The following morning, the entire group crowded into Trixie’s apartment. The show was larger than most Trixie did, large enough to merit props and backdrops. They needed at least two ponies to help move things around when the lights went down, and Twilight had volunteered Rainbow and Applejack—and Octavia to supply the music, after a too-brief stretch of thought under Globe Trotter’s impatient, questioning eyes.

It was nine o’ clock, and Twilight worked on a list of duties for Rainbow and Applejack while Trixie discussed her music with Octavia; Big Mac and Pinkie were out on a walk.

“I don’t like this,” Rainbow finally said, placing her hooves on the table to get their attention. “Something’s off about her today.”

“Are you seriously gonna get in a twist over her not teasin’ you this time?” Applejack asked.

“I guess I’m just not used to it.”

“She probably realized that it bothered you, and decided to stop,” Twilight said. “It’s no big deal.”

Rainbow mumbled something and looked down at Twilight’s list of props and their placements on the stage.

Cork had gone over to Cloud Line’s house for breakfast, leaving Rarity and Fluttershy alone.

“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” Rarity said. “Discord is the god of chaos, or the spirit, or something. Why is he so focused on attacking Canterlot?”

“I’d been wondering about that too,” Fluttershy said. “But I think I know why. Remember what Twilight told us about how ambitious he can be? About how, last time, he was just poking Princess Celestia’s defenses?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“His end goal is still chaos. I think he just realizes that if he removes Canterlot, anything he does will be much more lasting. If Equestria loses its political center, it’ll be almost impossible for ponies to stop him. We might put up a good fight, but with nothing to rally around, ultimately, he can just divide us up and have his way.”

“Take out the central pillar, and the whole thing collapses,” Rarity said.

Fluttershy nodded once. “Essentially, yes.”

“Hm. Well, it hasn’t worked yet, and I doubt it’ll work this time. The princesses are too prepared.”

“I’d feel better if we had more Elements.”

Rarity nodded and glanced out the window. She could hear a singing voice approaching, and looked at Fluttershy quickly, who nodded understanding. Not a minute later, Cork pranced back into her house.

“Girls, we’ve got a date with destiny!”

“What is it?” Rarity asked.

Cork hummed a loud, cheerful tune as she walked around their table, swishing her tail rakishly. “Okay. Brace yourselves.” She grinned at them. “Are you braced?”

“I’m braced,” Fluttershy said.

“We are going under the pump.”

Rarity and Fluttershy exchanged looks of muted disquiet. Fluttershy had not yet told Rarity of her findings the night before; as far as Rarity was concerned, there were no signs that the pump led anywhere at all.

“Why?” Rarity asked slowly. Her voice was a drawn out groan that Fluttershy had heard before. She was ready to get upset.

“Cloud Line’s taking us down later today.”

Rarity looked resolutely at her dish of food. Her eyes were hard, as was her voice. “And why are we going?”

“Um.” Cork stopped her pacing and sat by the counter. “Are you not excited to go?”

“I don’t know why you would ever think we would be. Since we got here, you’ve done nothing but talk about that pump, and we’ve never expressed any interest whatsoever.” Fluttershy shrunk into her seat.

“But you have to come! Cloud Line only agreed ‘cause I told her you were coming along.”

Rarity’s lips parted to show her perfect teeth. “Well, that was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

“Why do we have to come with you?” Fluttershy asked.

“Apparently I’m not trustworthy enough to go down with her alone.”

“Volunteering us to go with you without asking first isn’t the way to help that,” Rarity said. “I’m not going.”

A long pause uncoiled in the air. “Please, Madam White? Please? I’ve been asking Cloud Line to take me down there forever, and this is the first time she’s ever agreed. You have to come!”

“You shouldn’t have gone behind our backs,” Rarity said, crossing her hooves and tilting her head imperiously.

“Okay, okay,” Cork said, getting back up. “I screwed up. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I’m not as vacuous as I think I made you believe. I saw how your faces fell whenever I talked about the pump. I was just thinking, maybe if you went down with me, you’d get it. This means a lot to me, you know?”

“We can tell.”

“Please, Madam White. Please? I’ve dreamed of this day since I got here. I’m really sorry I lied. I guess I just saw an opportunity and jumped on it, without thinking about your feelings.”

Rarity thought, and, for a minute, it looked like she would agree. “I’m sorry, Cork. I know what it’s like to make a decision in the heat of the moment. But… I’ve been manipulated before, and tricked, and lied to.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to let it happen again. If you go in, you’re going in without me.”

“I understand.” It was scarcely a whisper, and she didn’t look at either of them as she walked out of the kitchen. When she was gone, they looked at each other.

Rarity pushed herself from the table. “I think I’ll carry some water.”

“Would you like me to come with you?”

“No, thank you. I just need to get some fresh air.”

When Rarity was gone, and the house was quiet, Fluttershy perked her ears up. She could hear Cork crying softly on the other side of the house. She understood Rarity’s stance, and agreed with her, but the crying pony so close to her stirred powerful pity in her chest, and she found herself staring at her plate, running through idea after idea of how to comfort her. In the back of her mind, she remembered Lacey, and how she had used guilt to manipulate Rarity.

“No, this pony isn’t the same.” She rose and drifted to Cork’s room. It was a familiar routine for her. First, she knocked on the door to signal her presence, then she entered as gently as she could. Her eyes went to the pony lying facedown on the bed, paying little attention to the room’s decorations. The countless pictures, drawings, and annotated diagrams of the pump meant next to nothing to her as she crossed the bare floor to sit on the edge of Cork’s bed.

Typically, one of two things happened when Fluttershy put herself in position to comfort a crying pony. They would either do nothing, allowing her to rub their back, their wings, or just cover them in a quiet hug; or they would tell her to go away, in which case she would—for a little while. Cork looked up and, seeing who it was, put her head back to the pillow. Fluttershy knew what it signaled.

Placing a hoof on the small of Cork’s back, she rubbed up and down. Cork shuddered softly, but did not object, and Fluttershy leaned in a little, getting comfortable where she was. In such situations, she could find herself rubbing a grieved pony’s back for up to an hour, so comfort was important.

Fluttershy was conscious to not overdo her comforting motions. Too large of a rub, or too fast, and the pony could think she was trying to communicate with them, or, worse, getting impatient. The goal was to provide a constant reminder of her presence, without pretense or pressure. They would feel better in time; it was not Fluttershy’s job to rush the process.

Cork turned over after five minutes of shaky sobbing, and Fluttershy did not look immediately into her red eyes, though she could have. She didn’t want Cork to think she was waiting for something. When they did meet eyes, Fluttershy didn’t smile, but only held her gaze in her own serious, understanding one. “I know you’re in pain, and that’s fine, because I’m here to help.”

Cork sighed. “Sorry. This probably seems silly to you.”

“Not at all.” Fluttershy’s voice didn’t waver.

“Yeah.” She nodded and wiped her nose. “This has been my dream since I got here, but I’ve never been this close.”

Fluttershy nodded. Sometimes it was best to stop a crying pony from talking, to stop them from working themselves up, but Cork’s eyes were almost dry, and Fluttershy was confident that they were on an upswing.

“I don’t blame Madam White. I shouldn’t have tried to trick you into coming with me.” She put her head to the mattress, and her voice came out a miserable squeak. “And you’re not even going to be here much longer, and when you’re gone, there’s no way Cloud Line’s gonna take me down there, and no one else even wants to, and…” Her words died in a high wail, which gave way to more trembling that Fluttershy was quick to suppress with her hoof. After five more minutes of crying, she got off the bed and wiped her face with a sheet off the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t like to do this in front of ponies. I’m usually not like this, Butterfly.”

“It’s all right, Cork. This is a serious thing for you.” She brought up a wing and turned her face into it to preen—a subtle indication that she was not uncomfortable in the situation. Cork heaved a sigh, and a sudden thought hit Fluttershy. In her mind, a warning throbbed, but she was entirely focused on helping the pony before her. “Would Cloud Line let you go down if I still came along?”

Cork looked down at the floor, but Fluttershy could see the minute changes in her expression. At first, she was unbelieving, but, as the suggestion sunk in, a small, guilty smile appeared. “She might. She… I bet she would!” She stopped herself. “Are you sure?”

Fluttershy nodded emphatically. “I’m sure.” The last thing she saw before being bowled over in a hug was Cork’s amazed smile.

Octavia, Pinkie, and Big Mac had returned to the ship, leaving the others to sit at Trixie’s table and go over the show again. Rainbow had a beer and stared at Trixie dispassionately as she explained the way different scenes would have to go faster than others.

“You realize we’re gonna go over this during rehearsal, right?” Rainbow said testily.

“You ever rehearse something?” Trixie snapped. “There’s no guarantee you get this right, Dash. You need to be as prepared as possible.”

“No, you do. We’re just grunts. And by the way,” she looked at Twilight. “Six days, Twilight? Really?”

“I’m sorry, Rainbow,” Twilight said. “I didn’t think it would be this long.”

“It’s not her fault,” Trixie said.

“I know you screwed up first, Trixie,” Rainbow said. “Friggin’ Manehattan. One screw up after another.” She slouched in her seat and took a long pull on her beer. “This city sucks.”

“I like it.”

“Well lah-dee-dah, Tricky.” She finished her beer and looked derisively out the window.

“Don’t get sore, Dashie. It mars your pretty face.”

“Hm. Yeah, I can see why you wouldn’t want that.”

Trixie looked at the others, who watched the exchange with more interest than they had shown her talk of props and stage directions. “All right, well, everypony looks about dead in their seats, so let’s call it good. We’re meeting tomorrow at ten.”

“Awesome. I’m out of here,” Rainbow said, jumping from her seat. “Hey, Trix. C’mere.” She trotted over and gave Trixie a terse hug. “For yesterday.”

Trixie, however, only grinned as Rainbow made to pull away. Bringing her foreleg up, she yanked Rainbow close again. “And one for the road, Dashie.” She kissed Rainbow on the cheek. “Don’t let it go to your head, now.”

Applejack laughed, but Rainbow was dead silent.

When they got back to the ship, Octavia was practicing her cello, stopping and starting jaggedly. She was trying to come up with music for Trixie’s show. Rainbow had gone immediately below, frowning and blushing furiously.

“What happened this time?” Octavia asked.

“Trixie smooched her,” Applejack said.

“Ah.”

“It’s always something with those two,” Twilight said. “Don’t tell Rainbow, but I think she likes it.”

“I think you are right.” She drew the bow across the strings, producing a low hum that she repeated, sawing back and forth, eyes closed.

“What kind of sound are you tryin’ for?” Big Mac asked.

“Something original, first of all. I have always liked to challenge myself to create new music, and not fall back on the work of others.”

“Okay.”

“I do not exactly know. I want something minimal, but deep. I want a lot of significance in these sounds.” She tried another string, but frowned. “I am not certain whether I can produce what I am thinking of.” She created a long, groaning wheeze from her instrument, and sighed. “Actually, I am certain.” She propped the cello up against the rail and fell back to all fours. “I need more than these strings.”

“Are you goin’ out again?” Applejack asked.

“Yes.”

“But sis! You don’t have any money!” Pinkie cried.

Octavia sat down with a thump. “Damn it.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot you were bit-less!”

“It is not something I find myself thinking about lately,” Octavia murmured.

“What do you need?” Twilight asked. “If it’s not too much, I think we can get away with using Princess Celestia’s treasury slip.”

“That thing is s’posed to be fer crucial stuff only, Twi,” Applejack said. “We can’t go fritterin’ the princess’ bits on stuff that don’t matter. No offense, Octavia.”

“Never mind this,” Octavia said, standing again. “I am going out anyway. Something will happen, and I will figure this out.”

“Hold up,” Applejack said. “Yer doin’ this a lot lately.”

“Yes.”

Applejack scrutinized her, but only backed away from the ramp with a shake of her head. “We worry ‘bout ya, girl.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Octavia said, walking down the plank. Big Mac hesitantly followed, until she turned and gave him a nod; then he took off at a trot.

“Somethin’s up with her,” Applejack said. “She ain’t usually so impulsive. Twi?”

“Ponies change, I guess,” Twilight said. “As long as she’s not getting into trouble, I’m okay with it. Heck, it might be good for her.”

“Any particular reason you wanted to come along?” Octavia asked.

“Just tryin’ to get to know ya better. Gotta be friends with everyone if Ah wanna do this right.”

“Fair enough.” She paused at a street corner and watched the cars going past.

“What are ya lookin’ for?”

“I can hear the music that I want in my head, for the most part. It is quiet and… I am not sure of the word. Not distant. I want it to blend in with the background and heighten the mood without ever calling much attention to itself. It is not quite ambient. It is more than that, but not by much.”

“Soft?”

She smiled a little and shook her head. “If I could get my hooves on a double bass, or something even bigger, that would be very helpful.”

“Ah doubt you’ll get a double bass with no money.”

“I know I will not.” They came to another crosswalk and hurried across the street. There was a spacious parking lot, and they went into it to escape the crowd. “It also needs an element of tension. I need something subtle and repetitive to put everyone on edge.”

They walked deeper into the lot. “We’re not gonna find any instruments in here,” Big Mac said, and she stopped to look at him. She was accustomed to her friends backing away or dropping their smiles when she turned on them, but, Big Mac, still unfamiliar with her, stood his ground and looked into her offended expression with mellow bemusement.

“I left the ship to be alone with my thoughts, Big Macintosh, not to find instruments. If that happens, then it is a fortunate coincidence, and nothing more.”

“Sorry, Miss Octavia.”

“I know that you are trying to help, but you should stop now.”

He hung his head and followed a couple paces behind her when she continued. Unlike the day before, there were no clouds, and so she had to move slowly to avoid exerting herself. It was nearly noon, and it was hot. When they reached the other side of the lot, they were able to cross a larger road and go into a small park. Many ponies were out and about with kites and balls, and a picnic had been set up deeper into the lawn.

“This looks nice,” Big Mac said tentatively.

Octavia didn’t respond, but moved close to the park’s inside edge, skirting the majority of the ponies. She could see Big Mac pausing and hesitating to go with her, but did not stop for him. Instead, she spoke without looking. “If you want to socialize, do so. I doubt you have spent enough time with us to be in danger.”

“Ya sure?”

“I will come through this park when I return. That will probably be in an hour or more.”

He thought for a moment. “An’ you’ll be okay on yer own?”

“Yes.” She looked at him, and he gave her a gracious smile before cantering to the nearest group of ponies. She watched him for a minute, then continued on her own. She had thought, initially, that the company would be pleasant, but was happy to see him go. “He tries too hard to ingratiate himself to us.” She frowned. “Or perhaps he is just friendly,” she whispered.

She stopped to rest under a large tree, where a couple was sitting and talking quietly. She turned her back to them, to show she was not listening. In the distance, carved out of the brilliant, blue sky, was a towering radio antenna. Thoughts of Captain Shout and the unseen conflict that moved him resurfaced. As much as she wanted to help Lacey stop Strawberry, she was utterly lost as to how to do so.

She got up again and walked out the nearest gate to the street, music on her mind. Big Mac’s insistence had broken the tiny, rebellious flame of curiosity inside her, and she found herself, not following her hooves as she exited the park, but considering ways to obtain the sounds she wanted. A passing taxi: the low groaning strings that she wanted to vibrate the stage. Someone humming: the windy chimes that descended from above like gentle flakes of snow.

She turned down the sidewalk and stopped to rest again by a telephone pole, looking up at the bowing wires. The first time she had mentioned telephones in casual conversation with the others, she had received mostly blank looks. It hadn’t occurred to her that there were ponies in the world who were so insulated from the technology she and her peers considered ordinary. Seeing her friends’ marveling faces at the phone lines the first time they hit the city had amused her.

A pony trotted past and righted a bicycle that leaned against the building. Octavia watched him pedal away, envious. Though she could stand unsupported on her hind legs—for a few minutes—balancing on a bike had always been beyond her. The bike clicked away, and, suddenly, the final idea fell into place, as easily and naturally as if it had been there all along. The ticking, turning chain: that tiny sound, perfectly, mechanically insistent. Before she knew it, she was galloping down the sidewalk, shouting at the pony to wait.

He was already well ahead, and didn’t stop immediately. When he reached a crosswalk, she thought he would speed through and leave her behind, but he turned abruptly at the traffic light to regard her, at first just curious, but then amazed when he recognized her. She didn’t notice; by the time she had caught up, her head was pounding drily, and she fell back against a wall. The heat on her dark fur, the sudden exertion of running, and no sleep the night before combined into a single sledgehammer of exhaustion that almost made her black out on the spot.

“Miss? Miss, are you okay?” a distant voice asked.

She looked around in a semi-daze, panting. “I just need to rest.”

“You’re Octavia Melody.”

She nodded.

“Did… did you need something?”

Octavia sat back against the wall and caught her breath, and the stallion with the bike watched her, perplexed and worried. She waited another minute, and, when she no longer felt in danger of losing consciousness, spoke. “I apologize if I startled you. I have what may sound like an odd request.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“May I see your bike?”

“Wait.” He stifled a giggle. “Really?”

She let out a heavy breath. “Please. I just want to listen to the gears.” In the back of her mind, one thought stuck out: “He must think me utterly insane.”

He made no objections, however, as he leaned his bike next to her and helped her up. Lifting one end off the ground, she had him slowly turn the pedals, her ear up and judging. She was tired, but the seriousness of her music was enough to stay her concentration, and she analyzed the ticking as she directed his speed. In her head, the other music played as she wanted it.

“What’s this for?”

“Quiet.”

“Sorry.”

After another minute of listening, she stopped him, and then stopped, herself. “So I found something. He is not going to give this to me for free.”

“Uh, can I talk now?”

“It is for a musical project that I am doing,” she said. “I need a small, mechanical noise that I can repeat very easily.”

“Oh, wow! So you’re still doing music?”

She wiped sweat off her brow and looked around. A few ponies were staring, and her head throbbed stickily. “Yes. Please—and I am sorry for being abrupt like this, but I need to be somewhere—what can I do to make you give this to me?”

“My bike?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know you were into bikes.”

She withheld a sigh. “I am today. Please. I… left my money in the hotel, but I can do other things to arrange a trade.”

He took a moment to process what she had said, then smiled. She recognized his hungry expression immediately. “How about a date?”

“How about I fling you across the street and just take your damn bike?” She put on her polite smile. “That would be fine.”

He laughed self-consciously, his eyes lighting up. “Really?”

“Yes.” She stood and grabbed his bike, and he reached for it tentatively. “I want this now. Come by the airship lot outside Rose Tower at eight o’ clock, and I will meet you at the entrance ramp.”

“Uh… the airship lot?”

She fumbled for a way to move the bike and walk at the same time, and endured a snicker from him as she fell gracelessly back on all fours. “Yes, the lot. Eight o’ clock.”

“Well, okay. I mean, it’s a little far, but—”

“Thank you for the bike.” Leaning it against her side awkwardly, she walked away. She hated how silly she looked, but did not turn back to look at him. When she rounded a corner, and saw no one pursuing her, she stopped again to take stock of what she had agreed to.

“Ah’m just sayin’ we ought to be more cautious ‘bout lettin’ her go off like this, an’ Ah think, under the circumstances, that ain’t unreasonable,” Applejack said.

“But you’re making it sound like you want her locked up on the ship,” Rainbow said.

“Well, that ain’t what Ah’m tryin’ to say.” She stood up to look over the gunwale, hearing a small, approaching sound. “What in the world?”

“What?”

“Speak of the devil.”

Octavia came to an unsteady halt outside the ship, dismounting off the bike and removing the twin blotches of magic she had used to keep it upright. She tried to walk with it, but, failing, instead levitated it ungainly over the railing while she walked up the plank.

“And just what is this?” Rainbow asked. “Where’s Big Mac?”

“He wanted to jog behind,” Octavia said, wiping sweat out of her eyes. “I need someone—”

“Here, before you say whatever you gotta say, this is fer you,” Applejack said, thrusting a letting into Octavia’s face. “Yer pal Lacey sent someone ‘round to drop this off. Said it was fer you.”

“Why me?” She unfolded it.

He knows you know of Captain Shout, but can’t hurt you quickly enough for it to matter. He can, however, silence that nasty leak. Just so happens, a little birdie told me a local firebug just took on a huge job, to the tune of 2,000 embezzled bits. Connect the dots, and do it quick. That same birdie thinks it should go down later tonight.

He has goons. I have connections. Don’t screw this up for me. LK

“Interesting.”

“Well? What did it say?” Rainbow asked.

“I think Strawberry is going to destroy Captain Shout.”

“Psh. Bad move, Strawberry. Wasting your own muscle.”

“He does not believe he has a choice. He thinks that Shout is a leak,” Octavia said. She dropped the letter and righted the bike. “Do not worry. I think I know what to do. For now, I need someone to help me dismantle this.”

Applejack and Rainbow exchanged looks just as Big Mac plodded up the ramp, gasping for breath.

Octavia sat across from the bike-riding stranger at the Mooncrash Bistro, a trendy outdoors restaurant full of college students and hanging plants. They shared a table in the corner by the white metal rail, a lantern flickering with moths to one side, and tiny chili pepper-shaped lights hanging above. From her position, she could see the blinking tower of lights that was one of Manehattan’s radio stations. She had insisted they dine close to the station, saying she wanted to see the lights. In reality, there was only one light she was looking out for.

While he talked, gushing about how much he adored her and her art—mindless repetition to her ears—she stared at the station and thought about her music. Before she had to leave, she and Big Mac—who replaced Rainbow a couple minutes in—had managed to remove the bike’s wheels and handlebars, preserving the chain, gears, and pedals. They sat in a loose tangle on the floor, and he had told her, by the time she returned, he would have them suspended as she wanted. The ghostly ticking repeated in her mind, and she could still hear the music.

“So what are you doing with the Elements of Harmony? All the travel must stifle that beautiful creativity,” he said, prompting a flat smile.

“I am taking a break.”

“From fame?”

“From everything.” She glanced at the tower and leaned back for her plate of food. She watched him watch her, waiting for her to take the first bite. Grace and poise were expected, she knew, but she also knew, the instant that horrible, orange light appeared from between the gaps in buildings, she would be gone.

“Sabbatical. I hear you,” he said, nodding politely. “I’m surprised you’d want to travel if you’re taking a break from it all. No staying at home?”

She chewed thoughtfully. “None of that matters. Please, tell me more about yourself. Is being an accounting clerk as dull as it sounds?”

He laughed good-naturedly and dove into his own meal, appeased. Her eyes wandered as he described his work: hundred-page documents, receipts, sorting checks by date and by entity. She could feel the familiar buzz of exhaustion in the back of her head, steadily draining at her anxious readiness for action.

“Are you all right? You look sick,” he said.

“I have something on my mind.” She didn’t look away from the radio tower. In her heart, her intuition was tensing up. Something was going to happen soon, she felt.

“Yeah, I hear you. Work was crazy today. Hump day, though.”

She breathed through her nose. “Yes. Today is a Wednesday.”

While he paid the check and she fumbled with the wrapper for her after-dinner mint, which the unicorn waiter had forgotten to open for her—a common courtesy for the non-magical—she took her eyes off the radio station long enough that the orange pulse across the black street looked as sudden and impossible as if the whole thing had vanished before her eyes. She froze for a moment, her thoughts scrambled, but a single sentence cut through the confusion. “Do not screw this up.”

She rose so quickly that the chair fell over, and she didn’t even look at her date as she jumped over the railing, landing in the bushes by the steps up to the porch. His shocked voice followed behind her, but it meant nothing to her; as sudden as the fire, she was in another world. She bolted across a street and down an alleyway, splashing through a puddle and passing a homeless mare crouched in an alcove.

Turning quickly at the brick wall, she dove deeper into the space between buildings, losing sight of the blinking tower, but not the sound of its shrieking alarm. She stopped for breath by a Dumpster, and, for the first time since she realized, back on the ship, what she was going to do, doubt entered her mind to the sound of approaching fire trucks. She hadn’t even thought about other ponies.

“Too late to turn back,” she muttered, shaking her head and plowing headlong through the shadows. On the other end of the alley, she almost hit a pedestrian, swerving quickly to avoid him. The radio station howled in the night as a crowd moved restlessly in the parking lot outside, and there were no firefighters. The squat, double-story building glowed through its windows, and smoke came out from the first floor eaves. She was operating on impulse and instinct, and first ran to the skeleton crowd, absent Captain Shout, to ask his location.

All she received for the first minute was confused babble, before discerning, from one more levelheaded mare, a general idea: none of them had seen him exit, though they knew he was inside somewhere. Turning on her fetlocks, she made a dash for the front door, slowing her pace at the heat that already aggressed her. Still, she could hear her music.

Her only conscious thought was to channel some of her energy into a rudimentary shield spell, one of the things Twilight had shown her and that she did not practice nearly enough, in her opinion. It glittered around her, hidden from the watchers by the smoke that billowed from the door, fire licking at its edges.

Sound surrounded her in a harsh wave. The klaxon screech from all sides and the fuzzy, crumbling sound of growing fire created an urgent, uncertain atmosphere that seemed to squeeze her blazing head and ears. The parking lot was already lost, and the only important thing was the secretary’s desk: a colossal, oblong fireball that Octavia had to skirt on her way to the stairs. She didn’t think about where Captain Shout might actually be. As before, no urge to stop and consider her situation entered her fevered mind. She threw a bolt of magic at the metal door, rending it aside and off one of its hinges, scraping the floor with a distressed sound and a dark, quarter-circle groove.

Smoke clouded the stairwell, but the heat was not strong inside, and she was able to ascend the stairs with hooves unharmed. The overhead light was still on, casting the well in a hazy glow that was familiar to her. Outside, sirens were coming closer.

The second floor door snapped open, and she was bathed in a sudden rush of heat that hit her in the chest and made her pause, head bent near the warm rail. Sparks swirled through slits in the tiled floor, and heat waves danced before her eyes. Near the back wall, nascent spines of flame feathered up along a large window, through which she could see the crowd, waiting for something to happen.

Something groaned below, and she stayed by the door, watching, but also gathering her senses. The heat below had been tolerable, but, above the fire’s source, she felt as though she were standing in a giant oven. Even with her shield, her skin itched under her fur, and her eyes watered at the thick heat. She scanned the room, taking another step back as more flames appeared in a near corner. Stepping under an alarm, she was sharply reminded of its presence, and flapped her ears down. “Get out of here, stupid. You are not a firepony.”

Outside, a shell of lights drifted into view, and she took a single, painful step forward, then another. “Do not mess this up for me.” “Fuck consequences.” She moved along the side of the room, between desks and igniting cubicle partitions, always too close. A pinned photograph of a blank-expressioned foal was curling over someone’s scheduling book.

She passed a pair of desks and raced into the lounge, where an engulfed tablecloth forced her to back away immediately, not back through the door, but to the side, bumping into a hot trash bin and spinning away to the middle of the room, where she paused, back end searing. Through the smoke and noise, she saw only the suggestion of another door, and dashed to it uncomprehendingly, into a glass-sided corridor. Smoke filled her eyes, and she bent her head, coughing. Something else that Twilight had taught her about shields: they could keep out projectiles and intense energies, but it took a particularly strong spell to filter something as small and particulate as smoke or dust.

One second too many, and her hoof singed painfully on a hot tile. With a small cry, she lurched forward and, acting on impulse, dove headlong into the smoke, face down and breath held. The alarm momentarily quieted, but grew louder as she approached the opposite door, which she almost slammed into.

She could feel her concentration waning, and tried to kick the door open, turning around and getting another face full of smoke. Her hooves slipped out from underneath her as she doubled over in another fit of coughing and gagging, her eyes stinging and watering, the pain on her scalp from the hot air momentarily forgotten. The alarm shrieked, and the floor was hot as well, and growing hotter.

“Hey! Are you in here?” A firm voice barked in the floor below, but she ignored it. Pushing herself up and shaking her head, she realized something: as hard as it was to stand, it was harder still to open her eyes. She had not slept for nearly forty-eight hours, and she could feel the familiar pull of exhaustion on her already strained muscles. There was little left to give.

She shoved the door open and entered a recording room. The control panels still blinked, and, to her fading mind, they, too, were a warning. “Alert. Alert. Dangerous situation in progress.” She shook her head again, and her eyes focused on the grotesque form behind the glass.

Lying on the floor, head rosy with a blunt injury, she saw him. The small stallion with the big voice, the loudmouth rebel, Captain Shout, was unconscious and waiting patiently for the flames to consume him.

Voices called for her again, higher up but farther behind, and she, again, didn’t respond. Stepping carefully onto a panel, she brought up what magic she could into the only spell she thought herself truly skilled at. The glass shattered outwards in an amazing crest of glitter, its delicate tinkling barely audible over the alarm and the crunching flames.

Head fuzzy, she made to step into the room, but balked. She couldn’t get glass in her hooves.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” she rasped. Her throat was sore from smoke inhalation, but it was nothing in comparison to the leaden feeling that was settling in her mind and body. Her head was a cinder block, lifeless on the inside and slowly sinking.

“Hey! Can you hear me?”

She didn’t turn, but the voice prompted a response nonetheless. Without thinking, she took a hoof and thrust it to the side, into the window frame. Tiny teeth of glass bit into her with bitter, antiseptic speed that immediately cleared her mind and woke up her drooping eyes.

Targeting Captain Shout, she produced a crude levitation spell and half-dragged, half-bounced him toward her. His head flopped like a plaything, and, to her disquiet, she saw that the perpetrator had taped a pair of obnoxious, overlarge sunglasses to his face.

It took her a moment to turn around; she had to keep him in her mind, but behind her and out of sight. By the time she had him in a comfortable spot, the pain in her savagely bleeding leg was slowly dimming away, and even the sight of her own blood did not elicit anything stronger than mild distaste.

“Come on, Captain,” she whispered, heading back down the hall. The floor sagged, and her hooves burned at the first step. Something far before her fell, and she heard the wild spray of sparks and splinters, coupled with fireponies’ cries of alarm. She stood at the exit, shrouded in smoke and fatigue, and yet another impulsive thought entered her mind.

“Can I teleport us?”

She had tried it only once, after reading about the rudiments in one of Twilight’s tomes. The process was easy in theory, but, in practice, she had been unable to get a clear enough vision of her destination. That had been after a night when she slept.

She slowly went to her knees. Her eyes closed again, and her mind was slowing once more.

A powerful sound hit the building’s side, steady and thunderous, and she opened her eyes again. Looking around, she thought of the front window on the second floor.

“Hang on, Captain. In the words of my sister, this one will be a doozy.” Conjuring the best image she could of the outside lot, she forced her magic into the narrow process of teleportation. Around her, the sounds died away, and her body felt suddenly tight, no longer the heavy burden it was mere moments ago. Somewhere, Captain Shout was tethered to her, and, together, they shrunk and tightened. The smoke-filled, death-hot room snapped and flipped away, and a cold plunge of black concrete met her with a powerful, ear-snuffing crack.

Cloud Line slipped a hoof into a small divot near the pump’s edge and lifted, and the slab of earth came up to reveal a soft, grassy slope. Cork stood right beside her, lantern in her jaws, and Fluttershy was behind them. Rarity was back at the house.

“All right, before we go down, listen,” Cloud Line said. “Don’t put that lantern down. Just listen to what I have to say. There’s a lot of room down here, and not much light. If either of you wander off, there’s no guarantee that I can find you again.” She went down into the hole, and Cork eagerly followed, her light swinging jauntily deeper into the earth.

At first, Fluttershy didn’t move, but when Cork turned back and looked at her, eyes alight with more than the reflected flame in her mouth, she crept along. The tunnel was cool and dry, and as soon as she was inside, the ceiling stuck shut again with a sound that made Fluttershy’s wings and throat snap closed. Cork’s lantern illumed a stone-sided and dirt-floored corridor, slanting down gently, but, beyond her sphere of light, all manner of imagined horrors waited. Each step was an effort, even in the light. There were no sounds, and Fluttershy thought anxiously back to their journey through the aqueducts of Trottingham.

Every dozen or so feet, they passed a pair of slits in the walls: air vents, Cloud Line said, and they stopped for Cork to take a picture and scribble something in her ledger.

“Where do the vents lead? I’ve never seen anything on the outside.”

“I can’t say,” Cloud Line said. “I can’t say much about this place. I only know where things are.”

“Still,” Cork breathed, and they walked deeper.

There were no sounds, though there was a palpable change in the air as they passed under the river. The air grew cooler and damper, and, before long, another light appeared in the distance.

“It’s an enchanted lantern. Proximity activates it,” Cloud Line said.

“Amazing,” Cork said, trotting ahead, but stopping to look back at them. For her eagerness—obsession, Fluttershy thought—she appeared careful to abide by Cloud Line’s warnings and advice. When they reached the light, the tunnel had widened, and a slab of concrete had replaced the dirt of the floor and ceiling, leaving them in a large, deep well of dark stone.

“And this is where all resemblance to the outside is gone. This stairwell goes fifty feet down. I usually just fly down, but we’ll take the stairs tonight.”

Fluttershy looked over the stone banister while Cork and Cloud Line got on the first step. The overhead light only barely reached the bottom, where she could see the gray lines of spiraling banisters and landings, edges thin as spider silk. The air was again dry and devoid of smell.

“Isn’t it amazing, Butterfly?” Cork asked, bringing her attention back to the stairs.

“It really is something,” Fluttershy managed. She joined them down the stairs, passing the hanging light’s calming glow to the opposite wall, where they stopped on a cold, flat, concrete landing. “All this, hidden beneath your tiny town.”

“I always suspected something like this, but never at this… scale,” Cork said, taking off her camera for more pictures. “How long did it take to make this?”

“About five years,” Cloud Line said. Her voice quieted reverently. “You’ll understand why I know that when we get to the bottom.”

Cork’s camera flashed a couple times, and they went on. The stairs were steep and rough, and progress down was slow for Cork. Fluttershy and Cloud Line stumbled occasionally, but a quick flap of wings was enough to right them.

When they stepped onto the final landing, the light above them was a distant star; without Cork’s lantern, they would be lost. Fluttershy followed Cork’s enraptured gaze as she swiveled around the flat, empty ground. On opposite ends of the atrium, there were archways, both leading to rooms that were too deep to penetrate from where they stood.

“Behind us is a vault that you don’t want to go inside,” Cloud Line said. “It’s empty, and it goes on for miles. It could be hours before you find the edge, and there are no lights anywhere.”

“Is it all open?”

“Completely. Er, I think so.” She turned around, her brown body moon-like in the unaccustomed lantern light. “The other way takes you to the cemetery.”

“Ponies are buried here?” Fluttershy asked. A note of fear cracked her voice, and, as she backed a step away from Cloud Line, she realized it was the first since she had gone down below the ground.

“The ones who created this place, yes. Many of them died digging.” She waited for Cork to take a couple more pictures, and then led them onwards into the dark, under a plain arch. The keystone bore the only decoration, which Cork photographed as well: a snowflake, encased in a circle.

For the first several yards, their path was a slight curve away from the entryway, along a concrete road with half-inch high borders. Nothing outside them but more emptiness, Cloud Line said.

“And here’s the first headstone,” she said. The perfectly-edged gravestone stuck out of the rock with neither seam nor fracture, as if shaped from the stone itself, not inserted later. Fluttershy and Cork crouched together to read it. The words were unweathered, though the date put it at eighty-four years prior.

“Opal Eyes, cement mixer, bottom chamber. September fourth, thirty-two thirty-one. Sweet Celestia,” Cork whispered. “This place is old.”

“There’s about a hundred ponies interred down here,” Cloud Line said. “All workers.”

“I wish I could talk to them.”

Cloud Line walked silently past, and they followed her, Fluttershy lingering at the grave for a second. There were no decorations, not on the headstone itself and not around it. No dried flower petals wreathed its base.

The single gravestone quickly became a field of them, and free-standing torches sprung to life of their own accord as they moved through. Their hoofsteps clicked like ghosts in the stony abyss, and headstones’ shadows swayed in the swing of Cork’s lantern. There was no apparent edge to the grotto, but she could see the shining contours of stones far off the concrete road.

“Look at that,” Cork said, awe turning her voice to a dreading whisper. She had stopped in her tracks to stare, amazed, at the beginnings of the far wall. Arched ribs of stone condensed downwards like bent spokes, converging somewhere in the deep distance. Fluttershy squinted and took a step closer. Cork hadn’t seen it—else she would have exclaimed about it, instead of the carved stone above—but Fluttershy did. A pale cloud of starlight seemed to leak from within the center of the darkness, revealing nothing.

They walked on, and, when Cork finally did notice the change in light, she looked to Cloud Line for guidance.

“It’s a window,” Cloud Line said.

“Where to?” Fluttershy asked.

“The location changes. Far from here, though.”

It felt like half an hour before the tunnel’s end was in sight, and they were stepping cautiously onto the stone plinth that would lead them to a single, modest step, ensconced between swirling pillars, emblazoned with delicate line work.

“Look at this,” Cork said, crouching down to read a small scrawl of lines on the stair’s lip. “It’s in Equestrian!”

“This cave is less than a hundred years old,” Cloud Line said.

“‘For those who gave their lives here, use this to find a way home again.’ So… this lets us go wherever these ponies came from?”

“Not exactly,” Cloud Line said, approaching the monument. It was a gentle blue field, thin as silk, or the surface of a pond scraped away from the water beneath. It didn’t move at her touch, and, as she walked through it, cleared partially, admitting her to the rough stone behind. “We can’t pass through.”

Cork joined her and stuck a hoof through. Her camera was forgotten, strapped around her neck.

“How does it feel?” Fluttershy asked.

“Like air.”

“But look at the image,” Cloud Line said, gesturing. The window was close to ten feet tall, oblong. Through it, stars shone and snowflakes drifted sparsely. The moon was a minuscule, curved wire at the edge of the window. Tree branches swayed at the bottom border.

“Where is it?” Fluttershy asked.

“One of the southern forests. This window connects to another at the top of a large tree, it looks like.”

Cork’s camera clicked energetically, making Fluttershy jump. “This is incredible. All this time, such a rich history was buried a scant fifty feet below my hooves!”

“Remember our agreement, Cork,” Cloud Line said in a low voice.

“I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone. This will be my secret. And Butterfly’s, of course.”

Cloud Line looked at Fluttershy, who could only smile weakly. “I’m not worried about her.”

“Um… thanks?” Fluttershy offered.

“I wish I could meet the ponies who made this. Even one of them,” Cork said. “It’s simply too much. Where did it come from? Why did they make it? How? Did they use the window and then deactivate it? Not to mention that vault we didn’t look at, that empty one.”

Fluttershy turned back. Her thoughts strayed to Rarity, and she looked up and around, suddenly, acutely aware that she was more than fifty feet below the ground. She looked at another headstone.

“Sugarcane, vent digger, top tunnel. January twenty-ninth, thirty-two thirty-six,” Cork read aloud. “Lots of dead for just five years here.”

Cloud Line looked at them both, lips parted softly. “Have you seen enough, Cork? Butterfly?”

“Yes, and also no.”

“I figured.” She put her back to the enchanted window, and Fluttershy took one last glance at it as they walked away. A large flock of birds scattered across its lambent surface, and she could almost hear them in the back of her mind.

Octavia woke up with a searing pain across her backside and a pounding head. Her body was wrapped in bandages, and everyone minus Twilight was already there.

“Some date last night, huh?” Applejack said.

Octavia sighed, realizing what must have happened. “How bad is it?”

“Not.”

Pinkie peeked over the bedside at her. “You’ve got a bunch of first-degree burns and a bump on the head. Oh, and your hoof needed some stitches. The doctor thinks you’ll be all right to leave by tomorrow.”

“And Captain Shout?”

“That blowhard is the reason you’re like this?” Rainbow said.

“You saw the note Lacey left for me, did you not?”

“Well, yeah, but…” She looked to the side, and Octavia looked at her.

“Yer actin’ awfully impulsive lately,” Applejack said. “At first, it was just kinda strange, but now we’re gettin’ worried. We’re all concerned fer you, Octavia, an’ that’s what it is.”

“I see.” Octavia looked out the window. It was late morning, and she thought she could see the afterimage of smoke in the sky, but wasn’t sure. “Yes, I have been acting more on impulse these last few days. I do not know why.”

“What are you lookin’ for when you go out?” Big Mac asked.

“Excitement. I do not want to stay on the ship all day, so I go exploring. Yesterday, Rainbow is correct, I wanted to save Captain Shout.”

“You’ll notice that it’s you who’s sufferin’ to do what Lacey wants, an’ she’s not even here,” Applejack said.

Octavia thought for a second. “I did not notice that.”

“Well now you do.”

“Yes.” She waited, but they didn’t look away from her. “You know how I am. You know that I get restless. I am sorry that I did not tell you, but I knew you would try to stop me, and, frankly, I do not think it is something that should have been stopped.”

“Almost killing yourself for some stranger, you mean,” Rainbow said.

“Yes.” Rainbow shook her head, and the derision gave Octavia defensive strength. “I know you do not like it, but I feel very strongly about the topic. The firefighters did not get there until late. If I did not help him, what would that have made me?” She flipped her mane out of her eyes, but if flopped back down calmly. She snarled and shook her head, prompting a rough slap of pain across her chest.

“A bystander,” Pinkie said.

“Exactly. A bystander who could have helped.”

“But Lacey…” Applejack started.

“Her involvement does not affect his life, or the importance of saving it.”

“It screws with yers, though,” Big Mac said.

On the floor below Octavia’s, Captain Shout lay in his own bed, hooked up to an IV drip and wide awake. Lacey Kisses stood at his side, quiet, while he considered what she had said.

“You don’t expect me to believe you came here just out of the goodness of your heart. What aren’t you telling me?”

“You didn’t figure it out?” Lacey asked, head cocked.

He coughed. “I know, right? All that time unconscious, you’d think I’d have plenty of time to think about what happened.”

“Fair enough, Captain. I’ll spoon-feed you this one. That fire was no accident. It was planned, by Strawberry.”

“Who?”

She smiled sweetly and looked at the door. It was closed, and she heard no one outside.

“I mean, I’ve heard of him, but—”

“Shhhh, shhhh. Let Auntie Lacey explain.” She sat on his bed and curled her tail around his back hoof, tickling it gently. “The Elements of Harmony figured you out somehow. I don’t pretend to know where they get their information. Instead of trying to do something subtle, they asked Strawberry about you point-blank, and he concluded—quite naturally—that you were a leak.” She flicked his nose with her hoof. “And that’s why he tried to burn you down.”

“You think you have this all figured out, huh?”

Still smiling, she leaned in and removed her hoof, placing it, instead, on his bandaged chest. “Strawberry and I know each other. Let’s not argue, hm? I’m trying to help you, anyway.” He glowered at her, and she let her weight rest on him slightly. He groaned and tried to shift away, but she pressed harder. “He betrayed you, Captain, and he thinks you’re dead.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“Your loyalty and all the information you have on him.”

He tried to move once more, and she moved her hoof lower, where the bandages were softer. She smiled as his breathing grew harder.

“Tell me everything, Captain.” She gave him one last press and then retracted her hoof. “And let’s be friends.”

Rehearsal began late. The others arrived back from the hospital at ten-thirty, where Globe Trotter and Trixie had set up the stage and Twilight was going through the script, mumbling dialogue to herself.

“I don’t want to sound like I don’t care about her health, but where does this leave my music?” Trixie asked.

“If I know her, which I do,” Pinkie said, “it’s the biggest thing on her mind right now.”

“Well… all right.” She shook her head quickly. “Dumb mare. Twilight, you ready to start this?”

Twilight flinched, but floated her script to the side of the stage with a smile. Trixie hopped up with her, and Globe Trotter took a seat at the front. With a slight glow of her horn, Trixie dimmed the lights and cleared her throat.

“Remember, delivery is more important than accuracy. The audience doesn’t care if you can recite your script perfectly; they care if you can recite it with energy and panache.”

“Right, panache,” Twilight said.

Trixie began her slow strut around the stage, Twilight lingering in the back, waiting for her cue to step forward.

“Shouldn’t we have some dramatic lighting for this part?” Pinkie asked.

“I’m my own dramatic lighting,” Trixie said. She flourished her cape and flared her horn, and the stage went dark except for a small patch of light surrounding her. Her voice carried through the empty space, full and opulent. “As you may have heard, the Great and Powerful Trixie has known many foes, all of which she had bested with her bravery, cunning, and unparalleled sorcery. Her skill was celebrated throughout the land. But there were always… doubters.” The light took on a dim red hue, and her strut became a skulk.

Applejack and Pinkie watched from behind the stage as she delivered her introductory monologue. “She’s still full of herself,” Applejack said. “She’s just better at disguisin’ it.”

“I like her,” Pinkie said.

“You like everyone.”

“I don’t like Discord.”

“He doesn’t count.”

“Hey!” Trixie shouted, her speech coming to an abrupt stop. “We can hear you back there, you know. Stop talking and start setting up those props.”

“Aw, ponyfeathers,” Applejack mumbled as they scrambled to the front. By the time Trixie was finished with her monologue, the lights went up to pin them halfway on the stage, a large, plywood tree between them.

“The idea is to have that up before she’s finished talking,” Globe Trotter said.

They retreated back behind the stage as Twilight came forward and began her dialogue with Trixie; neither held their scripts for it.

“They’re pretty good,” Applejack whispered, back behind the stage, earning an emphatic nod from Pinkie.

Octavia lay in bed, trying to think of her music for Trixie’s show and trying to ignore the persistent, itching pain under her skin. According to the doctor, the firefighters had been pulling their ponies out of the building when she and Shout appeared, flying fast and only a couple feet off the ground. The two of them crashed into the parking lot, leaving twin smears of blood and fur, along with a mystery: how could two earth ponies manage a teleportation accident?

She looked up as someone entered the room, and couldn’t completely stem the grateful smile as Lacey closed the door and came to her bedside. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

“I thought you’d have a couple questions,” Lacey said. “But first, let me just say, thank you. I know as well as you do that you didn’t have to go to this length to save a stranger.”

“Stop it. I am not interested in your gratitude.”

Lacey’s composure didn’t flicker, but her eyes hardened. “Ah, right. Because of what I did to poor Rarity.”

“If Strawberry were not here, I would probably be looking for ways to avenge my friend. You are lucky that you are only the second most evil here.”

“No, I get it,” Lacey said lightly. “Just business. That’s smart.”

“How did you know what would happen?”

“I told you, did I not? I have connections.”

“That is not good enough.”

“It’ll have to be.” She smiled and crawled up to Octavia’s bed, leaning in close, almost touching muzzles. “How about you try asking different questions? Instead of worrying about me, worry about yourself.”

“If I worried about myself, you would not have Captain Shout.”

Lacey grinned. “My point exactly. Strawberry had a goon. He did dangerous things without ever knowing the whole story. What do you think you are for me?”

Octavia looked past Lacey. The thought had not come to her, and hearing it stated so lightly made her sore muscles tighten.

“You’ve made it clear that you don’t like me, but, Octavia, in the little time I’ve spent with you, I’ve come to respect you. Your friends are just airheaded slaves to the royalty, but you think.” She smiled. “Not well, and not enough, but at least you try.”

“Flattery will not help you.”

Lacey slipped off the bed and went to the window at a trot, suddenly throwing a curtain aside. “My hoof was forced, dammit. I was protecting myself and my friends. Does that make me a bad pony?”

“Your methods make you a bad pony.”

“So you probably don’t trust my motives, when I try to get you to be careful getting between Strawberry and me. You probably suspect manipulation.”

“Yes.”

Lacey scoffed. “So I’m not capable of feeling legitimate need to warn you about all this.”

“Based on what I have seen, you would not be so kind, even if you did respect me.”

“Fine.” She went back to the door. “Think about this, then. Captain Shout is a minor celebrity. If your friends managed to piece together enough to screw up his spot, you’re darn sure someone else will. He can’t last as a goon, because he’s under too much scrutiny. I know it, and Strawberry had to know it too.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying he won’t last.” She narrowed her eyes and spoke slowly. “The minor celebrity will not last. The minor celebrity. What happens when someone doesn’t last?”

Octavia only looked at her.

“I’m asking you. What happens?”

“Someone tries to eliminate them.”

“So maybe the very popular Octavia Melody should heed my warning, before rushing headlong into this mess. I appreciate your help, I really do, but if it’s a choice between that… low-life, and you, then I’ll pick him.” She perked up and stepped into the hospital hall. “And there’s a second conclusion in all this, if my kindness isn’t enough.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“Think about it yourself. Your goal is to make this fighting stop, isn’t it?”

Octavia was silent.

“Just think about it.” She was gone.

Trixie took the table’s head at the Folded Fruit, a local pub that she dragged the others to for lunch. The interior was musty and warm, with thick, wood-paneled walls offset by sporadic mirrors—a faulty design choice, Trixie claimed.

While everyone else looked over their menus, Rainbow scooted closer to Trixie. “Why’d you do it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trixie said, not looking up from her own menu.

“Then I’ll clue you in.” Before she could react, a pair of pastel blue lips floated over and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Trixie paused. “Ah, that.” She closed her menu. “Well, Dashie, if you must know, it was because I have fallen hopelessly in love with you. Frankly, I’m head over hooves.”

“Well, yeah, but who isn’t? I’m great.”

“But are you great and powerful?” She faced Rainbow and brought up a hoof to give her nose a quick boop.

“Get a room, you two,” Applejack said.

“Hey! We’re not doing anything,” Rainbow said.

“Just boops and kisses over here,” Trixie said. “Certainly nothing.”

“Shut up, Tricky.”

“Now now, Dashie, don’t get too angry, else I’ll have to leave you for Twilight.”

“Me and Trixie?” Twilight asked. “I don’t think so. No offense.”

“It’s too obvious,” Pinkie said. “But you know what would be hilarious? Trixie and Applejack!”

“You know Ah’m straight,” Applejack said.

“Uh, duh! That’s why it would be so funny!”

“Trixie’s mine, though,” Rainbow said. She looked at Trixie, who smiled toothily. “Right?”

“Always and forever, my dear, boisterous pony,” Trixie said, patting Rainbow’s wing joint.

“See? All mine.”

“Okay, okay, you can have her,” Applejack said. She exchanged a look with Pinkie, who giggled and buried her face in the menu.

The following morning, Fluttershy and Rarity woke up to an angry shout. Cork had spent the entire evening before making preparations in her darkroom, an arduous task with her limited supplies, but had not placed the negatives until earlier that morning.

“I don’t get it. I just don’t get it,” Cork said, coming into the living room.

“What’s wrong?” Fluttershy asked between yawns.

“They’re not developing. The negatives are fine, but the prints keep turning up black. I know I had the flash on, but it’s just not coming out.”

“Not one?” Rarity asked.

“Not a single one. If I hadn’t have written anything down, I’d have no documentation. Zero.”

“Are you sure it’s not your development process?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’ve developed film since I got here. I know what I’m doing.” She sat down and released a heavy sigh. “I really thought I had something. I really did.”

“You still have your notes,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, but I didn’t take measurements. I was going to go through the photos later and use them to get the specifics. Now all I have is some dumb impressions. ‘Dark slits in the walls’? What’s that even mean?”

“Dear, are you quite sure you’re not overreacting?” Rarity asked.

“You can always go again,” Fluttershy said.

“Pff, not likely. Cloud Line said she didn’t want to go down again, at least for another couple months. Too much activity around the pump can make others suspicious, she said.” She looked at them both. “Of course… I could probably make it on my own. I watched her open it up.”

“I’m not sneaking into the crypt under that old thing,” Rarity said.

“I know.” She walked back to her bedroom, where the darkroom took the place of a closet.

“She’s sneaking in,” Fluttershy said.

“Obviously,” Rarity said. They exchanged glances. “Should we try to stop her?”

“I don’t think we can.”

“Tell Cloud Line?”

“Um… I’d rather not.”

“I know,” Rarity said. “We can’t exactly afford to have Cork angry with us, can we?”

“Um… I have another idea,” Fluttershy mumbled.

Rarity pursed her lips, recognizing her tone. “I bet I know where this is going.”

“Please, R—Madam White? Please? It’s really, really spooky down there.”

“Then don’t go. Let her get her own fool self into trouble.”

“But…” She thought.

“Why do you care so much? You don’t expect her to get hurt or anything, do you?”

“It’s really dark down there, and big, and cold too. Plus, she could go into the giant vault, the one Cloud Line said you can get lost in.”

“That’s not exactly our problem.”

Fluttershy frowned and got off the couch.

“What?”

“I have to think about this.” She went to the door, but Rarity followed closely behind.

“Darling, please, can we talk?”

“You didn’t want to talk yesterday. Why should I talk now?” She held her nose up and walked forcefully to the static river. It was still dawn, and the sun bounced off its surface.

“I’m sorry. I was upset.”

“Well, I’m upset now.” She rounded to face Rarity. “I get it, Rarity.”

“Dear, remember—”

“Why should I? Why do you care? Why does it matter?”

Rarity looked down for a second, and back up.

“I get it. Manehattan was no good. You were lied to, and manipulated, and taken advantage of. We all were, but you had it the worst.”

Rarity walked past her to the riverside. “Where is this going?”

“I think you’re losing sight of who you are.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Fluttershy took a minute to watch the river ripple with insects, forming her sentence in her head. “I think you’re refusing to confront your experiences, and letting them poison you instead. I’ve never heard you suggest what you did just now.”

“I’ve never been in a situation like this,” Rarity said. “Have you thought of that? Dear, with all due respect, you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“Well, no, not that. But we’ve all seen the same horrible things, Rarity. You were right next to me when we had to defend the palace. You were there when we fought that thing in the vineyard.”

“Those are different, and you know it.”

Fluttershy sighed and lowered her head. A grain of anger was turning over in her mind, and she flapped her wings once. “Who are you helping by holding onto this? Certainly not yourself.”

“You don’t just get over something like that, Fluttershy. It’s not that easy.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy.” Her voice was low, almost a warning. She looked at Rarity. There was no recognition in her eyes, and it brought a tiny snarl to Fluttershy’s lips. “But you have to let go.”

“Just let go, huh?”

“Yes. Just let go.”

“Hm. Well.”

Fluttershy’s frown deepened. “What?”

“No, nothing. I guess I can’t seriously expect you to get it.”

She took a deep breath through her nose. “You’re right. I don’t get it.” She advanced on Rarity, facing the river. “I don’t get why you want to feel this way. I don’t understand why the Rarity I know would ever let herself turn into the bitter, frightened, mean-spirited, self-pitying pony that she’s becoming.” She came up beside Rarity, who didn’t look at her. “Cork is annoying, but that suggestion was cold, and you know it. I don’t get…” She sighed, her thought momentarily lost. “I don’t get why you would embrace all that negativity, all because of some nag who did you wrong, when you can just find support in your friends and find a way to let it go.”

She exhaled, suddenly aware of the outpouring of emotion. Her knees wobbled, but she stood as still as she could, listening to Rarity’s breath. In the distance, a scythe swished.

“Well… okay.”

Fluttershy looked at her.

“I’m sorry, Fluttershy.” She looked up, and then to the side at the dark, Manehattan skyline. She sighed.

“Is… um, is there anything else? I’m sorry—I’m not trying to—”

“No. That is, no, there’s nothing else. I don’t know what to say. You’re right, but I don’t know what to do about it.” She sat down, rubbing her head, and Fluttershy sat with her. For a long time, neither spoke. The sun gradually ascended, the day grew warm, a lone cloud drifted into view and broke apart. The scythe shivered in the air. “I guess I’ve known this for a while now.”

Octavia didn’t sleep. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the nurses and attendants shuffling throughout the building around her. She shared her room with another, a young colt, who rested at an incline, one leg in a cast. He had tried to talk to her earlier, but her monotone responses soon stopped his advances.

A nurse came to check her vitals at eleven, and the only word she spoke was a dull “yes” when asked if she was doing well. She watched the weather through the slit in her curtains. It was a bland, sunny day, and she could see the corner of a strip mall from her window. Someone asked a question in the corridor outside.

“Something dark and lonesome, but not overly heavy.” Her mind was full of sounds, but no combination was right. Every thought she had ended in a beautiful, windy melody, as they had in her youth, or a dirge, as they had in her adulthood. She lay back and closed her eyes, but immediately opened them back up. Behind her lids, the usual image swam out to her.

“I cannot keep doing this,” she murmured. “They know. They have to know. Something is wrong.”

“Is something wrong?” An unfamiliar pony stood at her bedside.

“No.”

“I heard you say something. Are you sure?”

“It is nothing.”

The pony pulled up a seat. “Can’t be easy to return to the hospital so soon.”

Octavia looked at her.

“We have your medical record. Pretty mean fracture last time, and now this.” She shook her head. “So, what’s your story?”

“There is no story.”

“No, that can’t be right.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

She smiled and leaned back. “For you? Because it’s my job. What say you, Miss Melody? Does trouble just follow you?”

“Yes. Rather, I follow it.”

“Is that right?”

“My friends and I are the ones putting the country back together. Trouble is something that we encounter quite often.”

“But you land in it more than they do,” the pony said. “My name’s Latte, by the way. I’m an MA.” She smiled. “Medical assistant.”

“Ah.”

“So, why do you wind up in the hospital so much? They said you somehow pulled that DJ out of the radio fire. Mysterious, two earth ponies injured in a teleportation accident.”

“Yes, that is strange.”

Latte laughed a jingling laugh, but her voice was serious when she responded. “So what’s wrong?”

Octavia sighed.

“It’s not going on your records, or anything. I don’t know if you know that. We don’t record everything about you here.”

“May as well. Fuck the consequences, right?” “I have recently made a decision, and I am not certain whether it was the right one. I am trying to live a lifestyle that fits with that decision, but all it has done is confuse my friends and put me here.”

“What kind of decision?”

“I am not certain how to say it. I suppose I am being more impulsive.”

“Impulsive enough to run into a burning building? That’s a strong impulse.”

“Yes.”

Latte tapped her chin. “So you adventure with the Elements, come to a life decision, and put yourself in harm’s way because of it. Are you sure you don’t want to go back?”

“There is no going back.”

“And why not?”

“Going back would… destroy me.”

“Really?” She scooted a little closer. “Maybe it’s different. I wouldn’t use that word lightly around here. You get to see things.”

“I am not using it lightly.” She closed her eyes again, and held them closed, despite the image behind. “There is nothing behind me but debt and shame. My musical ability has plateaued, and I have not the money to make next month’s rent, let alone the rent that I have ignored in my travels with the others. And yet, before me, I see only confusion. This adventure will end, but I have nowhere to go after that.” She stopped for a minute, but Latte didn’t respond. “I cannot lie to myself, as I thought I could. That is what I mean, when I say that I cannot keep doing this.”

“Surely you won’t be completely unsupported. The princesses will take care of you all.”

“For a month or two, yes, but then I will be expected to get back on my own hooves.” She sighed again, and, before she could stop it, there was a catch in her throat. “I have nothing to stand on. I should have stayed home, and focused on saving my money. I should not have run. Now that I have, what little I have has dissolved.”

Latte sighed. “I don’t think it’s that bad. Like I said, the princesses will take care of you. I’m sure any debts can be erased, and they’ll put you back in your orchestra.”

“I was never a part of one.”

“Oh. Well, your ensemble, then. Something.” She leaned on Octavia’s bed, and, for a second, an image more terrible than the reddish one in her head clouded over, and a black figure filled her mind, animate and heavy. “Things work out, Octavia. You see as many recoveries as I have, you start to believe that.”

Octavia grunted.

“Seriously. I’ve seen ponies with a one to a hundred chance walk out of here on their own power. I’ve seen kids come back after months of unconsciousness. I’ve seen three leukemia remissions in my time here. I still get Hearth’s Warming cards from their families.”

“Where I come from, hope is not so easy to find.”

“Then it’s probably good you got away from there.”

Only when the light first dimmed did Octavia think of her friends with something more than detachment. A nurse came in with her discharge papers at six o’ clock, and she stepped onto the street a half hour later, bandages on her chest and hoof, and pain slowly flexing and un-flexing through her body.

Part of her wanted to go exploring again, but she resolutely sat down by one of the decorative pillars forming the hospital’s façade. When the sky was powdery blue, and the first stars were appearing, a taxi rolled up, Pinkie and Twilight’s faces in the window. She gave a genuine smile and climbed in with them.

“How do you feel?” Twilight asked.

“Better. Ashamed, and dumb, and I feel like I am in a lot of trouble when I get back to the ship. However, I am better.”

“Um… well, we’ll see,” Pinkie said.

“How is rehearsal?”

“Dashie and Trixie are gonna go out!”

“Pinkie, that’s not even close to accurate,” Twilight said. She looked at Octavia, who looked back humorlessly. “They’re playing with each other. Teasing.”

“Flirting, Twilight. It’s flirting,” Pinkie said. “You saw them poking at each other today.”

“It’s harmless fun,” Twilight said.

“So’s flirting!”

“As long as Rainbow does not do anything to delay this further, I do not care,” Octavia said.

There was a long silence. “Good to have you back, Octavia,” Twilight said.

“I’m going down there,” Cork said. “Tomorrow, I’m going down there.”

“So are we,” Rarity said.

Cork looked at them both.

“We don’t want you to get hurt,” Fluttershy said.

“Music?” Trixie asked.

“I can hear it in my head,” Octavia said. Everyone was setting up and getting in place for the third rehearsal. “All I need to do is find a way to put it to form.”

“And I take it that’s what this is for?” She gestured at the awkward setup Big Mac had dragged in that morning: a disembodied bike chain on a frame, one handle sticking out from below for her to crank.

“You will understand when you hear it, tomorrow. I need some bells.”

“You mean you don’t even have all your materials?”

“That is what I mean.”

Trixie sighed. “Talk to Globe about it after this.” She stepped to the stage. “Twilight, let’s go.”

An hour later, they took a collective bow to Globe Trotter’s applause before hopping off the stage and forming a semicircle around Trixie, who appraised them.

“We’re getting there. Applejack, Pinkie, I need you two to focus more. I can still hear you playing around in the back sometimes.”

“She almost knocked over a light!” Applejack said.

“That doesn’t mean you go on a five-minute rant about watching where you’re going,” Trixie said. “The only one who should be monologuing is me.”

“Fiiiine.”

“Everybody else is doing well. Octavia, I like your music so far.”

“It will be better tomorrow,” Octavia said.

“Great. So let’s go get lunch and get back here in an hour and a half.” They dispersed. “Twilight? A word?”

Twilight looked back at her friends before following Trixie out the studio doors to the hot, clear day beyond.

“I feel bad about leaving my friends back there,” Twilight said as Trixie wove through traffic. The streets were bare, hot ribbons under the city’s auspicious canopy.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re grown ponies. Besides, I want to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been thinking about my performances lately. This is the first time I’ve shared the stage with someone since I was young.”

“That was when you and Octavia were traveling?”

“Yes ma’am. She’s changed a lot, you know.”

“I would think so.” Twilight looked at her for a second, watching the road reflect in her eyes. “You don’t know her past, do you?”

“Only the parts she spent with me. Why?”

“Just curious. What was she like?”

“Serious, but in a more precocious, youthful way. She wasn’t all business all the time, like now. She knew how to have a laugh.”

“I think I’ve heard her laugh once or twice.”

“Color me amazed,” Trixie said, pulling to a stop. A long, concrete lot held the fallen corpse of a building between two of its brethren, a former bridge. “I know what you’re going to say, but how’d you like to do this again sometime?”

“Put on a show?”

“Yeah.”

“Trixie, you know I can’t do that,” Twilight said. “I have a duty to Princess Celestia, to Equestria. I can’t just abandon it to team up with you.”

“I know, but it was worth a try. I get pretty lonely sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

They accelerated. “After Octavia left, I grew up entirely on my own,” Trixie said. “I fast learned how to survive, in the wilderness and in an unforgiving town. I’ve done things I’m not proud of to keep myself alive, Twilight.” She stared ahead for a bit, and Twilight watched her. “But now, I have an agent, I have some stable income, and I get to do what I love without wondering if it’ll be my last time. And I want to do it with someone. I’ve been alone for too long, Twilight.”

“I’m sorry, Trixie, but I can’t join you. Not now, anyway. Maybe after all this is done, I can find you again, but… even then, I don’t know. I can’t make my friends change their lives just to accommodate me.”

“Not for long, anyway.”

Twilight nodded. “Yeah. Not for long.”

“She stole Twilight from us!” Rainbow said, slouching in the restaurant booth.

“Rainbow, let it go,” Applejack said. “So Twilight wanted to hang out with Trixie this time. It ain’t a big thing.”

“I bet Trixie’s trashing me behind my back.”

“It’s probably just business! Or lines! Or stage stuff!” Pinkie said.

“You don’t seriously think she wouldn’t take this opportunity alone with Twilight to talk about us,” Rainbow said.

“The Trixie that I know does not talk about ponies behind their backs,” Octavia said. “I do not appreciate what you are implying about her.”

Rainbow frowned. “Sorry, Octavia.”

“What was Trixie like back when you knew her?” Applejack asked.

“We were both young at that time. I remember that it was difficult to get along with her at first; she was very abrasive, and arrogant, much like how you describe her when she came to Ponyville. However, once I got to know her, it became clear that those traits were just ways to appear strong; in reality, she was full of doubt, much like myself at the time. I suppose it was sad.”

Rainbow let out a single laugh, and Octavia smiled.

“When we grew closer, she reverted to what I suspect is her true personality: friendliness, kindness, and a desire to make ponies happy. Quite similar to you, Pinkie.”

Pinkie beamed. “So she is a nice mare!”

“Yes. She had merely spent so much time on her own, forced to fend for herself, that she had learned to be cruel and manipulative. Living by one’s own means tends to do that to a pony.”

“I still don’t know,” Rainbow said.

“Well, it does not matter,” Octavia said.

When they got back to the studio, they got into their places without much conversation; time was short, and they could feel the seriousness of the situation pressing on them. The sound of Trixie’s and Twilight’s performances were becoming routine, and everyone was beginning to pay attention only when their cues came up. The show went by with no incidents, and, afterwards, they crowded around Trixie for her usual after-performance assessment.

“Good job everypony. Twilight, you’re almost there. Remember, emotion! You’re not Twilight Sparkle, the adventurer; you’re Evening Shimmer, the magician with the most powerful enemy in the world.”

“I’ll do my best,” Twilight said.

“I expect you all to be at the top of your performance tomorrow,” Trixie said. “Now go home and get some rest. Same time tomorrow, full run, no mistakes. Clear?”

“Clear,” they echoed.

“Great. See you all tomorrow.”

They dispersed and went back to the ship, where they had a light dinner and went to sleep, quiet and waiting.