Rarity held the lamp, and Fluttershy held her breath. Cloud Line’s house was a dozing crate only twenty feet from the pump, one dead window facing them accusingly. Cork felt around the crack in the pump’s concrete foundation for a moment before locating the divot, and pulling upwards with a squish of moist earth and oiled, hidden hinges.

They descended quietly and swiftly, intruders all. As the lantern’s light flickered away from the hole’s edge, it re-sealed itself, as it had before, and Cork trotted ahead. Her camera was absent, but she had a bundle of pens with her notebook.

“Hold that up to this slit,” she said, indicating the first vent. Rarity angled herself to throw a beam of light onto the thin cut in the wall, and Cork put her nose to it. “It definitely smells like fresh air.” She scrawled something in her book and ran a hoof down the thin space, then pressed her eye to it. “Can’t see through it, though. Dang.” She wrote more.

“Exactly how long were you thinking of being down here?” Rarity asked.

“Mm.”

“I’m just saying, Butterfly was right. It is really… well, spooky down here.”

“I’m almost ready to keep moving,” Cork said. She drew a quick picture of the slit, and they moved on. When the lantern in the stairwell came to life, Rarity froze with a small cry, and it was a couple seconds before Fluttershy could coax her into moving again.

The three of them entered the stairwell in a tight triangle, Cork at the head, from which she broke to go to the banister, leaning over it with careless fascination.

“Fifty feet down, through solid rock,” she said, returning to a safer vantage. “Incredible. Excuse me.” She edged past them to inspect the back wall. “I’m checking for tool marks.”

“I don’t like this at all,” Rarity whispered, and Fluttershy put a wing around her.

“It feels emptier without Cloud Line with us,” Fluttershy said.

“It feels like we’re not supposed to be here.”

“Well…”

“Down we go,” Cork said, beginning the first steps. Her hoofsteps on the uneven stone were loud and irreverent, and fading fast into deep darkness. “Come on, ladies.”

Fluttershy led Rarity down, slowly at first, to where Cork waited a few landings down.

“We’re supposed to stick together,” Rarity said. “Butterfly said it’s really easy to get lost down here.”

“Only in the vault,” Cork said. “These are just stairs.”

“Yes. Dark, old stairs,” Fluttershy said. “Wait for us to light the way, Cork.”

“Fine, fine. Ooh, look at this!” She trotted to a broken corner in the banister.

“What now?” Rarity asked.

“Look at it.” Cork pointed at the banister, then at the concrete floor directly beneath it, where there was a second fissure in the stone. “Something must have fallen on it.” She looked up. The overhead lantern was still bright enough to cast them in a pale pool of light. “Can’t see the ceiling, though. Butterfly, would you mind—”

“She’s not flying up there,” Rarity said.

“Let’s just get to the bottom,” Fluttershy said. “Wouldn’t you rather take notes on the window than these old stairs?”

“I’d rather take notes on everything,” Cork mumbled, plodding down the next set of stairs.

Their remaining walk to the bottom was long and quiet, with Cork pausing only for minutes at a time, no longer exclaiming or explaining her stops. When they reached the central chamber, the light from aloft was nearly gone, and Cork turned a slow circle.

“Into the cemetery,” Fluttershy said. “You know the other way is dangerous.”

Cork took a deep breath. “I have to see it.”

“Cork, no,” Rarity said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I won’t go in.” She walked resolutely into the darkness, stopping at the edge of Rarity’s light. “Well? You’re my light. Come on.”

“We’re not doing it,” Rarity said. She glanced at Fluttershy, who stared into the darkness dispassionately. “Either come with us, where it’s safe, or go alone. You know what’s in there.”

“A light isn’t enough,” Fluttershy said. “The vault is too big. We’re not getting lost with you.”

Rarity turned to her and mouthed a quiet “thank you.”

“Says Cloud Line. Butterfly, think for a minute,” Cork said. She had moved out of their range. “Of course the one pony who knows about the pump wants us to avoid certain parts of it.”

“Yes, because they’re unsafe,” Rarity said.

“Listen to her, Cork,” Fluttershy said. “You’re putting yourself in huge danger here.”

Cork was silent for a moment, but then she stepped back into the circle of light. “Have it your way.” She didn’t stop for them. “To the cemetery. To the window. Come on, girls.”

They followed her, the only sound their clicking hooves and the tiny cry of the lantern on its hinge. The atrium constricted into the undecorated arch, and then expanded quickly into the massive, open field of headstones. Cork studied the short divide that indicated their road, but did not stray from their light. She noted the first few graves, recording names and dates. Still, no one spoke.

When the first suggestions of the cavern’s end manifested against the window’s smooth, ethereal light, they stopped again. “I’d love to be able to go through that window,” Cork said.

“I know what you mean,” Fluttershy said, taking a half step forward. “Come on. Madam White hasn’t seen it yet.”

“I’ll be right there.” Cork was sitting at another gravesite, writing in her book.

They turned back to the window, nearly invisible from their distance, and walked slowly, giving Cork enough time to catch up. When she didn’t, they paused and looked around.

“Foal of a…” Rarity breathed. “Cork! Cork, answer me!”

They waited a second. “She went back to that vault, I bet,” Fluttershy said.

“Damn it.” Rarity sat down beside the lantern, a growl bubbling in her chest. “This is what happens here. We try to do something good, and it blows up in our faces!”

“Rarity, please, I’m sure she hasn’t gone far yet.”

“It doesn’t matter, dear. She clearly doesn’t want to answer us.” She turned quickly and clamped the lantern’s handle in her teeth. “I fay we wed her go.”

“What?”

She walked ahead before dropping the lantern again. “You heard her! She wants to go back there on her own. I say we let her.”

“But…”

“Darling.” She came closer and put a hoof on Fluttershy’s wither, sitting her down. “You can’t help her if she doesn’t want it. She’ll just resist if you go after her.”

“If I go after her?”

“Well, I’m certainly not.”

“Rarity, you’re not serious.”

“Darling, you have to realize how foolish she’s being. How else is she to learn?”

“Certainly not by dying in the vault!”

Rarity took a moment, and sighed. “Well, we can’t sacrifice ourselves for her. If what you said is true, our help won’t actually do much. We’ll just get lost with her.”

“But…”

“You know I’m right.”

“But…” She stood up and turned around. Flexing her wings, she trotted into the darkness.

“Fluttershy, are you serious?”

“I can’t let her do it.”

“You can’t go in there!”

Her voice was faded and small in the darkness. “I have magic, you know.”

Cork moved as swiftly and quietly as she could, taking care to step with her hooves at an angle so as to lessen their sound on the stone. Her pasterns were sore from the awkward bending, but she was resolved.

On the surface, her mind had been dulled by banality and routine. She had lived in Passage Town for years, moving there as a reaction to social discommendation. At first, it had been the respite she needed from a hurried, stressful life, but as the months turned to years, comfort and relaxation became apathy and sloth. There was little to do but socialize, help with an occasional gathering, and carry water. Below, however, the challenge was titillatingly real.

She could hear Rarity and Fluttershy arguing behind her, using their real names. Why they had chosen to hide their identities was lost to her, but she supposed it was natural for the types of ponies to be attracted to Passage Town. A couple others had false names too, she knew.

With a change in the air, she came to a halt, turning slowly and fruitlessly to try to see. “Shoot,” she whispered. She had assumed that the atrium would still have the overhead lamp’s faint light to guide her. Dropping her notebook, she remembered: it was proximity-activated.

“If I’m careful, I can still do this. I wasn’t going to have light in the empty place either.” She felt for her notebook and picked it up, spinning cautiously, nose open and ears up for any signs of her orientation. The first sound she heard, she heard from behind. Hooves coming her way.

Carefully, she stepped forward. The air was cool and open, and it did not smell stale. “Where do those vents lead?” In her head, there was a rough picture of the bottom atrium, and she counted her paces, trying to determine when she would be passing the stairs. “How many light mages must they have needed to do all this?” She stopped, her hoof suddenly on a slight decline. “Is this the entrance? Am I already in?” She took a single step to the side and extended a hoof, hoping for a wall.

The hoof went through air.

Rarity’s jaw was sore from holding the lantern, and from clenching too hard. Her mind felt divided. On one side, Fluttershy was already lost, and, on the other, the three of them would meet again at the top of the pump.

She stopped to look up at the crypt’s ribs. “Calm down, Rarity. Fluttershy will be fine. She’s smart, and she has magic. Lots of it, in fact.” “But this place is huge.” She walked farther. “If she didn’t know she could do it, she wouldn’t have tried. She’s not stupid.” “So why not me?” Her thoughts went quiet as she walked. The gravestones drifted past her as if carried on water, and her eyes remained fixed ahead. “Because I’m selfish and a coward.” In her head, Fluttershy spoke. “That suggestion was cold, and you know it.” She did know it; she knew it even before she had said it, though the knowledge was itself cold and detached as well.

The vault was ending. Its arches, once huge and lifeless, dwindled before her eyes into stone fangs before the softly glowing window, something Fluttershy had described as totally insubstantial, but the most beautiful thing she had seen since leaving home. “Let Cork go, and Fluttershy with her, you nag. Don’t even try.” She sighed. “Why bother? No one expects more from you anyway, coward.” “At least I know how to protect myself.” “At least none of that matters. At least you’re becoming someone you hate.” She stopped by another grave.

“Pure Crystal, sigil layer. Stairwell.” She sat before the headstone. “How many of you were there?” She closed her eyes. She saw the shining river from before. She saw Fluttershy’s seldom-angry eyes accusing her.

With another sigh, she rose and walked. The window was nearer. “Why? When did this even happen?” She flipped through the cities in her mind. Cloudsdale, Trottingham, Fillydelphia, and then Appleloosa. Nearly every major point in Equestria’s northern half. “Steadily,” she whispered. Her own voice disappeared into the air, meaningless seventy feet below the ground.

“Too steady to be seen, at least by me.” She swung her head around to throw a cone of light onto the path behind, revealing nothing. “Pathetic. I don’t even have the courage to face my mistakes.” She set the lantern down and kept walking.

The window was dark blue in the near distance, and, with her light behind her, her eyes adjusted. The cave wall was rough and undecorated, save for the thick supports that curved from the window to the ceiling. “What to do?” “Let it go.” She took a breath and held it as she walked, the final, fearful phrase repeating endlessly. “Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.” Fluttershy’s voice was insistent and patient.

“Can’t let go.” “Let it go.” “Can’t let go.” “Let it go.”

She came to rest by the window’s thin stairs. The large, perfectly flat oval before her was dark and calm, its stars too small to give off more than the barest light. She sat at the edge, looking out over a solemn meadow. A carpet of black-green grass did not wave at her, but only waited, encircling a small city.

As she watched, a large bird curved through the sky, its great, black wings vanishing at the edges where the night sky was too thick. The city was absolutely still, and she studied it, unmoving. Every house, every window, she let her eyes linger where they landed, searching for life.

She found it coming down what looked to be the town’s main road: two ponies, stooped under a cloak, shared the path toward her. She could see their heads moving and dipping in speech, and as they turned to walk out of the window’s frame, she found herself yearning for their company.

“You did something cold.” She blinked and searched again, yielding nothing. “Okay,” she whispered. Her voice, even under her breath, felt huge in the cave, and she half expected the window to ripple. “You’re right. It’s not me.” “None of this is.” A light breeze tickled the grass before turning to wind, and she watched as the landscape swayed. The window didn’t move, but the grass and trees did, and with them flew leaves and bits of dust, black stars to go against white counterparts.

Something in the earth creaked, a mile away, a hundred—she couldn’t tell. She stared into the portrait of a small southern town.

“I have friends.”

A brilliant antler of lightning creased the distant sky, and, for a second, she saw mountains capped with steel gray snow.

“I have friends who love me.”

In her own head, more impulse than conscious thought, the sound of thunder played as she imagined it floating across the plains. Lightning flickered again, deep inside a cloud.

“Not you, Rarity.”

The clouds were too far away, but she imagined rain hitting the grass anyway.

“Not me. Not myself. I’m not myself. Haven’t been since… even before.” She bowed her head, rain drumming inside. “But it’s so beautiful.” She inhaled the scent of the stone, cold and dry, faintly metallic. A tang of earth.

“So beautiful. Why? Why? Why?” She held onto the thought until it faded away, repeated too much. “Why not?” She looked back up at the window. “Why not?” she sighed. “Why not, Rarity? You’re the same flesh and blood as you were before. So are your friends. So why not?” “So beautiful.” She stood and looked back to her lantern, a half-dead beacon in the graveyard. She took another deep breath and let it out as slowly as she could. “So why not, then?” She turned and went back to the path.

Fluttershy bit another feather and tugged for another painful moment before gently placing it on the ground. She had located Cork after an excruciating interval of calling; whether she was out of range or unwilling to answer, Fluttershy didn’t know.

As Rarity’s light dimmed behind, and it became clear that she would be pursuing Cork alone, she delved into her small pool of magical knowledge to activate a rudimentary light spell, giving her a couple feet of visibility. The feathers were to give her a path back to the vault’s entrance.

Her long, gold feather stuck only slightly into the light’s edge, and she stopped to pluck another. As soon as she had stepped through the arch, she could feel the vault’s immensity in the air. No walls, no ceiling, only darkness all around, and a flat, unmarked floor. When she called for Cork, her voice did not return to her, even in the faintest murmur.

She pulled the next feather with a tiny grunt of pain. She would lose them naturally if she waited, she knew, but the thought gave her no comfort. Seeing a part of her own body float to the ground was, in her unconscious mind, almost as alarming as the muffling darkness.

“Cork?”

“Still here,” Cork said.

“I’m almost there.” She took another few paces before pulling out another feather. She was tempted to take another step, to possibly preserve at least one more mote of pain for herself, but did not. One wrong step into the darkness could end in an infinite wander.

“Do you have a light?”

Fluttershy looked down at herself. The light that surrounded her came from no particular spot. “Yes.” She yanked another feather out and took a couple more steps.

“Wait. I-I think I see you!”

Cork had assumed the worst. In her head, her friends’ mocking voices jeered and laughed, chanting choruses of “told you so” and “now you’re in it.” Rotor, Arch Carrier, and Clipper all added their insults to her imagined demise, and the darkness around pressed down on her until even the effort of walking was too much for her straining calm. Mind frazzled, and quickly realizing that Cloud Line had not been lying, she didn’t go far before stopping and trying to backtrack; by then, it was too late. She had gone too far into the vault, and her powerful, contrarian confidence was swiped away.

Fear filling her mind, she had wandered, telling herself if she had already turned around, and if she just moved in a straight line, she would get back to the stairs. She had walked for five minutes before giving into fear and turning back. That was shortly before Fluttershy called out for her.

How Fluttershy intended to help, she didn’t know, and also didn’t care. That someone was searching for her was enough. With a worry-cleansing sigh, she had sat on the cold ground and waited for the pegasus to find her. It was a few minutes—which felt like a few hours—during which she could only stare impotently into the blackness filling her eyes.

The light that came was faint and sickly, but, to her eyes, it was no less than the glow of Celestia, radiant and saving. A cry leapt from her throat when its bearer stepped forth, the pale yellow pony, with no lantern.

She could only stare dumbly as Fluttershy offered a hoof and helped her up, her light seeming to come from behind and around at the same time, its source hidden, or simply nonexistent.

She didn’t speak. Fluttershy walked with a wing out, letting her hold on gingerly, as they crawled down a trail of feathers. When they reached the central chamber, Rarity was there as well, holding her lantern. Her eyes widened with shock just as Fluttershy’s light dimmed, and Cork moved to the light’s edge.

“Did you…”

“Let’s get out of here,” Fluttershy said. “And yes. Yes, I did.” She led them up the steps without another word.

The lights dimmed, and Trixie stepped onto the stage, the glow of her horn producing a tiny halo just underneath her hat. Without the steadying breath that she had taken in their other rehearsals, she plunged into her opening monologue. As she moved about the stage, gesturing slightly with the rise and fall of her inflections and exaggerating her face to express every emotion more clearly, it was easy for those offstage to see why she was so successful a showmare.

Applejack and Pinkie wasted no time in silently setting up the background for her and Twilight. The only other sound came from Octavia, who stood with her cello, grinding out a soft, somber arrangement. Globe Trotter sat as the audience, watching with a quiet, critical eye.

As Trixie’s introduction ended, a row of overhead lights switched on, and Twilight walked out to deliver her opening line. The dialogue was artful and full of flourishes, designed to emphasize showponyship, instead of drama. Trixie strutted the stage with sparkles and swirling ribbons of light; while Twilight moved with dancing, neon images and bright, multi-hued flames.

Eventually, she faded into the shadows, and Trixie once again took over. That was how the show was structured: dialogue and action between Trixie and Twilight, interspersed with Trixie’s solo, expository narrative.

Her character, an aggrandized version of herself, managed to seem both completely in control and totally oblivious to Twilight’s duplicitous intentions, while Twilight managed, a little shakily, to be confident, but nervous. During the first climax, when Twilight stole an amulet for which they had quested, Rainbow caught herself feeling sorry for Trixie. She had worked so hard and put so much faith in her friend, and her reward: betrayal. Magical rain fell while Octavia’s instrument moaned.

For the next thirty minutes, the actresses alternated, with Trixie in her pursuit of Twilight, and Twilight in her pursuit of more fame, power, and wealth. There was yelling, threatening, and a short trade of magical spells, but neither mare saw much of the other until the very end, at Trixie’s venomous, simple phrase: “hello, old friend.” That was the beginning of their climactic fight scene.

They circled each other for some time, neither breaking eye contact until the unseen cue to cast their spells, creating a spectacular, but safe, explosion in the middle of the stage. The fight, Trixie had explained, was like the dialogue: flashy and dramatic, but nowhere near the real thing. Fire leapt from their horns, beams of energy sliced through the air, and Twilight even threw Trixie across the stage into a collapsible prop.

The fight ended with Twilight cowering under Trixie’s detesting stare, and giving back the amulet that she had stolen. It was raining again, a little harder, and Twilight’s last line was a plea for forgiveness. With believability that made Rainbow grin, Trixie turned and walked off the stage. The lights went down for a minute, the silence filled only with Globe Trotter’s applause and the steady pit-pat of rain on wooden floor, and then went back up, revealing the two actresses, side-by-side, smiling. They took a bow, and the curtain fell. Globe Trotter came backstage to compliment their work, and Octavia and Big Mac packed up her instrumentation. She had several components, and felt she needed to practice again, on the ship.

After a celebratory lunch, they separated, Trixie back to her apartment and the others back to the ship. It was the final night, and Pinkie threw a “last night in Manehattan” party that carried on past midnight. When they finally did quiet down and settle in for sleep, they did so quickly; even Octavia slept.

“I assure you, Captain, it won’t matter by the time he finds out you’re alive,” Lacey said. The two of them shared his hospital room, something for which she had to give up half a precious day at the studio. “He won’t go after you again. Rather, he won’t be able to.”

“Because…” He reclined in his bed, eyes closed, his voice a luxurious drawl. She hated it.

“Because your story’s going into the papers.”

“I don’t recall consenting to any press coverage of the attempt on my life.”

She lazily rose from her chair. “Yes, well, I don’t recall you being in a position to dictate terms to me. If you’d care to remember,” she sat on his bed, “you need me far more than I need you. There’s a reason you’re in that bed, and I’m not. Captain.”

He sighed through his nose. “Fine. So I’m getting publicized for almost dying. I assume you’re leaving out my, er, involvement in the events leading up to it?”

“I’m not. You are. It’s your interview.”

“And you?”

“Absent entirely. Think of me as your PR pony.”

“I thought you were trying to bill yourself as my protector.”

She chuckled and got up, going to his IV line. With a deft flick of her hoof, the tube popped out, and liquid dripped on the floor. “Whoops. Silly me.”

“Is that supposed to prove a point or something?”

“Only that I’m getting tired of your attitude.”

“Sucks.”

She smiled tiredly. “Okay, you degenerate. I get it. You’re a rebel, you don’t take guff from anypony, and you don’t put on airs. It’s very fun.”

“Threatening me again, Lacey?”

“Spelling something out.” She poked at a vase of flowers by his bed. “Once Strawberry sees you’re alive, he’ll suspect interference from me or the Elements. It doesn’t matter which, because, either way, he’ll want to get a hold of you again, you damn, dirty loose-end you. Soooo…” She smiled. “It’s in your better interest to buddy up with me. Give me incentive to find ways to protect you beyond your utility. Utility that, I’m sorry to tell you, is well on its way to running out.”

He tilted his head in an arrogant half-nod. “You’re bluffing.”

“You told me how much he paid you, who he used to talk with you after you weaseled your way into a face-to-face, and even some of his future targets. What more do I need, Shout?”

He glanced at the door.

“All I need now is what I can get from that depressing satellite who saved you. Someone to look like the object of my attention, to draw him even further astray.” She bobbed a flower’s head up and down. “I advise you find something more valuable to do for me.”

“Or you’ll just throw me to the wolves, huh?”

“More like I’ll let you hang yourself. There’s a stunning amount of rope around your neck right now, Captain, and a very narrow ledge.” She chuckled again. “So lower the ‘tude, okay? No need to piss of the one pony holding you back from that nasty fall.”

“Okay, everypony,” Trixie said before them, backstage. “I know it’s been kind of a whirlwind these last few days, but you’ve all put forth an astounding effort, and now we’re ready to reap the benefits.” She looked at them all. “We’ve done well to pull this together so quickly. Now, everypony get in their places and be ready. We’ve got five minutes, and then, we’ll blow the roof off.” Everyone went to their spots.

Octavia started a small, inoffensive tune, playing only her cello. Nearby hung the bicycle’s corpse, and, on a rack to her other side, a collection of silver bells that Globe Trotter had helped her procure two nights ago.

“I am that friend,” Twilight said, stepping out of the shadows and taking her place beside Trixie, who gave her a cordial smile.

“Evening Shimmer,” she began, sweeping with her cape, “I think I may have found something.”

“What might that be, oh powerful one?” Her voice carried a hint of skepticism, as Trixie had instructed.

“You are, of course, aware that there are numerous magical artifacts to be had in the world.”

“Created by the most powerful mages of their time, yes, I am aware.”

Trixie looked her in the eye with a large grin. “I think I have found one.”

“Ha! In your spare time, I suppose.”

“Have you not wondered where I go every eve, when the night begins to fall?”

“I merely supposed you had a stallion in your life,” Twilight said, producing a fine pepper of crimson spots from her horn.

“Such things do not distract me from my work,” Trixie said, flipping her cape again. “I have been researching. Countless hours, I’ve spent among musty old books, along with countless candles I’ve burnt to nothing, reading.”

Twilight stepped back, hurt. “You would research without me?”

Trixie smiled, and a small filigree traced itself over her head, fizzling out with a teasing spurt in Twilight’s face. “Evening, darling, you know I care for you, but this was a solo project only. Two ponies would merely get in each other’s way.”

“Never before.”

“We’ve never had such an important task before,” Trixie said with a wink. Twilight had her back turned on the blue unicorn. “Evening? Come, you won’t be angry when you see what the treasure is.”

“We’ll have to see,” Twilight said, turning.

“Just think of it! A magical object to help us on our journeys; never more will we fear being eaten by the dreaded creatures of the wilderness.” The light darkened, and Trixie’s eyes took on a lurid, green sheen. “We’ll be unstoppable, Evening.”

Twilight let a smile slowly spread across her face. “Where is it?” The lights went down, and Twilight faded into the back. Trixie continued her story.

The worn sundial outside Cork’s house read eleven o’ clock, and the three of them sat in the shade of a small aspen. Fluttershy picked at her sore wings, and Rarity stared at the river. Cork watched them both.

“So, clearly there’s something going on here,” Cork eventually said.

“Would you care to explain, Butterfly?” Rarity asked.

“I heard your real names. Rarity and Fluttershy.” She nodded at them as she spoke. “It didn’t occur to me until later that you’re Elements of Harmony.”

“Please, lower your voice.”

“Sorry. Why the deception?”

Fluttershy looked at Rarity.

“Um… well…”

Trixie laughed unbelievingly as they strode up to the tourmaline amulet—one of Globe Trotter’s earrings on a chain—on the plywood pedestal. “I… I can’t believe it. After all this. The heat, the mosquitoes, the disease, everything, and here it is!”

“I was half-expecting it to not be here,” Twilight said, a thin smile teasing her mouth. She looked up; Evening looked into the jungle canopy.

“The Amulet of Everwaking,” Trixie said, awed. She picked it up gently while Twilight slunk from her side to her back.

“It is a delightful trinket,” Twilight said.

“After all this, and you call it that?” Trixie laughed. She turned, and stopped, just with the music. “E-Evening?”

Twilight, her horn pointed at Trixie’s chest, only sighed sympathetically. “I’ll be taking it now.”

“What?”

She spoke lightly. “Give it here.”

A moment of silence hung between them, and, with a flourish of Octavia’s cello, Trixie dodged to the side, throwing a fireball into Twilight’s face. Applejack smiled to herself. The fireball scene had been among the hardest for them to get right, because Twilight wouldn’t stop flinching before Trixie’s dodge.

She backed away with a scream, and the audience gasped. Twilight shook her head violently and shot a beam of energy at Trixie, knocking her on her side and sending the amulet flying out of her magical grip. Without pause, Twilight grabbed it and raced off the stage. Octavia drew out a long, low note as the lights dimmed once more, and Trixie lay on the floor for a minute. She staggered to her hooves to deliver the next piece of her story, lacking the enthusiasm she had used in the beginning. The show was half over.

Lacey sat at a red light, still simmering from her encounter with Captain Shout. She had tried to remind herself that he was in the hospital, and had a certain right to express distaste for her obvious manipulation, but the thought felt perfunctory. After what she had done already, what good was empathy?

She pulled out and made a turn, thinking of her next step. Shout would have his interview, which Strawberry would see. Concluding interference, he would try to determine which side of the conflict Shout had landed on. Finding it to be Lacey’s, her job would be to step back and watch the results: there was no way Strawberry would silence Shout so shortly after his talk with the papers. He would be too busy scrambling to hide evidence, besides.

She smiled and pulled up to an empty lot, scorch marks decorating its interior like giant, fallen petals. “And the countermeasure?” Despite his precarious position, Strawberry would invent a way to strike back, and she needed to be ready. She had never said it to Shout, but, until the point where she had him in the hospital bed, Strawberry had had her on the defensive.

She pulled into her small neighborhood of flats with a scant pair of ideas circling in her head.

“Only by casting a spell to allow herself to see into the future did the Great and Powerful Trixie manage to catch up with the dastardly Evening Shimmer,” Trixie announced, Twilight’s cue to come out. She waited a second for Twilight to come up behind. “Hello, old friend.”

“You finally found me.”

“Yes.” A single, red spark blinked to life above her horn. “And I’m afraid that this is the end for you.”

“It’s all very interesting,” Cork said. “How often do things like this happen?”

“I think we’re the only ones,” Rarity said.

“But other ponies have talked about it with us,” Fluttershy said. “So there are others who know about it.”

“A curious secret, to be sure,” Cork said. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thanks.”

Rarity nodded at Fluttershy’s word. “These past few days seem to have gotten away from us, I must say.”

“They look okay to me,” Cork said.

“No, none of this was supposed to happen. We were supposed to wait in this town for them to finish in Manehattan, not get in any trouble, and just have a relaxing time. Instead, this.”

“Well, personally, I’m delighted you showed up. Cloud Line would have never let me under otherwise.”

“So what are you going to do when we’re gone?” Fluttershy asked.

“Compile my findings and keep asking questions,” Cork said. “There’s something huge here, and I’m only seeing the tip of it.”

“Are you going to keep pestering Cloud Line?” Rarity asked.

“Not for a while, but yes. I’ll be sure to leave you out of it. Especially you, Fluttershy.”

“I’m sure it’s okay,” Fluttershy said. “You’re all isolated. I doubt knowing about my magic will really hurt that much.”

“Maybe. I’d rather focus on the pump, though.”

“That’s still your main concern, after all this,” Rarity said. “I must admit, I admire your dedication.”

“Imagine what I can learn if I figure out where it came from. Who those ponies are, why they decided to build it. There has to be something in that vault.” She looked at Fluttershy and grinned sheepishly. “Don’t worry. I won’t be going back there anytime soon.” She sighed. “I learned that lesson.”

“And what will you do when you have answers to all these questions?” Rarity asked.

Cork shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far in advance. There aren’t any publishing options out here, so I guess… brag about it to Rotor.”

“She’s the one who—”

“The skeptic.”

“Ah. Yes, well, you do that.”

Twilight threw a genuine fireball, engulfing Trixie, who wore a skin-tight—but not fur-tight—sheath of magic. The flames burst around her to singe the stage and warm the front-most audience members. Because of her shield’s shape and relative weakness, Trixie did not have to fake being knocked back. She scrambled up and answered with a telekinetic push of her own, launching Twilight across the stage and into one of the pieces of background, reinforced with metal latches for just that purpose. The music had reached a short diminuendo.

“Three, two, one,” Trixie counted off, and she and Twilight rushed at each other, both throwing a force beam at the other and locking themselves into a battle of wills that shook the auditorium. The audience gasped, but Trixie was paying them no attention. Her mind was entirely on the music. As soon as the sound of their initial collision had faded, the reverse tug-of-war was almost silent, and the two of them would be using Octavia’s song for their cues.

Octavia played the final installment slowly and deliberately. The actual music was easy to produce, but the concentration she would need in a short time, she knew, would make something as simple as a scale difficult. She nodded once, and Big Mac began turning the bike pedal. Anxious ticking filled the song’s background, and she located the rack of bells to her side.

As soon as the bike started, Trixie let up on her magic, allowing Twilight to have the advantage. She pushed, hard, and Trixie gave some more, until her own blue beam ended but a few inches from her horn. She narrowed her eyes dramatically and put strength back into her spell, just as Twilight weakened her own. In an actual battle, Trixie knew that Twilight would win easily, but they had practiced the final fight the most of all scenes. In a few seconds, Twilight would force Trixie back, and they would spend a near minute evenly matched.

Octavia did not close her eyes, as she would have liked. Instead, she glared at the first bell, conjured her magic, and gave it a push. The sound that resonated was glassy and thin, more an echo than a chime. It rang long and clear, and she pushed the second one, glancing then at her cello, to keep her hooves in the correct positions. She had never done magic while playing.

The bells meant that it was time to wait. Trixie and Twilight stood on opposite ends of the stage, beams of light balanced between, their meeting point moving only slightly. Both mares glowered, not at each other, but at the small bead of light in their middle, willing it to move. There was no real plan to the small section, except for Twilight to not overtake Trixie too easily. They needed to wait for the bike chain to stop clicking.

Octavia nodded again, not looking from the bell rack, and Big Mac stopped turning the pedal. She was playing automatically, most of her attention on the simple magic with which she was not yet wholly comfortable.

With a grin of triumph, Twilight’s spell inched closer to Trixie’s face, but Trixie’s determination didn’t crack. The turnaround was coming, and she listened for the final bell, a low-pitched cry that would herald her sudden break from the standoff. She was aware of the audience, leaning forward, fascinated.

When the bell called out, Trixie turned and jumped away, releasing her end of the link. What would follow would be mere trickery with light, and a real spell of Twilight’s; Trixie lacked the skill to actually reverse magic of the strength that they were playing with just moments ago.

Twilight dimmed her telekinetic push before it could slam into the floorboards, and Trixie, her illusory light ready, produced a beam of her own to match the one they had been fighting with, lancing it powerfully back into Twilight’s chest. The only forceful magic was the spell Twilight then cast on herself, sending her flying back to crash into another prop. She did not get up.

Trixie gave the music a second to play. The final bell sounded, and the bike resumed, alone. She went to Twilight.

“Please! No more,” Twilight said. “I… I’m sorry. I am, truly! It was weak of me. I know that now.”

“You’re the only one who could ever hope to best me,” Trixie said.

“I promise, never again will I betray your trust. I just… I was mixed up, and confused, and jealous. You’re so much more powerful than I, and I… I had to have some of that for myself.” She coughed—a dramatic affectation that Trixie and she had argued about at length. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Trixie looked her in the eyes, delighting in the moment. The chain stopped ticking. Without a word, she turned and walked off the stage, and all went dark before the audience exploded into thunderous applause.

Octavia returned to her four hooves as soon as the applause began. She looked at Big Mac and nodded, and he smiled back. The others were on the stage, moving the props off.

The lights came back up with Twilight and Trixie together, and they bowed, smiling. Trixie gestured sweepingly across the stage, and Applejack, Rainbow, and Pinkie came out to bow with them. Octavia and Big Mac were the last two to emerge, striding calmly to the sound of hundreds of hooves on the tile floor. They bowed deeply before joining the others, and the seven of them bowed one last time, all together.

Lacey Kisses sat in her chair and watched drivel on TV. When the electricity had come back on, long ago, she had been ecstatic, but her joy diminished when she saw that the only stations she could get were the smaller, local ones. Cross-country electricity was still a distant, unimportant dream, which meant her favorite sitcoms were out of reach, locked in production in some studio in Applewood.

Life with Gemstone was a dull, clichéd relationship comedy that had lasted for three idiotic seasons, centering around a moronic househusband and his successful, modelesque wife, with a baby introduced in the latter half of season two. Lacey hated it, but it was the only interesting thing she could find, so she sat through it, eyes glassy and head full.

“Honey, she won’t eat!” the husband whined, stomping prissily. The audience roared laughter.

“Oh, dear, have you tried putting yourself in her shoes?” the wife asked.

“She’s not wearing shoes!” More laughter.

The wife rolled her eyes dramatically. “Watch this.” She leaned down, and Lacey closed her eyes. One of the show’s running gags was that the wife ate with hilarious indignity; it was meant to be a touch of absurd humor, but, to many viewers, it was only disgusting. She could hear the wife burbling and laughing, ruining a single spoonful of baby food, while the infant giggled raucously. When the laugh track died down, the spoon clacked on the table. “See?”

“Stupid shit,” Lacey muttered, pressing the power button bitterly. The tiny family blinked away, and she was immediately happier. After the show had ended, the imbecile husband had gone on to become one of Photo Finish’s marketing directors, while his wife spiraled into drugs and depression. The thought of it boggled her mind.

She leaned her head back, Shout, Strawberry, and the wife all cycling through her mind. The overblown dialogue repeated in her ears. “She’s not wearing shoes!” She frowned and pressed her head deep into a chair cushion, but the line didn’t fade.

“Stupid shit. Whoever green-lit that garbage should be taken out and shot.” The ferocity of the thought surprised her, and she sat up, the imaginary audience screaming distorted mirth. She closed her eyes and counted toward ten, but five faded away in a tidal wave of frustration. Shout, the TV, Strawberry: too much junk, too few ideas. The wife’s intentionally vague question remained in her head, taunting in its self-assured simplicity.

She tipped over and wrestled her head under a cushion again, where she stayed for five minutes in a catatonic reverie of spiraling, useless thoughts. Gradually, as her breathing slowed and her mind cooled off, a pearl of an idea formed.

“Her shoes.” She coughed and sat up. “Her shoes.” She looked back at the blank screen, a sudden, new thought coming, and she repeated the two words over and over again, a mantra. When it came, the details fell into place rapidly. “Of course. Of course.” She smiled, then laughed, then fell back once more, her naturally cheerful voice filling the house until she was crying. “Lacey, you’re fired!”

Pinkie concocted a sudden party in the parking lot outside the studio, for which many of the patrons stayed. It was usual party fare for her: streamers and confetti raining from above, music from nowhere, tables of food that sprung up when no one was looking, and balloons that neither popped nor disappeared into the sky.

They caroused and danced until the sun was half down, and Trixie found them all to suggest they return her apartment, where they could relax. She and Twilight were getting tired of the endless, same compliments on their performances.

While Octavia took Big Mac and Pinkie to find a taxi, Trixie drove Twilight, Rainbow, and Applejack back to her place. No one bothered to try to shut the party down, and the other three were waiting for them at the door when they arrived.

Trixie flipped on the lights with an energetic click. “Whoo! Great job, everypony! I know it’s been said to death already, but you haven’t heard it from me yet. We had three days to learn an entire show, and we pulled it together better than I could have ever imagined.” She laughed. “Those Fillydelphia snobs were blown away!” She went into the kitchen. “Anyone care for a celebratory drink with me?”

“Right here!” Rainbow said, and Trixie emerged with a bottle of coconut rum.

“I would not mind something to drink,” Octavia said. “Do you have any gin?”

“It’s in the cupboard. Help yourself; what’s mine is yours, at least tonight.” She took a swig of rum. “That’s the stuff. Here, Dashie. Just take it from the bottle.”

Rainbow took a sip and shook her head, pursing her lips.

“Don’t like it? Well, go in there and find something you do like.”

Rainbow sauntered into the kitchen and came back out with a six-pack of beer.

“You know, for hating my taste in beer so much, you sure have drank a lot of it,” Trixie said.

“Eh, I’m open-minded. Octavia, what the hay is that?”

“Gin,” Octavia said, taking a sip and smiling to herself. “Do you want any?”

Rainbow accepted the bottle, but gagged and almost dropped it after tasting. “Shit! This tastes like how our torch fuel smells.”

“I enjoy a stiff drink.”

“You take that stuff straight?”

“Yes.”

Their ears jumped up at the sound of more music. Pinkie, in the corner, had produced a small stereo set.

“Not in here, Pinks. I’ve got neighbors,” Trixie said.

“Awwwww.” She bounded over the speakers, their music turning down seemingly of its own accord. “Can I at least drink?”

“You heard me. What’s mine is yours.”

“Can I have a mimosa?” She giggled. “Mimosa! Trixie, can you make me one? Can you, huh? Pleeeease?”

“As a matter of fact, Pinkie, I can’t. Go make it yourself.” She jiggled her rum bottle. “I, like dear Octavia here, prefer my drinks neat.”

“Sunscreen,” Rainbow said.

“You’re just mad ‘cause it burns on the way down.”

“Does not!”

“Oh, don’t pretend, Dashie.” She took another swig, and Rainbow scoffed, wings up.

“How much of that torch fuel can you take?” she asked Octavia, who had taken a seat at the dining table, her gin pooled around a single ice cube in a glass.

“I have never measured my intake,” Octavia said.

Trixie pulled up a seat. “She’s not lying. I only got her to try booze once. Remember that night, Gorgeous and Magnificent Octavia?”

“How could I forget?” She glanced down at her cutie mark.

“Wanna make a bet?” Rainbow asked, sitting down as well.

“I do!” Pinkie cried, sitting on the floor beside them.

“It’s for Octavia only, Pinks.”

Pinkie blew a raspberry and took a drink of her half-empty glass.

“What do you propose?” Octavia asked, sipping her drink.

“Trixie, you got any shot glasses?”

Trixie smiled. “Oh dear, I think I see where this is going. Hooooold on.” She activated her magic and cocked an ear, and, after a couple seconds, a trio of glasses floated from the kitchen out to them.

“I was only gonna need the one.”

“That’s okay.” She placed one before Octavia and one before her, the third discarded at the table’s side.

“Octavia, for every two shots you take, I’ll drink an entire beer.”

Trixie and Pinkie both laughed, and Rainbow’s cheeks flamed. “I’ll do two rums for a beer,” Trixie said.

“Rainbow, you know better than to get in a drinking contest with an earth pony!” Pinkie said.

“I accept,” Octavia said. “I am in the mood for fun.”

Rainbow smiled mischievously. “Now there’s something I wasn’t expecting to hear. It’s on! Or, to quote Rarity, it. Is. On!”

“Challenger goes first,” Octavia said, motioning at the beer Rainbow held.

“Twilight, Apple siblings, wanna get in on this?” Trixie asked.

“Sorry, girls, but Ah’m not interested,” Applejack said. “Not tonight. Too much… too much stuff goin’ on.”

“I don’t drink,” Twilight said, and Big Mac simply shook his massive head.

“Suit yourselves. Let’s do this!” Rainbow lifted the beer to her muzzle and chugged it, slamming the empty bottle onto the table ostentatiously. “There! Beat that, Octavia!”

“Me first,” Trixie said, pouring one shot, then a second quickly after. She downed the second one a little slower, just as Octavia swallowed her first.

Rainbow shook her head. “How do you do that?”

“I said I like it this way,” Octavia said. “Get your next beer ready.” She eyed the second shot and picked it up with a sly smile. “This is good gin, too.”

“How can you tell?”

Octavia took the shot. “This does not make me want to vomit.”

“We’ll see.” She drank her bottle slightly slower, and Trixie only grinned.

Both mares matched her with another pair of shots, as effortless as the first. Hiding the growing worry in her gut, Rainbow finished her third beer and sneered at Trixie, who wavered in her spot, the magical field holding the bottle fading in and out subtly. “Like what you see, Dashie?”

“Maybe. Come on, Octavia, bottom’s up.”

“This is boring for me,” Octavia said, finishing her pair of shots.

“Take an extra one, then!” Pinkie said.

“Three for one of Rainbow’s beers? I do not know,” Octavia said.

“Aw, come on, your highness,” Rainbow said, leaning over to her. “Afraid you can’t take the heat?”

“Perhaps not,” Octavia said, pouring herself one more shot. The pair cheered as she downed it.

Twilight and the others watched from the couch as the four mares turned steadily more rambunctious and less comprehensible. In the car, Twilight had received a letter, but had seen no good time to share it. Giving up on reading it to everyone, she read it in a low voice to the two Apples.

“Dear Twilight, I have mixed news. Discord is on his way at last. He set out from Draught Castle yesterday. While I am preparing the city defenses, Luna is working to weaken him, but progress is slow. He teleports his army sporadically, and breaking him down has proven exactly as difficult as we had feared.” She sighed. “Please, please do not come to Canterlot. Your place is in transit, searching for Elements. We have the resources to defend ourselves, and the preparation time.”

“Is this normal?” Big Mac asked.

“Kinda,” Applejack said. Octavia took another pair of shots, and Rainbow slumped in her seat.

“However, I have good news as well. A second Element of Harmony has been found.”

“Wait, what?” Applejack blurted.

“I don’t know which one it is, but a team of ponies—hm, she crossed something out there—has located it out in the small piece of ocean that came up with us. They think it’s on the… oh, crap.”

“What is it?”

“They think it’s on the bottom.”

Applejack whistled low and Big Mac looked with widened eyes.

“You must go to the coast as quickly as you can, and find a way to reach this Element. I do not know if Discord is aware of my efforts to track the Elements, but, if he is, I do not doubt he will relocate them again.”

“Naturally,” Applejack said.

“I close with an update. The cloud facility over Hoofington will be complete tomorrow, and the siphoning and desalination station over the ocean is nearly ready as well. For now, we are working on the schematics to extend the convoy to Trottingham. In addition, Luna has discovered the identity of your mysterious, flying ship. Oh, all right. That’s something.”

“Flyin’ ship?” Big Mac asked.

“We’ll tell ya in a second,” Applejack said.

“The ship is a projection of its captain, who is, herself, a projection of Discord’s will to devastate and ruin. Both are magical in nature, but the enchantments, I am afraid, are too strong for any of you to break on your own. With an enhancement sigil, Pinkie could do it, but the logistics of such a thing are likely insurmountable. Well, that’s just great.” Twilight looked up to the three mares, talking and laughing wildly, even Octavia. “Maybe I should take up drinking.”

“Twi,” Applejack warned.

“Sorry. Er, it says that our best bet is still to avoid the ship. It’s obvious he’s using it as a decoy.” She frowned. “Decoys are typically harmless, though. This thing is serious business.”

“Not as dangerous as him, Ah’d reckon,” Big Mac said.

“I suppose not. So, yeah. Love and friendship, blah blah blah. No PS.” She rolled up the scroll and tucked it into her magical storage area.

“So, flyin’ ship?”

“Even more annoying than Vanilla Cream,” Applejack said. “At least all he does is talk too much.”

Twilight and Applejack took Trixie’s bed, at Trixie’s drunken behest, while Big Mac and Octavia took the floor. Rainbow leaned heavily on her wither as she searched for a place to sleep.

“Couch. Couch,” Rainbow mumbled.

Trixie shrugged out of Rainbow’s grasp and moved to the couch, collapsing on it with a long sigh. Before she could turn over and get comfortable, Rainbow was on top of her, sighing right into her face.

“Long night, Tricky?”

Not thinking, not hesitating, Trixie stretched her neck to kiss her burden on the lips. She imagined that Rainbow would recoil, or scoff, or something; instead, Rainbow leaned in to her. She lay under the pegasus, their lips together, and closed her eyes. Her world was slow and squishy, and her mind churned lazily.

Rainbow detached and rolled to the back of the couch, and Trixie followed, clumsily flopping over onto her. They kissed again, quicker, and Rainbow wrapped her wings around Trixie’s back, bringing her close to snuggle into a downy chest. Her head bobbed as Rainbow hiccupped, and she opened her eyes long enough to give Rainbow a smile she didn’t see. Bringing a hoof up to return the hug, Trixie too fell asleep.

When Cloud Line knocked softly on the door, Fluttershy and Rarity were not entirely surprised. The three of them walked back to her house, an unassuming shack that smelled strongly of roasted peppers. She sat them at her table and studied them for a second.

“Rarity and Fluttershy, the Elements of Generosity and Kindness, who are vacationing in Passage Town while their friends are distracted, yet again, in Manehattan.” She gave them a wide smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I already know all that.”

“Of course you do,” Rarity said. “Why would you not? You’re another random stranger.”

“What she’s trying to say,” Fluttershy said, “is we’ve met ponies like you before.”

“Loose Threads in Trottingham, and the police in Cloudsdale,” Cloud Line said.

“You’re another secret agent pony,” Rarity said with a frown.

Cloud Line’s smile snapped tight.

“At first I thought it was silly, but here’s another one. Everywhere we go, secret agents. And it would be you. You know about the pump.”

“And you went down there with Cork again.”

“Er, that is… well, yes.”

“She wasn’t going to let us talk her out of it. We just wanted to protect her,” Fluttershy said.

“I appreciate it,” Cloud Line said. “Ponies like her need protecting. I hope she learned something.”

“I think she did.”

“And when is she planning on going again?”

“Oh. Um…”

“She said she’ll wait a while, and just ask you questions until then,” Rarity said.

“So at least she is aware of me. That’s… something,” Cloud Line said.

“What is the purpose of this?”

“Nothing really. I just wanted to make sure you knew I knew.” She sighed. “There’s too much ignorance in the world.”

“So what is going on with the pump?” Fluttershy asked. “Um, if you don’t mind. It’s clearly important to you.”

“It’s a communication outpost, that’s all. There’s a sigil in the empty vault that lets me talk to other… secret agents.”

“What about that creepy window?” Rarity asked.

“I hope I never have to use it.” She drew an idle circle on the tabletop. “That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

“Why would you need a communication outpost here?”

“Early warning, in case something is threatening Manehattan,” Fluttershy said.

“Basically,” Cloud Line said. She flicked her eyes between them. “Anything else?”

“What can you tell us about Discord, and what’s going on elsewhere?”

Cloud Line smiled. “That is the question I was hoping to hear. Your friends get distracted so much, it’s hard to tell if they’re even trying sometimes. At least you have your minds on the mission. I’m sure Octavia probably does too, but she’s not an Element.”

“I’m hoping we can get back on track soon,” Rarity said.

“Tomorrow, they should be leaving. Their little show is done.” Rarity frowned softly. “And you might want to invest in some rain gear, because you’re going to the coast next.”

“The coast?” Fluttershy repeated, sitting up.

“The coast.”

She giggled nervously. “Sorry. I’ve always wanted to go, is all.”

“Why are we going to the coast?” Rarity asked.

“Element of Harmony,” Cloud Line said. Her face straightened. “On the very bottom.”

Rarity took a moment to respond. “Well, that sounds perfectly horrid.”

“How do you know all this?” Fluttershy asked.

“It’s my job to know,” Cloud Line said. “All of us are supposed to know where you are and what you’re doing. I’m sorry; it’s really better I don’t go into it. You’ll just search us out otherwise.”

“And?”

“Well, they are secret,” Rarity said. “We’re probably not supposed to know any more than Cork.”

“That’s right,” Cloud Line said. “Personally, I never would have thought I’d be talking with you. Why would the Elements of Harmony ever come to measly little Passage Town?” She smiled a real smile. “It’s okay, though.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Lots. Enough that, when you’re in or near a city, someone will be looking out for you. In the wilderness, though, you’re on your own.”

“Most of Equestria is wilderness,” Rarity said.

“I know.” She stood up and went to the kitchen. “Go ahead and go back to Cork’s place. I’m sure you have more questions, but I’m not in a position where I can answer them.” They rose reluctantly and went to the door. “Wait, hold on. I almost forgot. Your original question.”

They turned to face her again.

“Discord is on his way toward Canterlot as we speak. Luna’s on his tail, trying to weaken the spells he has around his army, but it’s proving difficult to track him. Canterlot is ready to face him, though. It won’t be like last time, and he knows it.”

“That’s encouraging,” Rarity said.

“Celestia has ponies searching for the Elements, and, last I heard, they’re narrowing that search nicely. The weather binding is coming undone in most places, though. That’s the explanation for your tornado in Fillydelphia. Admirably handled, by the way, if not extremely reckless.”

“I know.” Rarity tapped her horn.

“Ah, yes. Everything else is progressing okay. Electricity’s back on in most cities, water rationing is… fine. Bridges are established, sewer systems are on their way as well.” She thought for a second. “Trottingham is still a ghost town, but the Astras—remember them?—are setting up on the outskirts of Hoofington. Outside of Discord’s march to Canterlot, Equestria’s actually in okay shape.”

The two mares looked at her, and she them, for a minute. “That actually is a little encouraging,” Rarity said. “Thank you.”

Cloud Line nodded and pushed the door open for them, and they walked into the dark. Outside, they went to the riverbank.

“Can we talk?” Fluttershy asked.

Rarity didn’t respond, but stopped by a cluster of reeds.

“I had to do something to help her. I know how you feel about me using magic in the presence of others, but I didn’t have a choice. I would rather she knew about that than get hurt.”

“It’s fine, dear. I figured it was something like that.” She hesitated, looked at the river, and kept walking.

Rainbow woke up hot and sticky with sweat, with a weight holding her down and stale breath in her face. She struggled to disentangle herself from Trixie, who woke up with an inglorious snort and cough. When she was off the couch, and lying in an undignified pile, she took a moment to assess where she was. The apartment, with a headache, and Trixie formerly atop her. Bottles covered the table in the other room, and she nodded slow comprehension.

“Morning,” Trixie said, her voice uncertain.

“Uh… nothing happened, right?”

“We didn’t have sex.”

Rainbow sighed. “Thank Celestia. Did we… do anything else?”

“I remember some fooling around. I think we both woke up at some point, later on. Maybe halfway.”

“Crap.”

Trixie smiled a little. “It’s not so bad.”

“Uh, like hell it isn’t. I don’t know if you know, Trixie, but I’m not into shacking up like that.” She paced the living room, glowering at her beer bottles. “Never again.”

Something thumped loudly in the bedroom behind them. “Would you two kindly shut up!” Octavia bellowed.

Ears flat to her head and a coy smile on her face, Trixie motioned to the door. They went outside, out of the apartment, and across the street to the park, not speaking until they were at a picnic table.

“Okay, real talk,” Trixie said. She ignited her horn to straighten her mane.

“Real talk?”

“I know how you are, but I need you to be serious, Rainbow Dash. No jokes or melodrama or stuff. Please?”

Rainbow took a moment to study Trixie, and the scene. She could feel the conversation swelling inside each of them, powerful enough to sweep her away. “All right, I’m good. What is it?”

“How much do you remember about last night?”

“A little bit.” She thought back. Much of it was noise and laughter, and then a long period of quiet. She and Trixie had been the last to go to sleep, and she remembered a swampy, soupy jangle of motion and warmth on the couch. There had been at least one kiss. “We cuddled for a while, and you kissed me. Pretty sure I fell asleep after that.”

“And later that night?”

“Uh… I got nothing.”

“Okay. Well, it was a lot of the same. We spooned for a good half hour, or an hour, or… hell, I don’t know. I was still drunk. I do remember a good deal of tongue.”

Rainbow’s jaw dropped, and she almost shouted out on the spot. She met Trixie’s eyes, and reasserted her cool. “Uh-huh. That’s interesting.”

“How much… so, how much do you regret?”

Rainbow swallowed and slid her eyes off the blue unicorn. “Well…” She tapped a nervous hoof on the table and contracted her wing muscles. Her head pounded, and her thoughts were blurry. She closed her eyes and put her head on the table, and the events she remembered played through her head. Something, however, was absent. “Actually, pretty… much… nothing. Maybe those last two beers.” She grinned, and Trixie nodded.

Trixie chewed her lip. “These last few days, all the stuff I did, I was teasing you, because your reactions were funny. I never meant anything.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t playing around last night.”

Rainbow nodded. In her head, she was trying to catch up with what Trixie was saying. When Trixie didn’t respond, she looked up. “O-oh. You’re waiting for me.” She gave a single chuckle. “Uhhhhh… geez, do we have to talk about this now?”

“Please, Dash. I know we’re both hung over, but I need to know this. How do you feel?”

“Well… last night, I was too wasted to, you know, joke around.” She sighed, the realization hitting her. “So I guess I meant it too.” She rubbed her eyes. “But I’m not gay, Trixie.”

Trixie raised her eyebrow and parted her lips in concerned bemusement. “Are you sure?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yeah, I’m sure!”

“It felt pretty gay last night.”

“Well… I know what I am, okay. I don’t know what else to tell you.” She stood up and unfurled her wings. “I gotta fly this hangover off.”

Trixie only nodded as she flew away.

When the first rays of sunlight caressed the forest of towers that was Manehattan, Rarity and Fluttershy were up. They said goodbye to Cork, who was already awake, and went to the road they had originally followed into Passage Town, stopping to wait for their ride where it bent closest to the still river.

They didn’t talk. Rarity faced the water, her gaze as far away as it had been the first day they arrived, and Fluttershy trotted a small line back and forth on the path. The first hour was silent and empty, and then Cork joined them.

“Still waiting for your ride?”

Fluttershy looked at her and nodded, then flinched. “Wait, how do you—”

“I saw the ship pass and land in the distance. I didn’t bring it up because, in all honesty, it didn’t matter.” She shrugged and started walking where Fluttershy had frozen. “I get it, I do. It’s no big deal.” After a minute, Fluttershy walked beside her, and the silence continued.

Rainbow returned to the park half an hour later, mind clear and body sore, and still uncomfortable from the night before. Trixie was there, still, and looked up at her as she circled around before landing.

“How was your fly?”

Rainbow walked to her without speaking; speaking might ruin the fragile state of readiness she had whipped herself into in the air. Trixie stood, and Rainbow stopped before her, their faces an inch apart. “Three, two, one.” She darted in for a kiss, and did not bring her head back. Instead, she allowed Trixie to meet her there, and for her own body to reflexively move closer, until she could feel a heart fibrillating in or against her chest. Trixie’s lips were chapped and a little large, and she could taste the cloying afterimage of the previous night’s coconut rum. She closed her eyes, but Trixie was still there. No stallion replaced her.

“Okay, Dash, honey, you have to do more than sit there on them,” Trixie said, breaking the connection.

“Right. Sorry. I-I had to try something.”

“And what do you think, now that you’ve tried it?”

“I think…” Her mouth was suddenly dry. In flight, she had envisioned the scenario, and it had seemed so easy. Before Trixie, the mere act of speech was an obstacle she was not familiar with.

“You think…”

“I think I liked it. Like, a lot.” She sighed and sat on the grass, the tension broken. “And I like you a lot too. I like you more than kissing you. Er, that’s kind of weird, since they’re both you in a way. Uh, what I mean is—”

“Shut up,” Trixie said, smiling. “I like you too.” She released a single, tight laugh. “Like, a lot.”

Rainbow smiled thinly and stood back up. “What does it mean, though?”

“It means,” Trixie sighed, “that you’re going to leave later today, and I’m going to stay here and worry about you. You’re flying into the jaws of danger, and I’m staying in my nice, comfy apartment.”

“Come with us.”

Trixie paused.

Rainbow shrugged too elaborately. “It’s not like we all haven’t thought of it.”

“I know.” She breathed out slowly. “I know. I… Celestia, what timing.”

“Hey, no one blames you. No one can withstand my charm for too long.” She laughed, but abruptly stopped when Trixie only looked at her. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I thought—”

“It’s fine.” She approached Rainbow, then backed away. “I have to think about this. You’ll let me know before you leave?”

“Of course, if I can find you.”

“I’m just going to do a circuit around the park.”

It was nine-thirty, and Rotor and Eggshell stood with them on the path. Rarity still stared at the river, and Fluttershy had stopped her pacing long ago. The three others chatted in the sunshine, not about the pump—Cork had promised not to talk about it, at least not for a long time. Fluttershy watched them, silently amazed. Outside of Cork, and Cloud Line at the very end, she had not gotten to know anyone else. Rotor spoke animatedly and often at great length, the type of pony who seemed to enjoy working herself into a frenzy of self-expression, while Eggshell watched with his haunting, pink eyes, offering little. The richness of friendship was obvious to her, out on the path, but it had been eclipsed by the pump and its wiles.

She felt another notch of unhappiness in her heart when she saw two more ponies approaching.

After a terse, professional conversation, in which Lacey could feel her boss’ shock and alarm like icy suction on her stomach, she drove to the bank to withdraw her savings. She would do the same with her checking, once her retirement funds cleared.

She drove home and switched on the TV, but paid it no attention. Captain Shout would be preparing for his interview, which she had fixed already. The questions would be very basic and non-invasive, allowing him ample space to vilify Strawberry. Still, he was a loose cannon, and she felt vaguely intrusive in her own home, preparing to relax at a time when she would ordinarily be working and worrying.

She lay on the couch and let her eyes slide closed before the gibbering TV.

At eleven o’ clock, the airship came into view. Everyone from town had gathered, and a few had even gone back to gather ingredients for a picnic, which they joined. They talked and laughed, and, in a move that amazed Fluttershy, Rarity confessed their true identities.

When it touched down, they took a pair of cucumber and tomato sandwiches, prepared by Deco, the pony that had introduced them to the town in the first place, and boarded to a sea of greetings. Only Octavia was not present; she was below, nursing a powerful hang over.

“New friends?” Applejack asked.

“Yes, but not as good as old ones,” Rarity said, hugging her. “I missed you girls so much.”

“We both did,” Fluttershy said. They went to the rail next to Rainbow, glaring pensively into the distance, to wave goodbye to the small gathering.

The last thing they heard was Rotor’s brazen voice screaming “happy trails!”