want to send evidence to some guy—professor or not—and have it come back and bite us in the trial."

"I'm not sending him evidence," Moller countered. "Not yet, anyway. Do you think I just got out of the academy? All that's still being handled the usual way. I've only given him reports so far."

"Even that's kind of iffy," Richter reminded him.

Moller shrugged. "I've got to pique his interest. Look, we might be overlooking something obvious here—you, me, the labs. Let's say we are. Just hypothetically. Maybe he gets the stuff I've sent him, and reads through it, and says that there's a perfectly mundane explanation for all the things Mr. Paard left behind. Weird, maybe, but mundane. Maybe he says he's not interested in going any further with this. Even at that, we might know more than we do now.

"Or maybe he finds some incongruities. Maybe even if it doesn't give us a location, it gives us a method—that's something, right? More than we've got now."

"That's an awful lot of 'maybes.'" Richter leaned forward. "I assume you've already gone over the analysis of the books?"

"Yeah. Didn't really mean much to me . . . see, this is what I'm talking about."

"What, that you aren't an expert in old books? Neither of us are. That's why we have the experts at the lab." He waved his hand at the stack of papers on Moller's desk. "That's why you have that. You're not Sherlock Holmes, and neither am I. The days of being an expert at everything are long gone."

"Yeah, the lab report. Don't you find it odd that nobody has the slightest clue what language the books are in? Because I do."

"Oh come on." Richter crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. "We've been over that. It's some kind of made-up language, or it's a weird code." He sighed. "They're probably a dead-end, although I suppose there's the possibility that they've got a route to his secret lair."

"I sent it to Professor Forsyth last night," Moller said. "This morning, I got a reply. It wasn't what I was expecting."

"Let me guess, he translated it."

"Not hardly."

"Already, I'm getting tired of playing this game. If he didn't translate it, what did he do?"

"He put the pieces together. Sort of." Moller frowned at Richter's raised eyebrow. "Sorry—I'm not trying to be mysterious. Look, it's the subtle details we've been missing, and they're the ones that are jumping out at him. For starters, he noticed that the report indicated that each book was printed on a different press."

"Well, we didn't think that Mr. Paard printed them out on his own computer."

"Then there's the interesting matter of there being no animal products used in the glue or in the cover. They're not synthetic, either, they're organic. Odd for books of this type—they're usually leather-bound. Even more interesting is that the folios are only twelve pages. Most commercial presses aren't set up that way."

"So? They could have been hand-done. That's a hobby, you know."

"I know. And you're right. They could have been, uh, sexturnion. Nothing to prevent that. It's just odd, that's all. Here's what else is odd—how closely did you look at that report? Because the grimoire was typeset."

"I thought you weren't an expert in old books."

"I'm not." Moller turned his monitor around. "It's all right here—here and in the report your lab ginned up."

"Okay, yeah. I do remember seeing that. That's how stuff used to be printed, though, right? I mean, everything, from the Gutenberg Bible to those pulp novels in the thirties."

"So imagine you wanted to reprint one of those novels in Chinese," Moller said. "You'd need a whole new set of letters. More than one of each, because the same letter might occur more than once on each set of pages. With these, you'd need to have enough letters to print six pages at a time. I'm sure that there's some kind of printer's formula that covers that, but the point is you'd need it all."

"Which means, somebody had to do all that just to print one book."

"And they had to do it more than once, since the characters are different. That's a lot of effort to put into a one-off hoax."

Richter rubbed his chin. "If you were planning on printing a bunch of these books, it might make sense, though."

"Yeah. That's the only way it makes sense." He spread his arms on the desk. "See, I told you it was worth getting another expert on board."

"Is it? Because that still doesn't answer the most obvious question."

"No. You're right, it doesn't. It just gives us another lead to pursue—somewhere, there are more of these books, and I'd bet that if we can find where they are, that'll give us a nice, solid lead on where Kate is."

Dale had felt Lyra getting increasingly tense throughout the refreshments, and he wished he could reach out to her. He already knew how much most of the ponies loved physical contact—something Kate was fully exploiting—but he wasn't exactly comfortable with it, especially in light of the important meeting they were having. Practically any motion could be misunderstood, and he'd been keeping his fidgeting to a minimum by virtue of his plate and teacup. Those had kept his hands occupied.

Once they’d finished their snacks and their tea, Diamond Mint had taken all the dishes away. Then she’d brought in a salver with a second tea service on it, which she’d set off to the side. Dale imagined that as a servant, she wasn’t supposed to be in the room when they were having an important discussion, and they would have to serve themselves whenever they got thirsty.

For a moment, the room was silent. Dale rested his hands on his thighs, resisting the urge to wipe them on his pants. Instead, he focused on Princess Celestia's mane. Just like the hair he'd found on the beach, it kept changing colors and slowly shifting around despite the lack of wind in the room.

He blinked as he felt a prod against his thigh, which reminded him that Lyra was still touching him with a hoof. That gave him an idea which he hoped wouldn't be misconstrued. He let his hands fall to the chair, his right against the cushion while his left touched her leg. It was a small thing, but it was reassuring: a reminder that they were both in this together until the end.

The wrap of her shoes felt odd under his hand—it was a sign of his acclimation to their culture that touching a mare through clothes felt weird. Wouldn’t it be something if I finally got so accustomed to it that I decided to start going around in my birthday suit? He wouldn’t, of course . . . but what if Kate decided to? Could he get used to that?

He clenched his hand as Princess Celestia's horn lit. During the refreshments the glow had been muted, to the point he'd hardly noticed. Now that there was no obvious focus, Dale was slightly apprehensive. Yet, he'd already made the visceral decision that he could trust her, even if he wasn't quite sure why. So he leaned forward in his chair, feeling Lyra doing the same.

She focused on a spot between them, and a moment later, a scene sprung to life. It was another sort-of hologram, something that George Lucas could have only wished was possible.

It was a little less impressive than it would have been otherwise, since he'd already seen Princess Luna do the same. These figures were slightly cruder, and there weren’t a lot of extraneous details, as if Princess Celestia had less practice making holograms—or maybe less talent.

The little figures were just standing around, awaiting their orders, when Celestia spoke. "My language is not good yet. Does this make you upset?"

"No?" Upset? About what? That she can't speak much English? That there's a little me she's guiding with her horn? Does she not know that the other Princess has already done the same thing? "It is okay."

"Earlier, Twilight ask you if you will be ambassador." Her speech was smooth and melodious, almost musical. He wondered if that was her normal way of speaking, or if it was a result of translating her language into English. Lyra, he'd noticed, had a similar habit, while the rest of the ponies spoke more normally. Zecora was the only other exception—while she hadn't ever said a word in English, there was a rhythmic cadence to her speech that was lacking in all the other ponies.

While he watched, a small purple unicorn moved to him, a rolled-up paper in her mouth. Mini-Dale held the scroll and looked at it.

The scene changed slightly; now he and Lyra were before Princess Celestia, complete with small speech-bubbles above them. As before, there were simple geometric patterns in their speech. It was basically an animated version of the cartoon which he had been shown at the hospital.

"Yes," he said cautiously. "I signed that."

"Then, you maybe did not understand," Celestia said. Mini-Dale's eyes swirled around in his head. "Did not know much language. Lyra did choose with knowing, but you did not have knowing. I would like to have her explain however she must before I hear your choice."

She bowed her head slightly and the figures winked out. "Before she does, I must tell you that we cannot send you back." Two figures re-appeared—himself and Celestia. A beam of light shot from Celestia's horn, and his figure flashed brightly, then a wisp of smoke came out of mini-Dale's head and it fell on its face. "We are trying to fix this."

He only noticed the ranks of unicorns bent over their scrolls for an instant, because his mind had locked on mini-Dale being zapped. Without even thinking, he turned to Lyra. "What did that mean?"

Her ears drooped, and Dale clenched his hand around her leg.

"Is not . . . that." Her ears flicked back, then forward again. "Not." She licked her lips. "When Lyra and Princess Celestia went to Dale home, we did not expect you, but we were not . . . against you. We could have. . . ." Her ears went down again, and Dale turned fully towards her. For just a moment, Lyra's eyes went distant, and when she spoke again, her voice was husky. "We . . . I wanted to go back, to learn more. Even if . . . if it not go right." She muttered something else under her breath, something which sounded suspiciously like a swear. "You do not use magic like we, and all magic can hurt you. Is like crystal in lamp, yes?"

Dale looked at her in confusion, trying to process what she was saying, then he remembered when she had taken the gemstone and exploded it in the lamp.

That was the whole crux of the matter: whatever it was they did with their horns could hurt him quite badly. He'd already grasped that concept, but he hadn't really internalized it. Celestia's cartoon hologram was illustrating that if they did whatever they'd done to get them here, it might injure them. Electricity was useful, but sticking a fork in the wall socket could kill you.

He rubbed his free hand across the stubble on his head. If flashburns and hair loss were all that happened . . . well, that was unpleasant, but something that could be survived. The rest of his injuries could be attributed to the fight on the beach. Still, that left Kate's hand unexplained—it hadn't just been flashburned, it had been cooked off.

Dale held his hand over his mouth as he swallowed down bile. Now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't think of anything else. Suddenly, Princess Celestia's caution was crystal clear. He could wind up back on Earth as a charred husk if something went wrong, and they were being rightly cautious.

It’s like the lamp—it’s the ponies’ lamp and crystal conundrum. They don’t know why their teleporter malfunctioned, and they can’t be sure it won’t happen again. “You don't know what happened, do you?"

Lyra shook her head.

"So you don't want to risk it." He thought back to the beach—there had been others there. The two Coast Guard men he'd knocked down—were they here? When Lyra beamed back to her home—however she'd done it—had they come with them? And if they had . . . did they live? Were they in a hospital room? An isolation ward? Were they charred husks? Would it be better if they'd arrived dead? Or had they been far enough back to avoid being taken? He had to know. "What about the others?"

"Others?"

"On the beach. Before the beach. We came out of woods, and there were two . . . guards. Dressed like Kate. I knocked them down."

She nodded. "Yes, I remember. Dale say, 'Run.'"

"Are they here?"

Lyra shook her head. "Only Dale and Kate."

So they survived, or else whatever they did to get me here doesn't take dead bodies with it. He tried to reconstruct the scene . . . maybe the further you were from the central effect, the more damage you took. Maybe that was why Lyra had gotten off scot-free, he'd gotten flashburns, and Kate had nearly lost a hand. Maybe they had somehow been out of the primary range.

That didn't quite make sense, since she still had her hair, and since he couldn’t think of any effect that caused greater damage the farther you were from it.

"So." He suddenly remembered Princess Celestia, and turned back to face her. "You're asking if I am still willing to be bound by this agreement, knowing that I may not actually be able to ever go back to Earth."

"Lyra, please translate—I do not want to misunderstand."

Lyra nodded, and spoke directly to the princess. Dale marvelled that he could catch any words at all—despite his slacking, he really was picking up their language.

"Yes." Princess Celestia said once Lyra was done speaking.

What would the point be? he wanted to ask. If there's no way for safe back-and-forth travel, what's my purpose?

"Even if we cannot send you back, it is only a matter of time before your kin find us."

Longer than you think. Or was it? How many inventions had gone from nonexistent to everyday in his lifetime . . . and what about his grandfather's? Perhaps once mankind figured out it was possible, it wouldn't take that long to figure out how to do it.

Even if it did take a while—even if he was in the ground long before the next human arrived—the ponies would benefit from everything they could learn from him. He would have no way of knowing if that knowledge might translate into a military advantage; in that light, was talking to them selling out? Was he a traitor if he accepted? Or was it already too late? Had he already given them too much with the books? And did it really matter?

"Does what I decide affect Kate? Will I choose for her?" He had never sworn duty to his country, but she had. He could not, in good conscience, speak for her about this.

Celestia thought about this for a moment. "No. She must decide when she is able."

"Will you give Kate the same offer?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in her answer.

He narrowed his eyes. "What if she doesn't accept? What then?"

"I will not force you or her to act against your will, and I will not punish you or her if you do not accept."

He hesitated for a moment, worried about overstepping his bounds, but he had to know, so he spoke slowly and clearly. “She did not choose any of this. If she does not accept your terms, will you ensure that she is kept in comfort until you can send her back?”

“Yes. I accept full responsibility for her care until Kate is safely returned to her home.”

Dale nodded: he had nothing to lose by taking her offer. Not in the near future, anyway. Maybe he'd regret it once regular travel was established between the worlds; until then, he could do his best to learn about their culture and teach them about Earth. That was what he'd had a mind to do after he agreed to the first meeting on North Fox, and there was no reason to change now.

Still, he was going to have to have a good heart-to-heart conversation with Kate before Princess Celestia presented the question. Make sure she had plenty of time to weigh the options in her mind, since she hadn't asked for any of this.

"I agree to your terms."

"Very well." Celestia beamed at him, then turned to Lyra, and the two of them carried on a short discussion in their language.

"We do not know how long your ambassadors serve for," Lyra told him.

"Neither do I." He was pretty sure it wasn't a lifetime thing. It probably had to do with the whims of the sitting President. That was another thing to consider—one he couldn’t predict. Going forward, he was going to have to explain that to Lyra. He wasn’t sure what kind of timeline the ponies were on, but if it took them more than a few months to figure this out, they might be negotiating with Romney instead of Obama. “Until they’re replaced, I guess.”

Lyra frowned, and spoke briefly with the princess. “She will have an official paper brought to you, once you have made your choice."

"A contract?"

"I do not know contract."

"A plan? It says what I'm supposed to do, and how long I'm supposed to do it for."

Lyra brightened. "Yes. It does not have a stop day, because you do not know enough of our language to understand at the beginning." Her ears fell. "So you can stop whenever you want."

That was something no contract lawyer on Earth would come up with—usually, they hoped people would get bogged down in the legalese and sign themselves up for something they ought not to have. If it wasn't a lie—if he was understanding Lyra correctly—they were making an effort to be certain that wouldn't happen here. Either they were that certain he'd take the offer and stick with it, or there was a nasty penalty clause somewhere.

Well, until he signed the actual contract, it wasn't a done deal, and he had every intention of going through it line-by-line with Lyra before he signed.

"There is one more important matter." Celestia lit her horn again, and two figures reappeared—Lyra and himself. "We have chosen Lyra as our ambassador, but you do not have to accept her." Mini-Dale snubbed Lyra and walked away. "We can choose another." A white unicorn stallion with a blonde mane appeared in place of Lyra.

"No." Dale shook his head to emphasize his point. "I will not have anyone else. It is her or nothing."

Kate twirled around in her room, letting her new dress fan out around her. She'd tried on everything the alabaster unicorn had brought her before finally deciding on her ensemble.

The three ponies in her room had chattered amongst themselves while she was getting dressed, and once she'd finished, the white one had brought out a small bottle of pink nail polish.

The slender white unicorn began painting her fingernails, while the shorter one who'd brought her clothes attacked her hair with a brush. Kate wasn't sure why she suddenly rated the full beauty treatment, and the old man wasn't around to explain it to her. She'd spotted him crouching in the backyard earlier, accompanied by the mint unicorn he hung out with.

He'd named a few of them when they sat around the table downstairs, but all their names were dumb and unpronounceable. He should have given them normal names—she resented that he hadn't.

After finishing her fingernails, the slender unicorn moved on to her feet. Kate watched her for a minute, then reached across the bed for the lacy chemise she'd tried on earlier. It would be the perfect thing to wear to bed tonight, a real improvement over the open-backed hospital shirts she'd been wearing.

A blue glow in front of her face caused her to focus back in front of her. The unicorn had finished styling her hair, piling it on top of her head in a loose bun held in place with a pair of chopsticks.

Both unicorns gave her a once-over, and the nurse flashed an encouraging smile. Kate grinned back—it had been a long time since she’d gotten all prettied up for anything. The last time she’d worn a formal dress was Senior Prom; now she was wondering why she’d ever stopped. The silky fabric made her feel like some kind of fashion model.

She only lacked shoes. Somehow, with all the other clothes she’d been given, there hadn’t been any shoes.

Kate walked into the hallway, then went to the bathroom. There was a bigger mirror over the sink, where she could get a better look at herself.

“I want to be certain that he understands these documents,” Princess Celestia said. “After I leave, I want you to go over them with him until you are positive he understands completely. If there are parts you do not understand, perhaps Twilight could help you, or you could go to the town hall and ask one of the ponies there. Please tell him that.”

Lyra nodded. “Princess Celestia says . . . this is very important, and Dale should take time to understand all first. Not write mark before.”

“Write mark?”

Lyra pointed to her hip, sketching out the outline of her cutie mark with her hoof. Dale looked at her blankly for a moment.

“You write mark before, at hospital.”

“Oh.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger together and imitated signing his name. “Write mark?”

“Yes.”

He furrowed his brow and looked at Lyra curiously, and then back at Princess Celestia. She could tell that he was slightly confused, although she wasn't certain why. It was almost as if he didn't understand the concept of a civil bond, although it was hard to conceive how that was possible—his definition had been roughly accurate. Even if some ponies thought that his world was backwards and barbaric, she was certain from what she'd seen in his camp that that wasn't the case.

But the memory of his reaction to the blue-suited tribe nagged at her. The way he had reacted to them. Back then, she hadn’t known enough of his language to tease the intent out of the tone, but now she could, and to her memory, the dark-skinned man who had first addressed Dale hadn’t been combative, but simply curious. So why had Dale attacked him? The recent trial had brought that question back to the fore of her mind, and she heard Noble Voice’s incessant questioning echoing through her head:

How well did she really know him?

It was a dangerous line of thinking. Aside from that incident, he had been curious and patient. Cautious. Deliberate. So why had he so violently reacted to what sounded to her like an innocent statement?

Could it be that Dale's tribe was at war with Kate's tribe? After the scuffle in the hospital, he had shown no signs of aggression towards Kate, and had taken an interest in making sure that her treatment was effective. That wasn't how enemies behaved: she knew from the Hearth's Warming pageant that the earth ponies of old would have happily stood by while the unicorns starved to death, even if in so doing they doomed themselves. The schism was too deeply seated for it to have been any other way, and if it hadn't been for the stroke of luck that brought the three tribes together, there might not have been a modern Equestria.

She blew out her nostrils, remembering too late that she was in the presence of the Princess. “Sorry. Um, it may take him a while to understand the contract. I . . . there may be some difficult concepts to translate. That won't be a problem, will it?”

“No. The original contract is provisional, and while it does not have an ending date, it is not as encompassing as the one you have in front of you now. However, it is not as durable a contract, and as such could be challenged by other interested parties. In the short term, you should not worry, but in the long term, if he does not sign the new contract, things might become . . . interesting in Canterlot.”

“I understand.” It wasn't entirely true, but she knew it was what she was supposed to say. National politics were something most mares tried not to think about too much: while a civics class in primary school had laid out the framework of how the system was supposed to work, according to every newspaper she’d ever read, the Nobles’ Council was mostly filled with empty-headed stallions who spent all their time shirking their own responsibilities, while explaining how nopony else was doing their job. It was a wonder anything got accomplished.

Lyra had noticed that Dale also kept glancing up the stairs. She knew what he was worried about—it was constantly on her mind as well. It was one thing when Kate decided to get friendly with a guard; everypony had a good chuckle afterward, and no harm was done. The Princess was another matter entirely. It would reflect badly on all of them if Kate staggered down the stairs and glomped the Princess.

She hoped that the nurses were doing their best to keep Kate upstairs, and she hoped that the Princess wouldn't ask to see Kate. Deep down, though, she knew that was a forlorn hope. The two coming in contact was inevitable, and all she could pray was that things wouldn't go too horribly wrong when it happened.

Lyra emptied her teacup and gently floated it over to the serving tray Diamond Mint had left for them. Dale hadn't quite finished his, but it would be all right to continue the conversation before he did.

“I would like to keep his actual duties vague for the time being,” Celestia explained. “I believe that we will learn more from a casual relationship than a formal one. You should continue to work on language as much as possible, but do not cloister yourself in the embassy unless he wishes to do so.”

“Do I have to stay here?” Lyra's pupils shrank as she realized what she'd just said. “I mean, um, at night.”

Celestia's eyes sparkled with amusement. “Far be it for me to forbid you from contact with your friends. I would not want you to have to resort to foalish games in an attempt to circumvent such a prohibition. This is not a jail sentence, Lyra Heartstrings; you should take some time for yourself. I cannot ask you to stop being yourself in light of your new duties.

“I do ask that whenever it is reasonable, you make an attempt to include Dale in your activities. I understand that there will be occasions when you wish to have some free time, and you should take it. I do not want either of you to become overstressed by your duties. You should continue to live your own lives whenever possible.”

“We went to the market yesterday,” she said. “And then to the spa.” She looked over at Dale. It was awkward carrying on a discussion with the Princess while he just sat there. She could never tell how much he understood in normal conversation; it felt like they were making significant progress, even if they both spoke slower than they normally would, but when Dale spoke to Kate, Lyra usually missed most of the words. “Did you enjoy visiting the market yesterday?”

It took a moment before he answered—she guessed that during the long conversation he hadn't been a part of, he'd zoned out. “Um, yes.” Dale looked at Princess Celestia. “I had a nice time at market. I met very many ponies and they were nice. One of them gave me candy.”

Celestia smiled at him. “Lyra tells me you visited the spa, as well. Did you enjoy that?”

“Um . . . it was nice.”

Lyra winced at the insincerity in his voice. “He doesn't like social bathing. I’m not sure about the mare—about Kate. It’s been a necessity, because of her injury.” And because she's doped to the gills on morphine. “Doctor Lecol says that she’s nearly cured.”

“I would like to see her.”

“That isn't—“

“She's loopy in the morning.”

Celestia frowned. “What is loopy?”

“The drugs,” Dale explained. “They make her not normal.”

“What he means to say,” Lyra said, “is that Kate is not . . . behaving.”

“I’ve read the reports.” Celestia frowned at the pair. “From the hospital, and from the trial. I understand that her behavior is not normal due to the drugs the doctors have been administering, and I do not consider that a reflection on anypony in Ponyville. It is regrettable that she has had such a reaction to her medication, but I am fully aware that such side effects happen. I will not judge either of you by her behavior, nor will I consider her behavior to be representative. Unless the nurses have a compelling reason why I shouldn’t speak with her, I must insist on it.”

“May I talk to Dale?”

Celestia nodded.

She could have whispered in his ear, in the hopes that he might come up with some excuse why Kate had to remain cloistered in her room, and if it had been anypony besides Princess Celestia, she probably would have. “Princess Celestia wants to see Kate,” she said simply. “If Redheart says it is okay.”

“She—“ Dale studied her for a moment, then looked back at Lyra. “She does not wish to punish Kate, does she? It is not her fault that she is acting like she is. It is the drugs the doctors are giving her.”

“She knows,” Lyra said. “I think—“ Her mind flashed back to the hospital room. “I think that if the Princess wanted to punish Kate for her behavior, she already would have.”

“Good point. Well, if she wants to.” He squeezed her pastern lightly. “I hope she likes being petted.”

Lyra winced at his words. Of course she knew what Kate's first reaction to everypony she met was, but to have said it in front of the Princess!

“Should I go upstairs and fetch her?”

“Not now,” Lyra whispered, then turned to face the Princess. “When would you like to see her? She usually has a treatment in the morning, and then eats breakfast and takes a shower. It, um, takes her a while to get ready. Because of her injury.”

“There’s no rush. We still have some things we should talk about,” Princess Celestia said. “Although you have not brought the subject up, there is the question of a budget for the embassy. You need not concern yourself with the day-to-day operations, of course. Now, your salary is determined by Equestrian law. Has Twilight shown you the paperwork?”

Lyra nodded. It was more than she'd ever earned in her life.

“I wish it were more, but the Nobles' Council was unwilling to budge on the issue. At least Raven was able to raise the amount somewhat, since ambassadors don't normally have to learn a language from scratch.

“As for Dale and Kate . . . typically, their home nation would pay their salary. In this case, of course, it is impossible. I am sure that both of them will wish to buy things.”

“Dale asked when we were at the market,” Lyra confirmed. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”

“Besides yourself, who do you think Dale trusts the most?”

It didn't take Lyra very long to come up with an answer. She'd noticed that Dale seemed the most comfortable around earth ponies. “Starlight.”

“Very well. I shall have her handle the embassy's accounts, if she’s willing to do so.” Celestia sighed. “It has been quite some time since we’ve had to set up an embassy from scratch. I think that next week, I’ll send Raven out to help with all the minutiae, unless you would prefer that I handle it myself.”

Lyra shook her head. It wouldn’t be right to monopolize the Princess’s time with minor contractual details. Surely Dale would understand that, too.

“When she is here, I would like you to schedule a time when you and Dale could come to Canterlot. There are a lot of people who would like to meet him, and the castle has more space for such a gathering. If you think she is able to travel, I would like for Kate to attend as well.”

He had only begun to scratch the surface, of that he was certain. Dr. Forsyth had been up far later than he should have the night before, reading through the materials the cop had sent him. He'd hammered out a quick e-mail back, covering the oddities he'd found in the lab report about the books . . . it wasn't much, but he’d been sure the cop would be impressed enough to send more.

And send more he had. This time it was a police report. Some of it had been censored with a Sharpie—witness names, mostly, but a few locations had been blacked out as well. That probably wasn't necessary; the mention of North Fox Island had been enough for some elementary Googling to let him figure out that it was about the missing Coast Guard woman. He'd seen posts on Facebook, and he'd overheard a fellow professor who had a friend that lived in Kewadin theorizing about the case, but he hadn't thought much else about it.

That had changed the moment he'd read through the—as he jokingly called it—Book Report. While an evening's work hadn't provided any answers, it had raised an awful lot of questions. The latest report only raised more questions. He couldn't blame the police for being stumped; he was stumped. While he might have been the last person in the world who could successfully identify a suspect, he was no slouch at figuring things out, and the evidence should have been more than enough. Their suspect had left behind a literal campsite full of potential clues.

Admittedly, he didn't know all that much more about police work than what he saw on TV, but it struck him as perfectly logical that the police would focus on what they believed were likely clues, and ignore the rest. He also knew that most scientists would take the opposite tack, documenting everything and figuring out later what was useless. On top of that, he was sure that to them, a success was when somebody went to jail. For a scientist, even an experiment which failed was useful, because it made the next experiment better.

If the books were an example, most of the evidence which the police had collected—and which Moller was willing to share with him—would come pre-analyzed. He had no illusions that he was ever going to get an actual piece of evidence to hold in his hands; cops just didn't work that way. Frankly, it was surprising that Moller had been willing to go as far off the reservation as he had. It was possible that could change—if he could come up with something absolutely brilliant, he might shake something loose—but it was best not to count on that.

He could probably anticipate a slow trickle of reports to cross his desk, and he'd shuttle them on to the most appropriate person. He'd already sent a copy of the Book Report on to Doctor Seymour in the Medieval History department for a more detailed examination, and even if that was his only role in the investigation, he could be happy with it. The pursuit of knowledge was its own reward, after all, and it would be a nice break from teaching apathetic glassy-eyed students fresh from summer vacation.

But he still had some time left before the fall semester started, and he could use that time productively by going beyond. He knew, deep down, that sooner or later he'd reach a point in the data where he wanted to go to North Fox—where he needed to go to North Fox—and it would be his luck that when that point was reached, it was mid-terms, or the lake was partially iced-over. But if he went now. . . .

Getting funded was out of the question, of course. While he could probably come up with a grant proposal, it would take months for it to be approved, if it ever was. He'd need something more solid than a few weird books, anyway. A hunch wasn't going to fly, even if it was a really good hunch. Luckily, although his pay was hardly princely, his frugal lifestyle and general disdain for vacations and the like left him with a decent amount of disposable income, and this was as good a way to spend it as any. If he picked the right friends, he could get a reasonably well-equipped expedition out to the island for a few grand, and if they found anything substantial, other professors would be falling all over themselves to join his little expedition.

He'd been at the university long enough that he had a fair number of friends scattered throughout nearly every department, so the real challenge was deciding on who would make up his primary task force—who'd give him the most bang for the buck, so to speak. He guessed that he probably wouldn't be able to take more than a dozen on a charter boat, once all the equipment was factored in, although he'd have to talk to his colleague who had the relative in Kewadin. Since it was the tail end of the tourist season, a boat might be hard to come by on short notice, but he was sure that he could find one somewhere.

He printed out a new copy of the latest e-mail and started to pore over it again, this time reading it to decide who might be the most helpful on the island, and what parts of the report he could show them to pique their interest.

Kate made her way cautiously down the hallway. It had been too long since she'd last worn a dress, and even without high heels it was difficult to manage. She kept worrying that she'd step on the hem and trip herself. The tall unicorn was in front of her, while nurse White was just behind, and trailing at the very end of their little procession was the alabaster unicorn.

When she reached the top of the stairs and saw the new pegacorn in the room, she didn't rush right down the stairs to greet it. She'd already realized that the stairs could be problematic with the dress, even if she did have both hands to help her.

If she'd been wearing her pajamas or her uniform, she would have run, because the new pegacorn was tall enough to ride. All of the ones she'd encountered so far had been too short and stumpy, except for the midnight-blue one with the biting mane.

It only took her a second to realize that this one also had a moving mane. Why? It's not fair! She narrowed her eyes shrewdly. Maybe . . . maybe one of the unicorns that helped her could touch it. They moved things around all the time with their magic glowy light. Surely this would be no different.

White normally wears her mane in a bun, and they just put my hair the same way. I bet they could do the same to the new pegacorn. Kate nodded resolutely. She'd get downstairs, and then ask one of the ponies to help her. If they didn't understand, she could ask Rorschach. He talked to them, after all.

She set one foot on the riser, and then paused. These ponies are all smart, so they won't want to be ridden without something in exchange. Petting might not be enough. I could get a treat from the kitchen . . . but maybe I should offer something more. She lifted her foot back off the riser and turned.

There was a bit of confusion as she went back to her room. The pair who had been following her had to clear the way: Clothes Horse turned around, while Nurse White just backed down the hall, her head turned so she could see where she was going.

At her room, it was no better. They had no idea what she was planning, and could only react to her movements. The two shorter ponies got briefly tangled in her doorway, while the tall unicorn kept back, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Kate didn’t worry about them; she had a more important goal in mind.

It didn't take long for Kate to grab up the basket of grooming supplies. They were still on top of her dresser, where Tall had put them. She slid the basket up her left arm and headed back into the hallway, causing another brief flurry of hooves as the ponies got back into their positions.

Kate stopped at the top of the stairs, gripped the banister firmly, and began her descent. This time, Tall waited until she was sure Kate was following before proceeding down the staircase.

All the way down, she cautioned herself to pay attention to her feet and not the white pegacorn who was standing with Rorschach and his pet unicorn. She didn't really focus on her surroundings until she'd reached the safety of the ground floor without tripping.

It was then that she noticed that the room had been significantly re-decorated since she'd last been downstairs. Last night before she went to bed, she'd seen a couple of ponies bringing in flowers, but now the whole room was full of them, their scent nearly overpowering. To her right, a short table carried a small buffet, which would be nice for later. After she got her horseback ride.

She clapped her hands eagerly as the tall white pegacorn moved towards her. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was her vision of what a unicorn should be—what she'd imagined they must look like when she was a child.

The golden yoke around its neck worried her slightly. She remembered in the old myths that a golden bridle could capture a unicorn, and perhaps pegacorns could be bound into servitude by placing a golden yoke around their necks: the fairy tales hadn't been clear on that last detail. If she could find a way past its mane, perhaps she could get the yoke off and free it.

Then it was right in front of her, and she drank in every detail of the flawless muzzle and the kind magenta eyes. When it bowed its head, she was no longer able to restrain herself, and she stepped forward and hugged its head against her breast, tears of joy leaking down her cheeks.

“You're beautiful,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” the pegacorn whispered back.

Author's Notes:

As always, click HERE for behind-the-scenes stuff and some fun facts!

I've got to give a huge thanks to my pre-readers and creative consultants—they spent two weeks working on this, up to about four hours ago: Humanist, AnormalUnicornPony, metallusionsismagic, AShadowOfCygnus, bitbrony, MSPiper, MrZJunior, Forderz, Woonsocket Wrench, and my parents.