There is a saying, “between a rock and a hard place.”  There is also a similar saying, often used in a joking relation to the first: rock, meet hard place.  While the first talked of being trapped between two hard choices, the latter was often used as a result of when said choice was made.  There was, however, the odd occasion when the statement was more an analysis of physics than a philosophical discussion of moral issues.

Jumping into the new reality, Pinkie Pie found this out the hard way as soon as she entered.  She stepped, and found herself about ten feet above the ground.  Legs wheeling in the air, she practically swam across the void in an attempt to reach the building across the way, but even gravity occasionally held sway over the pink gypsy pony.  Down she fell, landing with a painful THUD.

Ow….  What happened?  I could have sworn that I was on solid ground.  Pinkie scratched her head, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong.  Fishing in her bag, she pulled out her gift from Twilight, The Official Guide to Staying Out of Trouble.  Pinkie flipped through to the chapter on teleporting, and halfway down the page was her answer: “When teleporting long distances, make sure that where you’re going is the same incline as where you are – leaving from a hill might put you over a cliff when you stop.”  Pinkie thought back to the Hierophant’s castle, and how it had been on a hill; the same rules that applied to teleporting apparently applied to reality jumping and so next time Pinkie would have to be a lot more careful about staying on solid ground.

There was a sudden loud shriek above, and Pinkie whipped her head to look up.  As Pumpkin Tart had warned, the mass exchange requirement was occurring, and sections of roofing on the building next to her were sucked into the gate before it winked out of existence.  Pinkie had been incredibly lucky that it had been some inanimate objects that had been pulled into the other Pinkie’s world and not something worse.  Sorry, Pinkie, I’ll make it up to you.

But now that she had a chance to get her footing, she looked around.  The world, to put it simply, was dirty; dirty in a way that would give Rarity conniption fits.  While the white unicorn often teased Applejack (and occasionally Pinkie) about farm life, this was far dirtier than anything the fashionista could imagine.  The cleanest thing around was probably the road she stood on, cracked and well-trodden much like the dirt roads around Ponyville, but that was where the similarities ended.  The buildings in the town were ramshackle, cobbled together from various materials and looked like they were coated with multiple layers of rust and soot.  The houses were stacked much too close together, even closer than the townhouses in Blinky’s neighborhood.  The road was like this as well; extremely narrow, so much so that somepony like Big Mac would have a hard time walking through.  That, or if he tried to do so, he’d probably get a scrape from one of the various pieces of rusty metal and probably would require a tetanus shot from Doctor Stable.

The dirt seemed to extend to the sky, it seemed.  While the air above didn’t seem to be as bad as the parts of the Hierophant’s dying world, in some ways the unnatural colors would have been preferred, because they were at least prettier than what Pinkie was seeing now.  The sky was a uniform gray, much like a winter day before the Equestriani Weather Service started a snowfall session.  Trails of wispy green-and-charcoal smoke traced lines through the horizon, too thin and ragged to be clouds, but what else could they be?  In the distance, something smoky seemed to be dropping towards the earth in a haze; it looked at first like a distant rain shower, but Pinkie had never seen rain like that.  As she attuned to this place, she noticed that while there was no silence like the dead world she’d left, there was a lack of distinctive natural sounds, but plenty of artificial ones: engines thrummed in the background, wires above gave the hum of electricity, and somewhere there was the deep reverberating bass of a huge motor running.

This place is weird, she admitted to herself.  Not scary, but…sad and dreary.  I’m not even sure I could put a smile on anything here.  As the road was empty and the area seemingly deserted, she moved on, following the long, curving road until she met an intersection.  Turning right, she followed the equally-long pathway, until she started to hear signs of life on the other side of a crumbling, dingy white wall.  Unfortunately too high for Pinkie to climb, she followed the wall for a while longer until she found a break in it large enough for her to squeeze in.

The place turned out to be a huge open-air market in the center of an amphitheater.  There were thousands of ponies present, pressed together by narrow pathways between the stalls and the everyday bustle of ponies shopping.  Various voices called out, busking their wares: “Get your Baked Reds here!”  “Silky-smooth Yellows available now, guaranteed fresh from the fabricants!”  “We only carry the finest Blues and Greens; don’t settle for anything less!”  The crowd continued to mill through, many wearing cloaks or something, but, like the sky and the buildings, it was all shades of gray and brown, and it seemed for even a second that despite the usual spectrum of pony coats, the world was somehow muted and intent on ending the existence of anything other than earth tones.

And lastly, posted on huge screens like the TV she had at home, a repeating message: a symbol of a star, superimposed with alicorns on either side of a shield, with thick block letters underneath: GLORY TO THE QUEEN.  Occasionally, the message would be replaced with other information that didn’t make sense: P through Z, BLOCK A to report to STATION 6 today.  All in BLOCK Q are reminded to see medtechs no later than Floreal 16th.  As Pinkie watched, she saw a bit of news regarding the Queen’s Own defeating EFRA in someplace called Sector 7.  She couldn’t complain about that last one: she’d heard plenty of odd names when it came to sports teams (she was a fan of the Canterlot Secretariats when it came to hoofball, and she and Derpy – a fan of the Maneiapolis Seabiscuits, for some reason – always had a game party during the rival teams’ annual showdown.)

It was after spending a few minutes making her way through the throngs when she realized something else: everyone here was a unicorn, with not a single pegasus or earth pony in sight.  From the ponies running the stalls to the shoppers, from the young children looking with amazement at everything to the ponies sitting bored in the corners, all had the horn of a unicorn.  Suddenly, despite being surrounded by dozens of ponies, Pinkie felt alone in a way she’d never felt before.  Being in the world of the Hierophant with only one other soul didn’t feel so alone as being the apparent solitary individual of your tribe when all else were others, and in that second Pinkie understood whenever Luna talked about the desolation of the moon and being trapped within herself for a thousand years.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t feel her pack being undone and then stolen; by the time she did feel it, she saw a white blur taking off into the distance, working its way through the crowds.  The thief was fast and agile, able to weave through the crowds the same way Rainbow Dash regularly rocketed through Ghastly Gorge.  Within seconds, that spot of white was lost in the press of ponies, well in the distance away.

Pinkie grinned; had this been anyone else, they would have called for the authorities, but by that time it would be too late.  While someone was trying to be a Meanie McMeanerson by stealing her packs, she’d just have to take care of the issue herself – Pinkie style.

═╬═

Racing through the crowd, the thief was as quick as a fan’s breeze and as agile as a scuttlesnake as she wove her way through the crowds.  With the ease of someone very acrobatic, she leapt through an unattended cart, onto a nearby box and leapt over the wall, pirouetting in mid-air before landing on the ground with a soft thump.  Moving back against the wall, she took quick, shallow breaths, ready to take off if needed.  After waiting a few seconds and deciding the coast was clear, she sat down, the thief began to rifle through the bags, searching for something good – maybe a high-quality Purple or that treasure of treasures, an Orange.

She had been so busy, she never noticed the pink pony standing next to her.  “Hi!” Pinkie chirped in a friendly manner.  “While running around is fun, I’ve got other stuff to do, so can I have my bags back, please?”

Without so much as saying anything, the thief immediately took off at a high speed, Pinkie bouncing along merrily.  The thief rushed down two long streets, then climbed up a hastily-built ladder to scurry over a few rooftops before jumping down onto a wall and back to the street.  There were now dozens of buildings between the thief and the owner, so there would be no chance of—

“That was fun!  But like I said, I really need my bags back.  So, would you please return them?”

And so the cat-and-mouse game continued.  The thief would take off in a random direction, using every trick in her arsenal to escape, only to find the strange pink pony somehow just one step ahead.  They kept this up for hours, racing around the city and into every possible escape route, the pursued completely unable to shake this dogged pursuer, something that she’d never had a problem with before.  Finally, they came to a stop in an area crossed by a slime-encrusted river.  Access to parts of the river, which burbled up the stench of ammonia everywhere, were blocked to prevent jumpers from diving in, though how anyone would want to swim in that river was beyond the reasons the thief could think of.  Even just steps away from the river, the acrid odor seemed to penetrate everything.  “Fine, you win,” the thief said, throwing Pinkie’s bags back at her.

“Thank you very much,” she said, slipping her bags back on.  “They’re important to me; I got them from a very dear friend.  But why would you want to steal them?  There’s nothing in them except for some food and books.”  

“All the more, then; in case you hadn’t noticed, folks here are poor – my family can’t afford anything but Blacks and some Grays; once in a while the neighborhood gets together and pools the money to get a huge batch of Whites for a celebration.  We can’t even dream of honestly affording Reds or Yellows, much less those Silvers and Golds.”

“Um, what are all of those?  They don’t sound familiar.”

The thief rolled her eyes.  “What, are you going to tell me you eat real food instead of fabricae?”

“What’s a fabricay?” Pinkie asked, a curious look on her face.  “And of course I eat food – doesn’t everyone?”

The thief looked at Pinkie, mouth agape in shock.  “Cynthra’s Bones, this is stupid.  You’re quicker than a diveskink, can shadow me better than any justiciar, and have no idea what a fabrica is?  Okay, which Sanctum are you from and why did the medtechs let you off your pharmas?”

“I followed you because you took my bags,” Pinkie accused.  As she began to argue with the other pony, she finally got a good look at the thief.  A white unicorn mare (white was a relative term, because she was dirty enough that the actual color was questionable) with a long mane in various shades of blue and vivid red eyes; she wore a pair of grimy goggles around her neck that seemed to be more ornament than actual tool.  Lastly, though Pinkie couldn’t see the thief’s cutie mark at this point, it probably wasn’t necessary; she knew who she was looking at, or at least this world’s version.

DJ P0N-3’s a thief in this world.  Pinkie struggled to keep a straight face when she realized the identity of the cutpurse; back in her world, the electronica musician and deejay had put out a new album the month before all this began entitled The Rhythm Thief, and Pinkie remembered the cover, with DJ P0N-3 dressed in a catsuit, carrying a solid gold musical note under her arm and watching out for the spotlights.  At the time, it was a cute pun for a fun album.  Suddenly the humor in that memory just suddenly went south.

Meanwhile, the thief had tried to rush out of the way while Pinkie seemed off-guard.  Jumping forward, her horn got caught on Pinkie’s hood and yanked it off even as the pony tripped and fell.  As she got up, she turned to look at her captor, and when she got a better look at Pinkie’s unhooded face, she cried, “Oh, Cosmica’s Blood, I’m doomed – you’re an erpo!”

“TEQUILA, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE THIS TIME?” a voice roared behind Pinkie.  The pink gypsy pony turned around to face a mountain of a unicorn, just as tall and nearly as broad as Monolith, Ponyville’s town sheriff.  The unicorn was a light shade of blue with a turquoise-and-white mane and goatee; his cutie mark was a flower of a kind Pinkie had never seen before.

“Pop, you’ve got to believe me!”  The white mare looked up at the huge stallion and went into some sort of panic mode.  “I didn’t do anything!  This erpo was—”

“You will not use slurs while you live under my roof, do I make myself clear?” he said in low, growling tones.  Turning to Pinkie, he said, “Milady, I ask that you please do not report this to the justiciars.  My daughter may be a fully-grown mare, but as you can see, she doesn’t act like it; even still, without her our lives would be that much dimmer.”

Pinkie looked at the father, then at the mare – her name was apparently Tequila – and then back at the father.  “I just wanted my bags back, no harm done.”

“I thank you, milady, for your kindness and generosity.   And as for you, Tequila Sunrise, I’ve a mind to finally kick you out of the house.  You’re a full-grown mare and still behaving like a foal, stealing like a common criminal.  Your mother and I raised you better than that!”

“But I did it for the family!” she cried, breaking down.  “Pop, I know you and Mom work your hooves off in the station and yet you’re paid almost nothing for it!  I heard you telling Mom last night that we don’t have enough money anymore to afford to send Rummie to the Educatorium and that she’d have to work in the station too!  I won’t let that happen to my little sister!”

The look on his face turned conflicted between shame at his daughter’s act and pride in her reasoning.  Shaking his head, he said, “But Tequila, if we stoop to being criminals, we’re no better than what Solestra thinks we are.”

Tequila, however, refused to give in.  “But you and Mom work like slaves for nothing, when ponies like her live like virtual divinities in Hightown!”  The look in Tequila’s eyes was full of hate and rage.

A quizzical look crossed Pinkie’s face.  “But I’m not from Hightown, wherever that is.  I’m from Ponyville.”

“Ponyville?”  The stallion’s face grew surprised.

Pinkie nodded.  “Well…I’m originally from Rockton, but I moved to Ponyville when I was 18.  Does that count?”

“Indeed it does.”  The stallion’s demeanor had changed from one begging for the safety of his daughter to a pony of stern demeanor.  “Let’s get out of here.  Solestra’s eyes are everywhere.”

═╬═

In a throne room quite a distance away from where Pinkie was, an earth pony carried an extensive collection of papers into the room.  Bowing to his queen, he said, “Your majesty, you were correct – there was an extensive magical discharge an hour ago.  While the technicians are doing their best to pinpoint the location, the preliminary reports indicate that it was in Sector 317.”

“The neighborhood around Station 12, correct?” a voice said, sultry and sinuous, even as its speaker sat in the darkened portions of the room.  “It seems one of them has not been giving his or her full potential.  They have been hiding something from me, and I will not allow that.”

“With all due respect, your majesty, it’s more than that.  The power scales are quite intense, and for something this large it would have to be somepony that has never been tapped before, likely an early-developing foal with….”  He looked at the charts.  “Oh, my – your majesty, while this power pales in comparison to yours, should it be used in force it will do extensive damage to anything in the vicinity.”

The voice chuckled sans humor.  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”  There were steps as the figure descended the dais, and into the light an alicorn came.  She was white, with a black, red and gray mane that seemed to flow in a breeze that never came.  On her flank was her mark, a black sun.  Lastly, while her face had the same features as a certain sun princess a reality away, no one would confuse this alicorn with that caring sovereign.   This was Solestra, the divine queen of her ponykind, and she was not pleased with the defiance she was now hearing about.   “Have your ponies pinpoint the location immediately, and then inform my daughter.  She has…a vested interest in ensuring the behavior of our subjects.”

“Your will shall be done, my queen,” the pony said, bowing briefly before departing the throne room and heading towards the analysis labs.  But before he did, he made a quick stop by the nearby restrooms, where a bored-looking earth pony guard sat on one of the benches across from the facilities.

The analyst approached the guard carefully.  “Hello, friend.  I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The guard looked left and right before saying in measured tones, “Yes, it’s been some time.  Not since Ponyville, correct?”

The analyst shoved the papers into the guard’s hooves, whispering a quick “Hail to the EFRA,” before disappearing.  As for the guard, he tucked the papers into a satchel at his side, then went on his rounds – he would still need to complete them before the day was done.  But once he left for the day, he’d have to move fast.   The codeword had been given, meaning something serious was afoot.

═╬═

Thirty minutes later, the trio had arrived at their destination: a house, slightly larger than the others here that Pinkie had seen.  Tequila explained that since her parents were both shift managers at the local station, they’d been accorded the luxury of a larger house.  Of course, as seemed to be the norm in this world, luxury was a relative term; the house was smaller than Fluttershy’s cottage and from the looks of the outside, wasn’t as well built as her chicken coop.  In some ways, the house was worse than the ones in the center of town; the owners of those looked as though they’d already given up on improving their lot, while it seemed Tequila’s family was still bent on fighting a losing battle against decay.

As they entered, Pinkie noticed that strangely enough, the house’s insides brought memories of her foalhood to mind.  Life on the Pie Rock Farm (yes, she knew it was technically a quarry, but “rock farm” sounded so much better) was simple because her parents believed in a very spartan existence.  However, while the Pies had access to all sorts of creature comforts, in this world this family had to make do with what little they had, and that they very much did.  Despite the condition of the wooden floor, it was well maintained.  Clean but threadbare rugs sat beneath cobbled but well-tended tables.  And in the center of the room, cleaning like it was her divinity-given duty was a unicorn mare, with a light brown coat and deep yellow mane in a very short cut.  She wore a string of pearls, and at the moment, an apron as well.  “Oh, dear, you’re home already!  And I see we have a visitor.  Welcome to our home, young miss.”

“Yes, please excuse my earlier brusqueness,” the stallion said to Pinkie.  “I’m Pomace Brandy, and this is my wife Bourbon.  You’ve already, uh, met my oldest daughter, Tequila Sunrise,” he said with slight embarrassment.

His wife caught on that.  “Tequila, have you been up to something again?  And to think I raised you to be a lady!  No stallion will be interested in you if you keep this up.”

“Big whoop, Mom,” Tequila said, plopping down on the worn, off-color couch.  “I don’t trust anypony anyway.  They’re all phonies.”

“Please forgive my daughter, miss,” Bourbon said.  “I do so try, but…oh, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Pinkie Pie,” she said, extending a hoof.  

“Miss Pie says she’s from Ponyville,” Brandy commented, matter-of-factly.  Bourbon’s eyes lit up as if something vital had been expressed in those words.

“So…what brings you here from Ponyville, Miss Pie?”

“I’m looking for something,” she said, honestly, and she could feel it: one of the Elements had been placed here on this world, and while she wasn’t sure which one it was, she knew one of the six existed here.

“I…see.  Well, where are you staying, may I ask?  You’re quite a ways from Hightown, and to be rather honest…earth ponies usually aren’t seen in Shantytown.”

“Well, I just arrived a few hours ago, and I really haven’t looked into a place yet,” Pinkie admitted.

“Well, we do have a guest room, so you’re more than welcome to stay with us.  We realize this isn’t what you’re accustomed to, but we feel we must offer our aid.”

Pinkie looked around the living room, appreciatively of all that Brandy had accomplished with so little.  “I like it.  It reminds me of when I was just a little filly.  This is a really nice place.”  Both Brandy and Bourbon looked at each other as if she’d said something weird, but the moment Pinkie gave one of her earnest smiles, they relaxed, understanding that her compliment had been genuine.

“The honor of having you here is ours,” Bourbon said.  “Well, dinner should be ready soon, so if you’d like to relax and freshen up before the food’s ready, Tequila can show you to the guest room.”

“No thanks, I don’t do maid for erp…earth ponies.”  Before her parents could chew her out further, she said, “I’m gonna check on Rummie.”

As the white unicorn stomped her way downstairs to the basement rooms, Brandy sighed.  “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Pie.  Tequila can…be a bit difficult to deal with.”

“Call me Pinkie!  And your daughter doesn’t seem like the trusting type, no offense.”

“None taken.  But she’s always been that way, and I wish there was a way to get through to her.  She only lets down her defenses in front of us, and sometimes not even then.  The only one she’s really been unconditionally open with is her sister, Coconut Rum – she adores that kid.”  There was a note of fatherly concern in Brandy’s voice.  “But enough of that.  Let me point the room out to you.”

Pinkie shook her head.  “Naaah, you had a busy day at work, I can tell.  I’ll find it.  Downstairs?”

“Last door on the right.”  As the pink pony descended the stairs, Brandy had a thought that was both true and sad: I wish my daughter was as happy as that mare.

As Pinkie reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard jubilant laughter coming from the first room on the right.  The door was ajar, and Pinkie couldn’t help but peek in.  When she did, she saw a sight that warmed her heart: Tequila, apparently laughing with someone.  Pinkie craned her head to see if she could peek in more, but really couldn’t.  Her curiosity piqued, she thought about using some of her magic to peek in further, when she heard a voice:  “You know, snooping is pretty fraggin’ rude.  Or don’t they teach you erpos that?”  Pinkie looked down and saw Tequila, looking straight up at her, and not very kindly, either.

“I’m sorry.  I just heard you laughing, and thought it would be a good time to meet your sister.  I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Well, you did.  Fortunately, it’s really hard for me to keep a frown when Rummie’s around, so you can come in and meet her.”  With that, Pinkie went in and met Tequila’s sister, a young unicorn on the cusp of marehood, with a pink-and-lavender mane and brilliant green eyes, tied into a smile that Pinkie knew well.

“Sweetie Belle!” she found herself saying aloud.

“What’s a Sweety Bell?” Tequila asked.

“Oh, sorry, she looks like my friend’s younger sister.”  Too much like Rarity’s sister.  For the second time today, Pinkie took a mental note that no matter who she came across in the other realities, chances were it wasn’t ponies she knew.

“Ah.  Anyways, my little sis is probably the prettier one.  Anyway, this is my kid sister Coconut Rum.  Say hi, Rummie.”

Pinkie waved hello.  “Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie!”  To her surprise, the younger unicorn reached down and picked up a sketchpad and pen and started scribbling. A second later, she held it up for Pinkie to see, in beautiful cursive hoofwriting: [Hi, I’m Rummie!  Nice to meet you.]

She can’t talk?  Pinkie patted the filly on her head.  “You’re just adorable, you know that?” Though no sound came from the unicorn, it was clear that she was giggling.  

Rummie wrote another message, an inquisitive look on her face: [So you’re going to be living with us for a while?]

“That’s the plan.  Maybe we can have some fun later, okay?”  Rummie nodded enthusiastically and Pinkie grinned, a new friend in a new world.

“Hey, Rummie, would you mind helping Mom prep dinner?  I gotta talk to Pinkie for a bit.”  Pausing only to hug both Tequila and Pinkie, she raced upstairs, bright and cheerful against a rusty and dreary world.

“Your sister’s adorable,” Pinkie said, meaning it.

“Yes, and I’d like to keep her that way.”  From what very little Pinkie knew of Tequila, this protective side was rare.  “As you can already guess, she’s mute.  Traumatized by what happened to her in the past.  Pop thinks that it’s the same reason why she’s a blank flank at her age.”

“What happened, if I can ask?”

Tequila nodded.  “She’s adopted.  Pop found her when she was around five, we guess.  Her real family had been killed, and even though it was a risk, he took a chance and brought her home.  I’m glad he did.  Rummie’s practically my whole life and I’d be a wreck if anything happened to her.  I don’t like admitting this, but all the things I do – and I know it just quirbles my parents – is because I want to make sure that Rummie has a better life than we have.  If I can find a way to bring back her voice, I can get her out of this pit.  I don’t even care what happens to me; I just want to see her smile for the rest of her life.”  She shook her head and for a brief second, a smile flitted on her face.  “Listen to me: I’m telling a complete stranger who doesn’t give a frag about all this.”

“Hey, I care.  Your sister’s a nice mare.”

“Hah!  A mare – next year, maybe; she’s only 17.  And what do you care?   You’ll be in, get your thing, then back out and we won’t see you ever again, just quick as you please.  I know Mom and Pop’s secret, always have.  You’re just another dead end on the road to ‘freedom’.”  Tequila would have probably slid into more venom had she not heard her mother’s call from upstairs.  “Go on, put your stuff in the spare bedroom and let’s go up and enjoy ‘the feast.’  Since you’re here, Mom’s probably using some of the leftover Whites from last Summersun.”

During dinner, Pinkie got her answer as to what a fabrica was (and that fabricae was the plural): a nutrient paste that met the daily needs of the average unicorn that ate them.  Fabrica was, as expected, artificially created, grown in vats at the fabricants (hence the name), had a very long shelf life and could be shaped into various forms to enhance the consuming experience.  The rather obvious flipside of that was that taste wasn’t a primary concern, and the very basic “flavors” (Blacks, Grays and Whites) were just barely palatable.  It wasn’t until one tasted the spectrum varieties (Reds, et. al.) that actual spices and herbs were used in their creation and the metal variants (Bronzes, etc.) actually started to approach real food, whatever that was – there were rumors of “real foods” being consumed in the Queen’s citadel city of Hightown, but who had proof of that?

Today’s dinner had been called correctly by Tequila: due to Pinkie’s arrival, Bourbon had used the rest of the Whites for a special meal.  So today, it was grilled Whitesteak, with sides of mashed Gray and steamed Black cubes.  The four residents ate with gusto, thrilled to enjoy the rare treat that was White fabrica.  As for Pinkie, she politely poked and prodded, trying not to let it show on her face what she really thought: that fabricae tasted like glue mixed in with paste and cement…and coming from a pony that practically ate anything, this stuff was completely stomach-churning.

Brandy, however, understood otherwise.  “I understand this isn’t the usual fare for you, Pinkie, but down here in Shantytown, that’s all we know.”  He smiled.  “I remember when I was younger, just a stallion who hadn’t met my wife yet, a group of friends and I got a Copper.  We all split it and ate it quickly before the word got out.  I will never forget the taste: it was…I can’t describe it.”  His face darkened as he added, “We later found out that one of our friends had actually stolen it from a bureaucrat that had come to do an efficiency inspection on one of the stations.  My friend was caught, and sentenced by the justiciars to serve in the Detentum.  We never heard from him again, and eventually my friends and I all split apart to make sure we stayed safe.”

“But that’s…not right!”  Pinkie was floored.  Even Luna, who had essentially served the longest prison sentence in history, would have found that completely beyond the pale.

“Yeah, welcome to reality, Miss Sunshine,” Tequila snarled.  “Infoflash: bad things happen to good ponies everywhere.  This isn’t one of those ‘Happily Ever After’ entervids.”

“But this?” she said, pointing at the food.  “You…I….”  Pinkie was at a rare moment, a loss for words.  How could anypony live like this?

“We’re hoping someday that our foals’ foals won’t have to live this kind of a life,” Bourbon said.  “This isn’t a life for anypony.”

Pinkie would have asked at that point if Celestia knew about this…but Celestia wasn’t in charge here.  They mentioned the ruler earlier, someone named Solestra, and whomever that was, it was clear that the leader either didn’t know or didn’t care.  There was no joy here, no hope; the Hierophant felt her world had become like that, but this was truly a bleak world.

“You should be happy!” Pinkie chirped, as an idea came to mind.  “And I’m going to fix that right now.”  She raced downstairs towards the guest room, than just as quickly came back, a tray in hoof.  “I brought these for my journey, but I want you to have them.”

The four unicorns stared at the objects on the tray.  They were roughly cylindrical in shape, and were in a color none of them had ever seen before.  There was one for each of them, and the smell that was coming from them was something that none in the family had never experienced.”

“What kind of fabrica is this?” Tequila asked.  “Never seen it before.”

Pinkie laughed warmly.  “Silly, these aren’t fabricae, they’re called 'cupcakes'.  They’re real food.”  At those words, the four reared back as if having been offered a priceless treasure, like Colticelli’s famous painting The Birth of Celestia.  “Please, I want you to have them.”

“I…Pinkie, these are gifts beyond words,” Brandy said.  “We can’t take them from you.”

“You’re not taking them from me, I’m giving them to you.  Besides, they’re just cupcakes.  I can make them whenever I want.”  If her last words stunned them, these ones truly knocked them for a loop.  Who was this strange earth pony who came to a town without hope and started distributing such unimaginable gifts as if they were Black fabrica?

Seeing that they weren’t taking them, Pinkie took drastic action.  She put one on each of their plates, and then flashed her biggest smile.   “Please?”  She then went around, moving the food around as if it were puppets, providing voices for all of them:

“Well, I think we should be eaten because we taste great!”

“Oui, I zink zis iz ze right thing to do!”

“Ya jus’ can’t beat us for taste!”

“Oi think we’re pos’tively scrumpt’us!”

With all of her comical antics, she got them to laugh from the silliness of it all.  Once they realized she was doing it for their sakes, they relented and took bites of their cupcakes.  After years of eating nothing but hyperbland food, Pinkie’s equally hypersugary cupcakes hit them like a ton of gingerbread bricks.  Four pairs of eyes lit up in practical perfect states of gastronomic nirvana, and before the seconds went by, their moment in paradise gone as quickly as it came.

Bourbon looked at her empty plate.  “Goodness, I don’t think I will ever have anything that will top that in my lifetime.  Thank you, Pinkie!”

Tequila didn’t show it on her face, but her mind was roiling.  She never told her family, but on one occasion she had successfully stolen a Yellow and hungrily ate it all.  Until now, that had been the best thing she’d ever tasted.  This was magnitudes better.

Brandy agreed.  “The Copper was nothing compared to this.”  His eyes began watering.  “Thank you, Pinkie.  You’ve given my family a gift we can never hope to repay.”

But the biggest reaction came from Coconut Rum: she hadn’t eaten all of hers, but she savored every bite, each morsel bringing a huge smile to her face.   Halfway through, she went over with the last bits to Pinkie to share.  Pinkie looked at the younger pony with true appreciation in her eyes; the poor filly had so much taken away from her and she still had a generous heart.  Just like her sister would have, if she survived.  Pinkie thought about this reality’s Rarity, or whatever her name was, and wondered what kind of pony she’d been; probably too young to have reached her potential.

“Go ahead and eat it, Rummie,” Pinkie told her gently.  “Like I said, I can always make more.  And I’ll share those, too.  Pinkie Promise.”

═╬═

Pinkie did not sleep well that night; in contrast to the guest room in the Hierophant’s castle, this bed was more like the previous few days she’d slept on the ground.  Definitely not like the waterbed she had at home (why did she have a waterbed at home? was a common question she was asked, with the answer being so she could play pirate occasionally, duh!) or even the old regular bed she had back when the Cakes had owned the place.  But that wasn’t the thing that was bothering her.  No, it was the deep, reverberating thrum that seemed to boom through everything.  While she had noticed it earlier in the daytime, at night, with everything else at rest, the bassy hum was at its loudest.  Her failed attempt at sleep had been like this for the past few hours.

For the third time she tossed and turned, and just couldn’t sleep.  She opened her eyes, sitting up in bed and figuring she’d just call it a night.  When she focused, however, she found Rummie, sitting by the bed, looking at her.  “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

Scribble, scribble.  [Can’t sleep?  It took us a while to get used to it when we moved here five years ago.]

“Yeah, this is a lot noisier than my place, that’s for sure.”

[Your place must be nice and pretty.  Can I go there someday?]

“Maybe,” Pinkie said.  She didn’t know what the rules were regarding transporting anything else – a week ago she didn’t even know there were rules, period – but she decided she couldn’t just leave this family here.  They all deserved better, and she knew Rummie and Sweetie Belle would get along great.  “But I’m guessing you came here for something else, right?”

Rummie nodded, scribbling on her pad.  [I know I’m probably being a bother, and I don’t want to be a problem for you, but can I ask you something?]

“You’re not a bother,” Pinkie said, reaching over to hug the filly.  “What’s up?”

[Will you make Tequila stop stealing?  I know she’s worried about me all the time and wants to make me happy, but I know what she’s doing – she fights with Mom and Pop all the time because of it.]  Page flip, scribble, scribble, scribble.  [My happiness isn’t important if the justiciars sentence her to a life in the Detentum!]

“I can’t promise anything like that, Rummie.  Your sister is her own mare.  But I will promise that I’ll do my best to prevent it when I can.”  That earned Pinkie a quick hug, kisses and nuzzles.  Smiling, Pinkie felt a wave of exhaustion hit her and she told Rummie with sleepy eyes, “I think I’m about to crash now, Rummie.  G’night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

═╬═

The following morning, the three of them were out.  It was a (relatively) nice Quartidi, and while both parents had to work at the station that day, it was a day off from the Educatorium for Coconut Rum and no performances for Tequila Sunrise (just as Pinkie had expected, her cutie mark was the same as her otherworldly counterpart, but unlike DJ P0N-3, Tequila’s main job for a living was a guitarist; not much call for one in a world where entertainment was rare).  So after a quick yet unpleasant breakfast of scrambled Black and Gray rashers (after which Pinkie offered to do all the cooking while she was here), the three were headed off to the main portion of Shantytown to see if they could find clues about the object Pinkie was looking for.

[If you tell us what you’re looking for, we can help!] Rummie wrote, very willing to be of assistance to Pinkie.  Scribble, scribble, scribble.  [I’ll do everything I can!]

“Thanks, Rummie,” Pinkie said, nuzzling the younger unicorn.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Tequila’s irritated look.  “Rummie, d’ya mind if I talk to your sister in private for a second?”

[Sure.  I’ll just be over by the klik-klak vendor.]  Rummie tried to hide her disappointment; she knew what was going to happen – her sister was going to pick a fight.  Funny how not being able to talk made everypony think she couldn’t hear things either.

Tequila waited until her sister was out of earshot, then cut loose.  “Y’know, I’d really appreciate it if you stopped filling my sister’s head with your dumb ideas.  She told me about your talk last night and how you invited her to your place.  You know fraggin’ well that’s never going to happen.”

“Why not?  Your family doesn’t deserve to put up with all this.  I can help get you out of here.”

“What, you gonna take us to the EFRA?  Hah, puh-lese.  Us corns don’t get that lucky.  No, we’re the carb of the universe: not as blessed as you erpos, and we’re not lucky enough to be pegs and just fly outta here.  So we have to deal with reality – I’m sure somewhere you’ve heard that word – and that means no dreams of cupcake houses and the like!”

“Look, Tequila, I don’t know why you dislike me,” Pinkie began, “but I mean it: I’d really like to help.”

“Look, Pinkie, don’t get me wrong: I don’t dislike you, I just don’t trust you.  You’re an erpo, your kind doesn’t change – always backstabbing.  And for the record, you’re not the only one.  I don’t trust Mom and Pop half the time, and the only one I know I can count on is Rummie.  So I’d appreciate it if you stop fi—”

A voice shouted out from somewhere, “MAKE WAY FOR HER ROYAL HIGHNESS!   CLEAR THE PATH FOR HER HIGHNESS, PRINCESS SUNMANE!  ALL BOW DOWN BEFORE HER GLORY!” Sure enough, crowds began to clear as a retinue passed through the center.  The trio was too far from the group to see any member of the princess’ escort, but they saw the crowd was quickly moving out of their way.

“Great.  Sunmane’s here – that won’t end well,” Tequila hissed under her breath.

[They’re meeting at the center stage.  Should we go see?]  Rummie nearly dropped her pad in trying to get back to them, hoping to break up the fight, but also wanting to get close to the goings-on.

“Rummie, I think you should stay clear of this, sis,” Tequila began.

“I think I should go see this,” Pinkie said.  “Maybe I can get the princess to help.”

Tequila’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.  “Are you fraggin’ stupid?  You really think you’re gonna get any help from the Butcher Princess?”

“No, just ignorant of the local scene,” she replied.

[Sis…]  Rummie repeatedly waved her pad in Tequila’s face to underline what she was trying to say.

“Cynthra’s Bones, but you’re an idiot.”  Tequila sighed when she saw the disappointed look on her sister’s face.  “Sorry, I forgot you’re from Ponyville.  But they really didn’t explain anything to you when you got here?”

“I don’t think anypony knew about this,” Pinkie replied.  She knew that had Pumpkin Tart had info on where she was, she would have spilled it in a heartbeat.  “Just presume I don’t know anything and start from the top.”

“Well, Sunma—”

“Start with the Queen, whatshername – Solestra, right?”

“Cosmica’s Blood, that’s going to take forever!”

“Then let it take forrrreeeeevvvvveeeerrr,” Pinkie jovially hissed.  Rummie silently giggled at the extended word, and Tequila just wanted to abandon the pink earth pony to her own stupidity, but she did agree to help….

“Okay, fine.  Here’s the basic carb: Queen Solestra is an immortal alicorn.  Some ponies consider her a divinity, but not everyone.  But before her was her mother, Cosmica.  Queen Cosmica was the first alicorn and supposedly evolved us from Equus caballus, creating the three pony subspecies: Equus sapiens familiaris, the earth ponies; Equus sapiens bellerophon, the pegasi; and Equus sapiens monoceros, the unicorns. Supposedly she also made the heaven and earth, the oceans, and a primitive form of fabrica called ‘ambrosia’ – I wouldn’t buy any of this, by the way, it’s all bunk.

“So anyways, Cosmica supposedly had a daughter immaculately, namely Solestra; my guess is that the fraggin’ tart probably had a one-night-stand with one of her guards.  Anyway, Queen Cosmica and Princess Solestra were a happy pair for thousands of years, whatever that means.  But one day, Cosmica announced that she was pregnant with a second child, a daughter she would call Cynthra.  Y’see, Solestra was supposedly named for the sun she embodied, and Cynthra was to be named for the moo – you following any of this?” Tequila snarled.  “It’s makin’ my stomach churn just talking about it.”

Pinkie was rapt.  “Yup, totally listening.  What, you don’t believe any of it?”

Tequila rolled her eyes.  “Hello?  Divine birth?  Embodiment of the sun, which is a flaming ball of gas out in space?  The only things even remotely true about the story are the magic and the fact that Solestra’s immortal.”  She buried her face in her hooves, stunned that anypony could even believe any of this; where would Pinkie even get the idea that an eternal sun divinity alicorn was true?

“Well, okay, we’ll just agree to disagree.  Continue – I’m all ears.  Well, not really, I am a pony, after all, not a giant ear, but you get the idea.”

This erpo’s going to be the death of me.  “So anyway, about two-thousand-or-so years ago, Cosmica gave birth, but it all went wrong.  She lost too much blood in the delivery and died; while the attending apothecaries – that’s what they called medtechs back then – were able to rescue the baby, Cynthra was an extremely weak foal and didn’t live through the day.  In the span of a day, Solestra went from being a simple princess to an older sister to a queen in mourning.”  Tequila’s voice had a slight catch at that; this part of the story always got to her.

“For two thousand years Solestra ruled alone, our Queen of Sorrows in mourning.  But during this time, the land and its ponies was neglected, and soon enough some unicorns and pegasi started to challenge her rule, culminating in a rebellion six hundred years ago that ended in the utter defeat and death of all pegasi – by the way, that I don’t believe.  As for the unicorns, their power was sealed within them, only able to use their magic for the most feeble and basic of telekenetics, but to never grow to the heights of magicraft.  As for the earth ponies, who remained neutral, Solestra rewarded them with the status of nobility.  The titles, land and honors of every pegasus and unicorn noble was forcibly removed from them, given to the earth ponies, all because they were too afraid to stand with the other two tribes and Solestra mistakenly confused that with loyalty.

“For hundreds of years, she continued to rule alone, but a bit less than thirty years ago, an earth pony noble family was completely assassinated by supposed unicorn separatists.  Solestra personally saw to the execution of the unicorns – who were probably framed for it – and adopted the lone survivor, a newborn foal.  That pony is her daughter, Princess Sunmane, who bears an intense hatred of unicorns that borders on the merciless.”

“But why would the Princess hate her own subjects?  They are her fellow ponies.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Pinkie.  We’re her subjects, but she’ll never consider unicorns fellow anything.”  Trumpets played in the distance, and more unicorns began to gather around the center stage.  “You’ll see why she hates us all and we hate her back.  But don’t say you weren’t warned.”

By the time they’d reached the gathering location, there were enough unicorns assembled that it required Pinkie, Rummie and Tequila to sit on a nearby stack of crates.  Around the central dais was a sea of unicorns, all facing the center, all a-shivering.  Some shivered in fear, some shivered out of respect.  But as Pinkie looked into the eyes of some of them, those rare cases, shook with barely concealed rage at the group on the stage.

As for those on the stage, it was three broken unicorns, the trio looking completely miserable.  On either side of the three were two heavily-armored earth ponies, carrying various weapons and looking as though they meant business.  But at the front of the stage, facing the assembly was the daughter of Solestra, Princess Sunmane.  Standing there in resplendent armor and carrying a sword at her side, the princess wore no helmet, the better to be noticed.  Her coat was a beautiful orange hue, well taken care of as befitting royalty.  Her mane and tail were a luxurious shade of blonde, well-kept and tied up in braids.  She had white freckles on her cheeks, markings that would have made her look like a coquettish beauty if it weren't for her eyes.  Those eyes were fierce green balls of fire, screaming contempt and rage for the ponies sitting before her.

Pinkie couldn’t see her cutie mark as it was covered by the armor, but she didn’t have to.  Inside, a part of her heart was slowly breaking.  “Applejack,” she whispered, not believing what she saw before her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s him,” Tequila drawled, misunderstanding Pinkie’s word.  “I told him not to get greedy, or it was going to bite him in the flank.  And now he’s caught, by Sunmane no less.  I almost feel sorry for him; he would have been better caught by the justiciars.  At least then he’d live.”

Pinkie caught those words.  “What?” she blurted, not sure she heard Tequila’s statement.

“Subjects of Shantytown, I have come to you because I have heard a rumor,” Sunmane began, pacing back and forth, her baleful eyes on the crowd.  “It seems somepony has been lying to my mother, your beloved queen.  Around noontime yesterday, there was a huge outburst of magic.  As we all know, there is only one tribe in all of our fair land who could have done that, hmm?”  Her attempt at a smile held no trace of merriment.  “This means that one of you, somewhere out there, is playing false to the throne.  And to you who have done so, you have committed a crime against the Crown.”

She continued to look at crowd, as if searching for something.  “Of course, all of those assembled here being true and stalwart loyalists to my mother, Queen Solestra, you would never hide one of your own, even though he or she is a marked criminal, am I correct?  That each of you to a one would eagerly and willingly fulfill your sworn duties as subjects of the queen?”  Sunmane paused, though only for breath; she was clearly not interested in the possible answers.  “But, never fear, I am quite sure you will rise to the occasion and perform your duties with pride, my loyal subjects.”

She signaled to her men, and they brought the three unicorns forward.  “But, my subjects, I must admit a failing on my part: I owe you all an apology.  I swore to protect Shantytown from crime and filth, and as of late I have been remiss in attending to this, and you have all suffered greatly as a result of my neglect.”  She bowed to the audience, as if begging their forgiveness.

“Actually, I could live with her remaining out of Shantytown much longer,” Tequila seethed from where she sat.  “That mare will kill us all and not even bother to blink, just watch.”

Meanwhile, Sunmane completed her bow and addressed the crowd once more.  “But today, that changes.  Today, as I promised, I bring you the Queen’s justice, straight from my royal hoof.  Guards, bring the prisoners forward!”  Spears at the ready, the chained unicorns were prodded forward, all three knowing their lives hung on the slimmest of threads.

Sunmane looked at the first one, and it seemed as if her eyes were filled with a malicious glee.  “Mister…Applejack, is it not?  You have been accused of multiple counts of thievery, larceny and burglary.  Your crimes are well known to this assembly.  How plead you?”

The red-and-green unicorn trembled, praying that his words would reach mercy.  “I plead for forgiveness, your highness.  I admit to theft, but it was to feed my starving family!  I only took the bare of what was needed!”

“You’re nothing but a pathetic wretch,” she snarled, spitting on him.  To the crowd, she turned and with an outstretched foreleg, called out, “Is what this lout says true?”  Various voices in the crowd began to call for his innocence; not enough to be significant, but enough to make it clear he told the truth.  Sunmane closed her eyes, nodding.  “I see your wisdom, my ponies, and thank you for your counsel.  Applejack, you are free.”

He exhaled, visibly relieved, uttering, “Thank you, my pri—” but never finishing his sentence.  In a move that horrified all who were assembled, Sunmane unsheathed her sword and then slammed it straight into Applejack’s chest.  Darker red welled on his red coat, and the unicorn barely had time to look at her in shock before he collapsed, dead.

“I free you from this life, criminal,” she said with a satisfied grin.  To her guards, she said, “I already know these two to be guilty, so execute them and be quick about it.”  As the screams of the sentenced sounded from the doomed unicorns behind her, Sunmane faced the crowd, a cruel look on her face.  “Justice be done, my subjects.  And to prove my vow to rid Shantytown of its crime, I shall be here every day until justice shines like a glistening sword.”  She retrieved her sword, pausing only to wipe the blood on Applejack’s mane before sheathing it.  “And now, I bid you farewell until the morrow.”  With that, she and her guards walked away from the dais, the crowd parting to give her room, lest they find themselves part of a future mockery of justice.

There were wails in the crowd as the family of the dead approached their slain loved ones, but Pinkie didn’t hear them.  She didn’t hear Tequila’s repeated cursing at the back of the princess and her retinue, nor did she hear the silent cries of Rummie.  All she could hear was the rushing of blood in her head, the deaths of those who called for mercy.  All she could see before her was the face of Applejack, her dearest friend and fellow knight, whose image was now made into a bloody mockery by the princess who wore the same visage.

“...and that’s why we call that fraggin’ nag the Butcher Princess,” Tequila finished, holding her horrified sister close to her and feeling Rummie’s hot, wet tears on her coat.  “Someday she’ll pay, mark my words.  Someday, she will pay.”  She looked at Pinkie, who had a faraway look on her face.  “You don’t look so good, Pinkie.”

She shook her head sadly, still unable to believe that this killer wore the face of one of her closest friends.  “How could somepony who claimed to love her ponies so, be so cruel?  This isn’t being just a meanie…she’s a murderess!”

To Pinkie’s surprise, the white unicorn had no ready retort, but instead said, “Do me a favor: take Rummie home.  I knew both Applejack and Pisco Sour, and I think someone needs to tell their families they were innocent, and it wouldn’t surprise me if that third corn was innocent as well.  Greedy, yes.  Stupid, probably.  But they didn’t deserve that.”  Before Pinkie could say anything further, Tequila added, “And before you ask, yes, I’ll behave myself.  As Mom so often moans, she did raise me to be a lady, so I can fake it when needed.”

Pinkie, feeling disgusted by what she had just seen, forced it to the back of her mind.  Right now, someone needed her, and she’d already made a Pinkie Promise to herself to rise to the occasion.  Kissing Rummie on the forehead, she whispered, “C’mon, let’s get going.  We’ll head back and when we get there, I’ll teach you how to make cupcakes, okay?”  Leading the distraught filly, the pair turned and headed towards the outer rim of the town.

Once Tequila reached the dais, the crowds had all but dispersed, leaving nothing but blood behind as a reminder of the atrocity that had been committed here.  In their haste to collect the dead, the families of those lost had left behind the packs of the three accused, and they lay untouched and slightly stained with blood on the stage.

Tequila immediately grabbed Pisco’s and Applejack’s bags; now that both stallions were gone, their families would need those stolen items more than ever.  It was times like this that she wished that the entervid stories about Thieves’ Guilds were true as such an organization would have dutifully looked after the families of those lost.  As it stood now, Tequila and some of the other thieves that knew the families would pitch in to help, but those families now had huge question marks clouding their futures.

As for the third bag, it looked far more ornate and durable than the average pack of a thief; if she didn’t know better, it seemed more like the equipment afforded to a justiciar.  But why would a thief have the pack of a justiciar?  It practically advertised that you stole it from one and invited extra attention from the authorities.  It was suicidal and guaranteed to have you landed in the Detentum.  So, since the pony in question no longer had need of it, she decided to make it her own.  Her pack was starting to get too threadbare to be of use, and the only reason she attempted to steal Pinkie’s was because she needed a new one.  She hoped that this one would serve her better than it did its former owner.

As she secured her new pack and hooked the other two to it, she left the central stage area.  It wouldn’t be much longer before scavengers would come to claim these bags; she’d been lucky that everyone had been so shocked by the killings that they stayed clear long enough for her to take ownership.  In any case, the first and second stops were to Applejack’s and Pisco’s respective homes and to deliver their bags; then she’d go home and see to Rummie.  While Pinkie seemed to care a lot about Tequila’s sister, she didn’t trust anyone to tend to the poor filly’s needs other than herself.

So lost in thought was she that as she departed the area, she didn’t bother to notice that’d she’d been watched all this time.  The figure observed the direction Tequila had ventured off towards, and, sure that he’d recognize her if he saw her again, he disappeared himself, winding down a labyrinthine amount of pathways through the town, eventually leading into the subterranean underbelly.  Passing through a hard-to-maneuver set of pipes, the figure found a small doorway and clambered in, quickly shutting it behind him.

“Welcome, dear friend,” a voice said, soft, simple and female, but with an undercurrent of steel.  “That is, of course, if you are a friend.”

The newcomer suddenly felt two sharp objects at his side.  “All who love Ponyville are,” he said, nervously.

A light suddenly blinked into existence, and a mare sitting at a table waved a forehoof to each of the guards.  “Stand down, guardsponies, we know he is safe.”  To the newcomer, the voice said, “Lieutenant Thundermane, it is good to see you again.”  She gestured towards a chair.  “Please, sit.  You look worn.”

“That I am, Commander.”  He wiped sweat from his brow.  “If I may confess, I don’t know how you do it.”

The Commander gave a small smile.  “A mare’s got to have her secrets.  So, what’s the status of the package?”

Thundermane looked down.  “We lost a good stallion today, and with all due respect, Commander, this plan sucks.  Shadowsnap was one of our best agents out there and for him to have thrown away his life like that—”

“He did no such thing,” the Commander said, her tone firm.  “Shadowsnap volunteered for this mission; he knew what he was getting into, and we should honor his choice.  Truthfully, if I had my way, none of this would be necessary, and none of our own would die.  But if it meant Solestra’s final defeat, I would gladly ‘throw my life away’, as you so put it.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but…he was my life-long friend.  He didn’t choose this path any more than he chose to be a unicorn and me an earth pony.”

“None of us have those choices, Thundermane.  The best we can do is to lead brave souls to their death and tell ourselves we’re doing the right thing.”  The look on her face was sad and distant, and Thundermane had to remind himself that as much as it cut him to see his best friend cut down, the Commander had seen too many innocent stallions and mares go.

“There is one bit of good news, though,” he forced himself to say.  “The package was intercepted and removed from the scene.  I identified the pony that took it, and I’m confident within a day or two we can make the switch to get it to the right ponies and get it out of here.”

“I hope so, Thundermane.  Too much rides on that package getting out of Shantytown.  Too many lives hang in the balance.”

Rising from his seat, he said, “I’d best get going, Commander.  I’m due back at Hightown in an hour, and if I’m late, well…while I don’t think they’ll be suspicious, I might get penalized from getting those choice positions.”

“Then go, and please take care of yourself.  When I say I’d hate to lose any more valued ponies, I also include one of my best lieutenants.”  She paused, letting the tension flow out before she added with a terse smile, “Or my kid brother, for that matter.”

Thundermane grinned.  “I’ll be careful, sis.  You stay safe as well.”  Flipping an irreverent salute, he said, “Hail to the EFRA.”

“Hail to the EFRA.”  As her brother departed, the Commander took a drink from her now-cold coffee cup.  Looking at the brown liquid within, she said to the guards, “Contact Lord Jadarite or Lady Anthracite.  I’ll need their counsel as soon as possible.  Tell them I’ll meet them at the usual spot.”  With that, the Commander of the Everfree Revolutionary Alliance got up to head off to take care of her other duties.  So long as Solestra and Sunmane lived, there was no rest for the wicked…which meant no rest for her and her allies, either.