Evolution seemed to have made some strange developments in the time that D27 had been inactive. Ponies in his own time were small, subsentient creatures; they had seemingly grown substantially larger. Worse, they had developed some rather jarring color morphs that somehow made D27’s head hurt.

It also seemed that the ponies had developed a rather advanced system of economy; the area was filled with a rather substantial commercial presence. The ponies seemed to be going about their business rather happily as they trotted between stores and smiled and laughed with one another.

A quick examination indicated that there were three primary subtypes. There were monohorns, which D27 had already been aware of, as well as earth-ponies, which were slightly more muscular, hornless versions of monohrns, and Pegasi, which had feathered wings attached to their midsection.

The situation was, in fact, quite terrifying. D27 was not used to being around so many individuals without being attacked; a nagging sensation in his mind kept him wondering if they would notice the ruse and suddenly turn on him with energy weapons and heavy weapons before he could generate proper armor to mount an effective defense.

His cover seemed to be at least marginally effective, though. Most of the ponies stared at him, hushing their conversations and avoiding him, but none outright attacked him as he passed down their earthen streets. They probably could tell that something was not right, but only to the point of physical aberrations, like D27’s naked tail or his spiked “mane”. In all, though, his disguise seemed to be a rousing success.

One strange thing he noticed, though, was that the majority of the ponies had various diverse insignias printed on their sides. He had witnessed that before on the body of the grotesque pink alicorn who had thwarted his plans to destroy the Heart of Order, but he had assumed that it was an aspect attached only to a pony created by the Heart’s influence. The marks actually seemed far more common, though. Most ponies that were not young had one, and they were mostly unique, even though they followed relatively common motifs based on flowers or various types of produce.

Eventually, D27’s curiosity got the better of him. He swerved suddenly and approached a light blue monohorn who had strayed too far from the others.

“Teal female horse!” he said, nearly shouting, attempting to modulate his voice to the proper pony volume. The monohorn froze and looked at him, her eyes widening.

“Y..yes?” she said as her eyes darted to his pointed teeth.

“Identify: are your people covered in fine fur, or are you hairless?”

“Wha- -what?”

“These marks,” he said, pointing to the one on the flank of the mare, which appeared to be a kind of musical instrument. “Are they attached synthetically? Perhaps a contagen?”

“Contagen?”

“Are they a parasite?” D27’s attempt to add emphasis for clarity apparently failed, and the pony stepped back, her eyes glancing nervously around.

“It- -it’s just my cutie mark- -I play the lyre- -”

“What is your tissue density?”

“Density?”

“Muscle and bone. How much blood can you lose before death by exsanguination? Is cannibalism practiced among your people? Why are there no alicorns here? Why are you teal?”

Tears welled in the pony’s eyes, and she suddenly burst into loud sobs and ran away as if her life depended on it.

“Perhaps later,” called D27 after her, even as she screamed for someone apparently named “Bon-Bon”. D27 frowned. The reaction had not been predicted; the ponies had seemed relatively congenial, and he had expected her to be willing to answer at least some of his questions. They appeared to be more recalcitrant than he had expected.

He continued down the street, wondering if perhaps the pony he had selected had been defective. Having heard the commotion, the others were far more apt to avoid him, though. At the very least, that confirmed that they had a strong herd instinct.

After several minutes, though, D27 had a strange sensation of being watched. He stopped in the street and had a sudden urge to produce more eyes. He resisted, knowing that the spontaneous generation of eyes was not something ponies ordinarily did.

Not knowing where the gaze was coming from, he slowly turned around, scanning the tops of buildings. As he did, though, he suddenly found a large pair of bright blue eyes inches away from his face.

“Hey there,” said a squeaky voice as D27 instinctively jumped back. Even with his advanced senses, a pink mare with an overly curly, dense mane had managed to somehow get behind him without his knowledge.

“Pink…” he said. It was his only response; he had never even imagined that a pony could have such a bright and evolutionary ill-suited color.

“Oh, wow!” said the mare, bounding forward. “You already know my name! Or at least half of it. Well , more of three quarters.”

D27 did not know what was happening. The last pony had seemed desperate to get away, but this one had the opposite reaction- -which, actually, caused D27 to want to escape.

“Your people…have names?” he asked.

“Duh. Of course we do, silly. How else would we know who we are?” She began to bounce around him, producing an odd sound that D27 could not actually place the origin of. “My name is Pinkie Pie, the Party Pony of Ponyville, and I have pretty pink poufy…” she stopped bouncing, and her face contorted with thought. “Hair…well, couldn’t think of a word for hair that started with the letter ‘P’.”

“Pelo,” suggested D27.

Pinkie Pie gasped. “Hablas Espanol? Are you from south of the border?” She artificially deepened her voice. “Cuando los sementales son sementales y las yeguas se alegran de ello. I don’t even know what that means! But I hear they call donkeys burrows, which is weird, because donkey’s don’t live in holes. At least not any that I know. Hey, do you like blueberry?”

“Blue…berry? I know of no one by this name.”

The pink pony laughed. “No, not her. Although she is a bit of a looker, in my professional opinion.” The pony raised her eyebrows, and D27 realized that he had forgotten to make himself eyebrows. “No, silly,” said the pink pony, her voice accelerating as she continued to jump around D27, who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “I mean for your frosting.”

“I have no need to be frosted.”

“Not for you, silly! Although you do look like you would be delicious, but probably with something vanilla…or maybe cherry. No, for your party!”

“Party? Are we voting?”

“Voting? No, I mean for your welcome-to-Ponyville party!” From her hoof, she released a small cloud of confetti over D27. D27 wondered where she had been keeping it, or how she had managed to handle it successfully with a hoof.

“Why would I need such a party?” said D27. “I have lived in this town for my entire life.”

“No you haven’t,” said Pinkie Pie. “I know everyone in Ponyville, and I don’t know you. Ooh!” she bent down near D27’s rear, staring at his segmented tail. For a moment, D27 thought she might know. He prepared to change shape again; if he engulfed her, he could strip away her flesh and incorporate her bones into his own structure. There would probably be few witnesses, as almost everyone had gone inside, and there would be no body. It would probably take several days before anyone noticed that she was missing.

“Shaved tail!” she said, taking the appendage in her hooves. “I didn’t even know that was possible! But my friend Rarity says shaved tails are going to be in next spring. Are you some kind of trendsetter?”

D27 stopped himself from shapeshifting just in time. The pink pony had not caught on. “No,” he said. “I was…born…like that. I have no real hair.”

“I can see that. Must make morning brushing so easy. Not that I brush my mane anyway. But back to my question: blueberry frosting?”

“I appreciate the offer for a party, miss Pie,” said D27, “but I really must decline.”

“Decline? Nopony declines a party, silly. Everypony loves a Pinkie party. Trust me, you will. There will be cake and streamers and lots of new friends you haven’t even met yet. You can meet all my friends, because everyone is my friend. And you will be too. What was your name again?”

“My name is D27.”

“D27? That’s a funny name. Well, not ‘ha-ha’ funny, more of ‘weird’ kind of funny…”

She continued to prattle, but D27’s mind was racing. A party, as he understood it, was a risk to him. He would be in proximity to monohorns who could detect him, or individuals familiar with Panbioan history who might be able to recognize a Choggoth, even a cleverly disguised one. If his cover fell, there was a risk of attack, and of a strong military response that could ruin his plans.

The most logical conclusion would be to eliminate Pinkie Pie. Absorbing her would be unfortunate, though, because although she had a spastic and hyperactive nature, D27 actually rather appreciated her personality, as grating as it was. He settled on a different option.

“Miss Pie,” he said, “could you come here for a moment?”

“Ooh,” said Pinkie. “Are you going to tell me a secret?”

“Yes,” said D27 as she leaned in closer. Then, before she could react, he tapped his hoof against her nose. Blue sparks passed over her body, instantly freezing her where she stood, her mouth open mid-statement. As a side effect of the order magic, her frizzy mane and tail suddenly straightened, causing several small objects and confections to drop out onto the ground.

D27 stepped back. With her mouth open in a frozen smile and her hair straight, she looked like some kind of depraved madponie gleefully approaching another victim.

“I am sorry, miss Pie,” said D27, knowing that she could not hear him. “You will unfreeze in…well, eventually. But I can’t have you ruining my plans. Not yet. As I assume your people still say, may the Madgod watch over you.”

D27 then quickly left the area before anyone noticed that he had frozen a pony in the middle of the street.

As he turned a corner, though, he felt something impact him from the side. It did not hurt, because it was relatively soft and because D27 was only compressing one and a half tons of his mass. He looked down to see a metal wheeled device, and, lying beside it, a tiny orange-coated Pegasus.

“Ohhh,” she said, rising disjointedly, adjusting her helmet. “What in Tartarus did I hit?”

“Adorable pony creature!” said D27, perhaps too loudly, causing the filly to jump. “Be more careful of obstacles in your path!”

“I’m sorry,” said the filly, standing. She winced in pain, and looked down at one of her tiny wings. It was bent at a right angle halfway down its structure, the distal end of it swinging freely in the breeze.

The filly’s eyes widened. “OhCelestiaohCelestiaohCelestia,” she cried, reaching out to touch the wing but then recoiling, “my wing! My wing is broken! I broke my wing!”

“I can see that,” said D27, marveling slightly at how fragile the internal bone must have been.

Tears suddenly burst on the filly’s face. “My wing!” she sobbed. “It’s broken! Now I’ll never learn to fly, and Rainbow Dash will never be able to teach me to fly like her, and she’ll hate me, and I won’t be able to ride my scooter, and I’ll never get my cutie mark!”

“Calm down,” said D27. The filly looked up to him, tears running down her face. He reached out his hoof, and a tiny blue spark traveled between it and the break of the wing. On impact, it immediately caused the swinging end to lift and the bone to reknit seamlessly.

The filly looked down, perplexed, and slowly revolved the wing in its socket. Then she broke into a wide smile even as more tears ran down her face. She immediately flapped her wings at surprising speed, producing a buzzing sound but no lift.

“You fixed it!” she cried.

“Repairing bones is simply a matter of dispelling disorder. I was responsible for the accident. I therefore had a duty to make reparations. Or, as the case may be, repairs.”

He turned away from the filly and continued on his path, leaving her to pick up her scooter. In the past twenty minutes, he had traumatized one pony, paralyzed another, and broken the wing of a child. Perhaps ponies were simply not durable enough to interact with.

Applebloom came running up the hill, trying her best to hold on the uniform that she and her friends had spent hours making previously. The less athletic Sweetie Belle followed her, with some difficulty, her own uniform slipping off and tripping her periotically. Together, they looked almost like a pair of tiny police ponies, even though their uniforms were made from spare fabric and stitched unevenly.

“Scootaloo,” called Applebloom as soon as she saw her friend, sounding mildly annoyed. “Why didn’t you get to the bottom of the hill? How can we be Cutie Mark Crusader traffic cops without somepony to catch.”

“But, Applebloom,” said Sweetie Belle, wheezing slightly, “wouldn’t that make Scootaloo a Cutie Marc Crusader lawbreaker.”

Applebloom had actually not thought of that. “You’re right. Probably better that we didn’t try it.”

“But I spent so much time on this uniform,” whined Sweetie Belle. “And I stole- -borrowed so much fabric from Rarity.”

“Sorry,” said Scootaloo, bringing her scooter to a stop and slowing the thrum of her wings. She looked shaken, and concerned with something.

“What’s wrong?” asked Applebloom, immediately aware that something important was bothering her friend.

“I ran into somepony on the way down,” said Scootaloo.

“So?” said Sweetie Belle. “You run into ponies all the time.”

Scootaloo and Applebloom both glared at her.

“But this time it was different,” said Scootaloo, hurriedly. “Come on, you guys have gotta see this guy.”

Her wings beat rapidly, and she turned her scooter, propelling herself across the ground quickly. Applebloom and Sweetie Belle looked at each other, and then hurried after Scootaloo.

Scootaloo led them a corner and dismounted her scooter, propping it against the wall of a nearby building. She peaked around the corner with almost a hyperbolic attempt at stealth, and motioned with her hoof for the others to join her. Carefully, Sweetie Belle and Applebloom approached. All three of them peered around the corner.

On the cross street several yards away, all three of them saw a maneless blue pony, who seemed to be contemplating the nature of a stone wall in the distance.

“That’s the pony I ran into,” hissed Scootaloo, attempting to whisper, even though the blue pony was much farther than earshot.

“I don’t think that’s a pony,” said Applebloom, shivering.

“Of course he’s a pony,” said Scootaloo. “Have you ever seen a blue donkey?”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle.

“But that tail…” Applebloom shivered. Something about it disturbed her. It reminded her of rats.

“So he shaves it,” said Scootaloo, sounding somewhat annoyed. “It doesn’t mean he’s not a pony. Plus, I saw him use magic.”

“But he’s not a unicorn,” said Sweetie Belle, confused.

“I think one of those things on his head might be his horn,” suggested Applebloom.

“But what are the rest of them?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Well, if he has magic, maybe he uses it to style his mane like that…somehow.”

“That’s not the point!” cried Scootaloo, and all three of them jumped back behind the wall in case the blue pony had heard. “Look at his flank.”

“Scootaloo, I know you’ve started to get interested in colts, but looking at a stranger’s rump from round a corner just ain’t right,” said Applebloom.

“Just look!” snapped Scootaloo.

The three Crusaders slowly stretched their heads out around the corner, and looked. Then they all jumped back and stared at each other. What had before been looks of confusion or doubt were replaced with looks of grave concern.

“He…he…” said Applebloom. She could not bring herself to say it, though. Even at her young age, she could understand the implication.

“He doesn’t have one,” said Scootaloo.

“But that’s impossible!” said Sweetie Belle. “My mom and dad and Rarity all say that everpony gets their cutie mark eventually!”

“Applejack and Granny Smith all say the same thing,” said Applebloom. Her heart was pounding quickly. She wondered if there was a possibility that they were lying, trying to make her feel better.

“Maybe he’s just a colt,” suggested Sweetie Belle. “Maybe he’s our age and just…really big.”

“That is as grown stallion,” retorted Scootaloo. “A grown stallion without a cutie mark!”

They all looked at each other in silence, all thinking the same thing. If that pony was an adult without a cutie mark, then everyone they knew had been lying to them, trying to make them feel better about their own blank flanks. If an adult could exist without a cutie mark, then there was a chance that they might never get theirs.

At the same time, they all looked around the corner at the stallion again, as if a second look might reveal a cutie mark, perhaps one that was blue and difficult to see. The stallion in question was still there, still staring at the rock wall, and still a fully adult blank-flank. As they stared, though, one of his eyes disconnected from the wall, and a tiny, single triangular pupil twisted in the white globe, focusing at them.

Simultaneously, they all jumped back, all breathing hard.

“I don’t want to be like that guy,” whined Sweetie Belle.

“We need to go talk to him,” suggested Scootaloo.

“What?” said Sweetie Belle and Aplebloom at the same time.

“He’s not a bad pony,” said Scootaloo. “When I fell, I hurt my wing, and he helped fix it.”

Sweetie Belle and Applebloom looked at each other, clearly unsure of Scootaloo’s plan.

“Come on,” said Scootaloo. “Remember when we were all afraid of Zecora? He might look different, but that doesn’t mean he’s scary.” Scootaloo gulped, recalling how she had just barely seen the ends of his teeth protruding from his mouth as he had spoken, and how sharp they were.

She braced herself. “Come on. How are we ever going to get our cutie marks if we can’t even talk to a pony?”

“Your right,” said Applebloom. They both looked to Sweetie Belle.

“Fine,” she sighed, frowning.

“That’s some schist, all right,” said D27 to himself as he stared at the wall. His eyes turned to another stone. “And there is a gneiss. By Luna, why do I know all these names?” He paused again, considering for a moment. He knew the word “Luna”, but not what one was. It sounded vaguely like a name. The only similar word in his assimilated vocabulary was “Celestia”, which he could also not define. Most of the information, though, concerned geology, and was almost completely useless.

Something moved in his peripheral vision, and one of his eyes automatically twisted independently of the other and attempted to see what had made the sound. Before it refocused, though, the stimulus was gone. He wondered if he was being watched, or if Pinkie Pie had somehow woken up. Leaving her frozen in the street had probably been a bad idea, even though the crime could not be easily linked to D27.

He turned back to the wall. Unfortunately, as a wall, it was not particularly useful; if he had access to strata, there was at least a chance he could date the rocks to find how deep he would be buried if he had awoken underground.

There was a second sound, however, and D27 felt a heartbeat approaching him. He turned, prepared, if necessary, to vaporize the monohorn mages that had surely been sent to terminate him. Instead, he saw a familiar small creature.

“Adorable orange Pegasus,” he said, looking down. “You have returned. Was my work repairing your wing unsatisfactory?”

D27’s view shifted, and he saw that there were to other small ponies approaching as well. One was pale yellow, with a red mane and tail; the other was pure white, with a purple striped mane and tail. Neither one of them had wings, and D27 immediately assessed them as what was called “earth ponies”. He felt a weak signal arising from the white one, though, and twisted the pupils in this eyes, dialating them to massive black triangles, causing the small ponies to jump back in fright. The improved vision, though, indicated that the white filly was actually a monohorn.

“White monohorn and yellow earth-pony,” said D27. “Greetings.”

“Monohorn?” said Sweetie Belle, seeming somewhat insulted.

“Is this the incorrect word?” asked D27. “You have one horn, not three. You are not a trihorn. Therefore, you are a monohorn.”

“I’m a unicorn.”

D27 lowered his head toward the white filly, and she started shaking. “Are you saying that this appendage of yours is made of corn?” he asked.

“No…it’s…bone, I guess…”

“Oh,” said D27, returning to his normal position. His own knowledge of the word from his own time must have overwritten the new vocabulary term. “I will make a note of that. I apologize if I insulted you.”

“It’s…it’s okay.”

“My name is Scootaloo,” said the orange pony. “These are my friends Applebloom and Sweetie Belle.”

“So you all have names,” said D27, mildly amused. He wondered if they were given names at birth, or if they acquired them at a young age. “My name is D27.”

“D27?” said the one called Sweetie Belle. “That’s a funny name- -ow!” She had been promptly elbowed by the one called Applebloom.

“Interestingly, the one called ‘Pinkie Pie’ made a similar statement.”

“So you’ve already met Pinkie,” said Applebloom.

“It was difficult not to.” The three of them nearly laughed, but their fear seemed to be keeping them from doing so. Something seemed to be bothering them.

“We…we wanted to ask you,” said Scootaloo. “Are you…are you a pony?”

“Of course I am,” lied D27. “What else would I be?”

“Then why don’t you have a cutie mark?”

She pointed toward D27’s flank, and he looked down. “You mean the insignias?” he said. “Because textures are difficult to render.” The three fillies did not seem to understand. “I was actually wondering what those were myself. Perhaps you can elaborate?”

“You don’t know what cutie marks are?” said Applebloom in disbelief.

“No,” said D27. “As you can see, I have none. I was not aware of their existence until recently.” Technically, everything that had happened to D27 had been ‘recent’.

“It signifies your special talent,” said Applebloom. “You know, when you realize what you’re truly good at in life.”

“Your accent amuses me,” said D27. “So this ‘cutie mark’, it is attached to you when your society determines your purpose?”

“Well, no,” said Sweetie Belle. “It just sort of…shows up. Or it should.”

D27 believed he understood. “Ah,” he said. “I notice that none of you have this mark. Is your concern that you will not acquire a mark and be accepted into your society?”

They all looked surprised. “Well, yeah,” said Applebloom. “I mean, if you don’t have one and you’re an adult, what if we don’t get any?”

“Our situations are nonequivalent. I have…unique reasons for not having one.”

“Because you never found your special talent?”

“I have no ‘special talent’.”

“No special talent?” cried the three fillies simultaneously, causing D27 to jump back and a slightly inebriated passerby to look in their direction. “How can you not have a special talent?”

“Because I was not given one. I have a purpose, of course, and all abilities I have are applied toward that purpose, but that does not seem to qualify as one of these ‘talents’.”

“Well, maybe we can help you,” said Scootaloo.

“Help? With what?”

“We’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” she explained, and the others smiled.

“Yeah,” said Sweetie Belle. “Our mission is to find out our own special talents, and to get our cutie marks!”

“We probably could help you,” suggested Applebloom.

“Hey,” said Scootaloo, smiling, “maybe our cutie marks will be in helping other ponies getting cutie marks!”

“I appreciate your offer,” interrupted D27, “but a demarcation of talent is not useful to me. I have no need nor desire for a ‘cutie mark’.”

The faces of the three fillies fell, and their hair almost seemed to go flat. It was as though D27 had crushed their spirits, and he distantly felt bad about it.

“You…you don’t even care?”

“No,” admitted D27. “Although, perhaps you can assist me with something else?”

“What kind of thing?” asked Applebloom, suspiciously.

D27 instantly constructed a narrative in his mind. “I have lived in relative isolation until recently. This is my first time in Ponyville, or in any pony city for that matter. I know very little, and ponies seem repelled by my…rather extreme appearance. I have many questions, but nopony to answer them. If you have the time, perhaps you could explain this town to me, and answer my questions.”

The three turned to each other, and smiles crept across their faces.

“You know what this means,” said Applebloom.

“Cutie Mark Crusader tour guides!” they all cried in unison, with enough volume to hurt D27’s eyes.

The reaction of the populous seemed somewhat mixed to seeing a somewhat bizarre looking blue stallion being led through the streets by three highly-active fillies. People were still somewhat repelled by D27, but the presence of the fillies made people less likely to shutter themselves in their houses or avoid him completely. Mostly, they just stared, but quickly dismissed him and returned to their business.

“And this is where the shops are,” said Scootaloo, pointing.

“That one over there is the Carousel Boutique,” said Sweetie Belle, pointing. “My sister owns that one. She makes dresses, usually, but she could probably make a suit for you too.”

“But your people do not wear clothing,” noted D27. If they did, his presence would have been extremely awkward, considering that rendering cloth was even more difficult than rendering hair or fake cutie marks.

“No,” said Appleboom. “Not usually, but sometimes on special occasions we have fancy dresses and stuff.”

“Interesting. Perhaps I will acquire a so-called ‘suit’. Although I do not have money. What currency does your economy run on?”

“Bits,” said Applebloom, producing a gold coin from an unclear source and showing it to D27. It was shiny, with a stamped image of an alicorn on one side.

“But sometimes people use gemstones instead,” said Scootaloo.

“This is a good thing,” said D27. “I have none of these ‘bits’, but I did bring gemstones from my home. It is good to know that I can purchase things if necessary.” Not that he needed anything in particular; he could synthesize almost all chemicals and materials he needed, and there seemed to be precious few arms dealers in Ponyville. “What is this shop?” he asked, approaching one of them.

“That’s Lacy Leather’s shop,” said Sweetie Belle. “She makes clothes too, like my sister. Rarity say’s I can’t go in there until I’m older, though, even though she goes in there all the time.”

D27 pressed his face to the darkened window, peering in at the merchandise.

“There’s nothing but socks,” he said, confused.

At that instant, a bell chimed as the door to the shop opened. An earth pony whose spectral emissions were somewhere between pink and violet stepped out, humming through the handle of a bag in her mouth. Her insignia was that of three smiling flowers.

“Miss Cheerilee!” cried all three fillies at once.

The pony opened her eyes, and jumped back, nearly dropping the bag. The color of her face darkened by several shades.

“G- -girls!” she said. “What- -what are you doing here?”

“We’re showing mister D27 around town!”

“That’s…that’s sweet of you but- -I need to be- -over there!” she dashed off, the bag clamped tightly in her mouth, and within seconds was gone.

“What got into her?” asked Applebloom.

“No idea,” said D27.

There were many things that D27 learned numerous facts about ponies. They were, according to the three fillies, actually covered in a fine fuzz, and that the skin color of ponies was generally similar to their coat color. They generally weighed as much as one hundred pounds if, as Sweetie Belle described “they were really, really fat”. Ponyville had been founded by earth ponies, and Pegasi lived in floating cities, including a mobile city called Cloudsdale which, as Scootaloo mentioned repeatedly, was the original home of one Rainbow Dash. With the way Scootaloo spoke of her, Rainbow Dash was a mare of extreme flying prowess and, apparently, one of the few ponies with a multicolored mane, something that D27 believed may be a recessive trait of some kind.

Eventually, D27 found himself on a dirt road outside of town. The sun was in the center of the sky by then, and although the air of Ponyville was exceptionally pleasant, the sunlight was moderately damaging to D27. In part, it was likely due to the fact that unlike normal ponies he was completely hairless, but he suspected something else might be at fault. It was as though the celestial spheres could recognize him from their past, or at least the sun could.

“Why is it that the sun moves?” asked D27, staring up at it through the trees on either side of the road.

“Because Celestia moves it,” said Scootaloo, as if it were obvious.

“Why would anypony want to move the sun?” asked D27, confused.

“Well, if the sun didn’t move, it would be night all the time,” said Applebloom.

“Night…that is the one with the moon, right? Does your Celestia also move the moon?”

“No, Luna moves the moon at night.”

“I see,” said D27.

“Do they not have the sun or moon where you come from?”

“No.”

“It must be real dark,” said Scootaloo.

“Not actually.” He recalled the strange skies of the Gloame, and the beautiful pale yellow luminescence of the sky of old Panbios before it was cursed with the celestial spheres. The use of them was at least practical, though; by manipulating the sun, agricultural capacity had seemingly enhanced drastically, and through use of the moon, the nocturnal world was able to move freely during part of the day.

D27 was about to ask what exactly “Celestia” and “Luna” were, but he suddenly realized that he was a signiciant distance outside of Ponyville.

His paranoia increased. He wondered if the fillies were leading him into a trap, if they had capitalized on their innocence and adorability to put him off guard, and were now leading him to forces of unicorns waiting to capture him.

“Um, where are we going?” he asked.

“To Sweet Apple Acres!” cried Applebloom, suddenly excited. “It’s the farm I live on with Applejack and Big Macintosh and Granny Smith!”

“Why would we go there?”

“Because it’s the best place in all of Ponyville,” said Applebloom somewhat defensively. “That, and we figured you’d want to see where apples come from.”

“What are these apples of which you speak? Are these your people?”

All three of the fillies stopped. “You don’t know what apples are?” they asked, as if that were an even greater offense than not knowing who moved the sun and moon.

D27 shook his head.

“What do you even eat, anyway?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Swamp mud, mostly, and lignin.”

“Eew,” said Sweetie Belle, making a face. “That sounds gross!”

“Here we are!” said Applebloom, bounding up a path off from the road past a fence and into a field filled with trees.

D27 looked up at the trees, and saw that they were covered with roundish fruit that came in various shades of red.

“These are apples?” he said, looking up at them.

“They sure are! Only the best apples in all of Equestria!”

“I am familiar with a similar fruit,” said D27, “although it is golden, and the tree has needles, not leaves.”

“Golden apples?” said Sweetie Belle. “Rarity say’s the princess has a tree that grows those.” She gasped. “Do you work for the princess?”

“I work for no one,” said D27. “Not anymore.” He reached up into one of the shorter trees and picked a low-hanging apple, taking it in his claw. He pulled it down, snapping the small stem attached to it. It was glossy and red. Considering it for a moment, he took a bite of it. It was crunchy and whitish on the inside, filled with juice.

D27 was thoroughly disappointed. “I am afraid it tastes the same as all organic matter to me,” he sighed. He looked down to see the three fillies staring at him, their jaws open.

“What did I do?” asked D27, wondering if he had broken some strange rule he was not aware of. Perhaps it was forbidden to take apples from the trees, or perhaps they needed to be cooked first.

“Cl…cl…claws,” said Sweetie Belle, pointing.

D27 looked down at the narrow claws that he had developed. He had done it unconsciously, his body automatically morphing to enable him to pick an apple properly. “Do ponies not have claws?” he asked, cautiously. He knew that clawed hands were a trait in roughly thirty percent of trihorns, and hoped that the same was the case for ponies.

The three fillies shook their heads.

“Well,” said D27, consuming the rest of the apple in a single bite. “Surely you can’t expect me to pick them with hooves. I mean, how do you even handle things with these?” He retracted the claws back into his arm and replaced the structure of the hoof.

The three Cutie Mark Crusaders stared for a moment, and D27 wondered if he had lost his cover. He was rather adverse to absorbing them, considering how young they were and how purely adorable they all looked, but he had done far worse in his life. If he had to eliminate them to preserve his mission, it would need to be done.

Then, suddenly, they all broke into wide smiles and started jumping spastically.

“Oh wow!” cried Applebloom. “That was some magic!”

“Yeah, even Twilight can’t do something like that!” squeaked Sweetie Belle.

“If you keep that up, you’ll surely get a cutie mark in magic!” cried Scootaloo. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“You’re not even a unicorn,” said Applebloom.

“There’s no law that says a Pegasus can’t use magic if she wants to,” said Scootaloo, her mood suddenly souring.

“There kind of is. You don’t have a horn.”

“He doesn’t have a horn either!”

“Whahs all this yellin?” said a fourth voice, one that D27 did not recognize but that was saturated with a strong accent.

D27’s eyes twisted in their sockets, and behind him, he saw a larger pony approaching. She was roughly as tall as he was, and pale orange in color. Her cutie mark appeared to be three apples, and she wore a hat. A basket of apples was perched on her back.

She looked up at D27.

“And who are you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Applejack!” cried Applebloom, nearly tripping D27 as she passed below him. “This is D27! We’re showing him around town so we can get our cutie marks in tour-guiding!” She turned to D27. “This is my sister Applejack! She’s the strongest and most athletic pony in all of Equestria!”

“No she isn’t!” called Scootaloo. “Rainbow Dash is!”

“Now, now, girls,” said Applejack, “Ahm mighty flattered an all, but let’s not get into this just now.” She extended a hoof toward D27, and he looked down at it.

“I am not aware of this custom!” he said, suddenly. “Tiny Applebloom, please explain!”

“It’s a hoofshake,” said Applebloom. “Tap your hoof against hers, and move it up and down.”

D27 did as he was told, and their hooves made a tapping sound.

“You’re not from around here, are ya?”

“You have no idea.”

“Where he’s from, they don’t even have any apples,” said Sweetie Belle, joining the group.

“Yeah,” said Applebloom, as if remembering why she had come. “I was hoping he could try some.” Her expression darkened slightly. “But he said they don’t taste like anything.”

“Don taste like nothing?” said Applejack, seemingly insulted.

“It’s not that they do not have a taste,” said D27. “It is only that I cannot taste them. If only I were able to know them as you do.” He paused, and an idea occurred to him. “Actually, perhaps there is a way.”

D27 put hid foreleg around Applejack’s neck and, before she could react, pressed his lips against hers. She groaned and tried to say something, but before she could D27 inserted a tendril into her mouth. It wrapped around her tongue, assessing her taste profile.

She suddenly pushed him away, but he had already assimilated the necessary information and quickly retracted the tendril back into his own mouth.

“What in tarn- -”

D27 did not hear her finish. On one side of his vision, a wall of red suddenly appeared, and a massive white hoof smashed into the side of his face.

The force was so great that even at D27’s weight, he was pushed to the side. The physical force had been extremely unexpected, but non-magical assault was rarely painful to a Choggoth. Unless, of course, it impacted a geometric sensory organ that was presently uninsulated, as D27’s were.

The force against his eyes caused a shock through is interim nervous system, overloading his senses of sight, sound, and smell simultaneously, filling him with bizarre hallucinations and pain that he had never anticipated could come from a punch. He became disoriented and nearly fell over, barely managing to right himself and only by a small miracle holding pony-form.

He felt a force pick him up by the tissue below his neck. His vision partly restored, and he found himself looking into the face of a very large, angry red stallion.

“If you touch my sister again,” he said with a deep, terrifying voice, “I will string you up by your hindlegs, smear you with applesauce, and let the vampire fruit bats suck you dry!”

“Duly…noted,” said D27 as he was dropped to the ground. Sound faded for a moment as his mind reset itself; he heard arguing between the mare Applejack and the stallion.

Then the world snapped back into focus, and D27 stood. Feeling that his jaw had been dislocated, he used his hoof to snap it back into its correct place, and gnashed his pointed teeth to ensure that the joint had been seated properly. He looked up, and found that only one of his eyes was currently operating. That one eyes was focusing on the face of a rather angry looking red stallion, and an almost as equally angry Applejack.

“You care to explahn why you just went and kissed me?” said Applejack, “and it hahd better be a good explahnation, or by Celestia I will buck you into the nehxt county!”

“I seem to have…colors, refocusing, wait a moment.” His left eye continued to revolve in its socket, attempting to reset itself. “I seem to have offended you.”

“Your darn-tootin!”

“I misjudged the social constraints of your society,” said D27, his eye returning to normal. “However, my taste receptors are currently not formatted. In order to taste these ‘apples’, I needed to aquire the sensory profile of a taste organ.”

“Tasting apples by tasting an Apple,” joked Scootaloo, and everypony glared at her, causing her to recoil.

“So you just go and kiss my sister, without even asking her first?” demanded Applebloom, angrily.

“If I had asked, she would have refused,” maintained D27, “and I was not aware that it would be construed as such an insult. However, after being thoroughly concussed by your…brother…” The red stallion snorted, a small puff of steam rising from his nose. “I do believe that what I did was an invasion of your personal space. As such, I wish to apologize, and make reparations as applicable by pony law.”

Applejack’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Well, if yah honestly didn’t know, I guess I cahn’t fault yah for it. It ain’t like it’s not the first tahm I’ve been kissed randomly like that.”

“It isn’t?” said Applebloom and the red stallion at the same time. “Who was the last time?”

“I don’ want to talk ‘bout it,” said Applejack, blushing slightly. “Though, yah might want to do somethin abouht your breath. You taste like swamp water.”

“Noted,” said D27. “Also, angry red stallion,” he said, turning to the pony in question. “For future reference, temper your blows. If I had been anypony else, that impact would likely have been lethal.” The stallion’s eyes widened, and his expression of pure hatred became one of confusion, and then of distant fear. “Now, although I realize it will likely be an imposition to you, miss Applejack, angry stallion, and assorted fillies, I would like to request that I might taste one apple.”

“S…sure,” said Applejack, taking down one from her basket. “Ah mean, I didn’t understand half of what yah said ‘bout ‘taste acquisition’, but I get that all yah really wanted was one of these, and, frankly, ah can’t blame yah.”

“Thank you,” said D27, taking the apple between his hooves. He took a small bite of it and allowed the crushed parts of it to contact his tongue which, if he had performed the assimilation correctly, should have contained a copy of Applejack’s taste profile.

The sensory impact hit D27’s mind with a force far greater than the angry red stallion’s hoof. His legs shook, and he collapsed to the ground. Tears welled to his eyes, which was odd, considering that he had not even constructed tear ducts.

“What- -what’s wrong?” said Applejack. “I didn’ give you a rotten one bah mistake, did ah?”

“No,” squeaked D27, his eyes widening and focusing in separate directions. “This is only the most beautiful thing I have ever tasted…”

“Aw, shucks,” said Applejack, blushing. “Well, they are the best apples in ahll of Equestria, in mah opinion.”

“How many of these…how many of these can I purchase?”

“Purchase?”

“Are they not for sale?”

“No, they are. How many do you wahn?”

“Six tons should be adequate.”

“Did you say tons?”

“I have gemstones,” said D27, pulling the apple back from his mouth and vomiting a pile of emeralds and sapphires that he had been storing inside his body. The other ponies jumped back as the pile spilled outward toward them. “I have more at home. I have a lot more. I will pay eight time their weight in gemstones if I have to.”

“No, no!” said Applejack, clearly quite disturbed that a pony had just vomited a pile of gemstones at her feet and ordered six tons of apples. “This should be enough. Yah sure you can eat six tons, though.”

“Yes.” He paused, seeing the expression on their faces. Ponies, he realized, probably did not eat quantities measured in tons, at least not rapidly. “Although I also have associates who I think might like them.” He was thinking, of course, of the Gloame shadows. They were generally carnivorous, but he was sure they would appreciate apples as much as he did.

“Well, that’s a mahty big order,” said Applejack. “It might take some tahm to acahmadate yah.”

“I can assist,” said D27. “It would be the least I can do after insulting you as I did.”

“No,” said Applejack. “Yah ahlready appolagized, so as fahr as ahm concerned, the matter is over and dohn with. Besides, I don’ trust anypony with the trees ‘cept mahself and Big Macintosh here.”

“Oh. Well, how long will it take?”

“Well, aboht…three days?”

“Then I will return in three of your pony ‘days’. No, wait, I can’t carry six tons. I will send an associate to collect them. Thank you for your forgiveness and apples. And…” He paused. “May I have that basket that you have right there?”

“Ah spose, sure,” said Applejack, putting down the basket. D27 promptly swallowed the apple he had been eating, preserving it for later use, and took several more. Once he had crammed as many as he could into himself, he turned his attention to the three fillies, especially Applebloom.

“I thank you for showing me these ‘apples’,” he said. “However, I believe I must be returning to my base of operations at the moment. However, as a token of my appreciation…” he reached into his mouth, and withdrew three small, rhomboid violet gemstones. “I am not sure of current exchange rates, but I believe that these have slightly higher value than many other types of gems.” He handed one gem to each of the Cutie Marc Crusadres.

“Where are you staying?” asked Sweetie Belle as she received her gem.

“I currently reside…” D27 paused. He would not be able to explain to them the nature of the Gloame, because he doubted that most ponies lived in parallel basin-dimensions. “In the nearby forest.”

“The Everfree forest?” cried all three of the fillies.

“I did not know that it was called that, but yes.”

“But that place is filled with monsters!”

“I am aware of that.”

“Well,” said Applejack, “it’s already too lahte in the day for yah to get there befah night fahlls. It ain’t a good idea to go wahndering around the Everfree forest aht naht.”

“I assure you, I will be fine.”

“You can stah here on the fahm tonight,” said Applejack. “Ain’t that raht, Big Mac?”

“NOP- -oof!- -Eeeyup,” he said, rubbing his side where Applejack had elbowed him. He leaned closer to D27, glaring. “But if you even get near Applejack or Applebloom, ain’t nopony even gonna find the body.”

“That will not be a problem, as I will not be staying. I have many things to do.”

“Well,” said Applejack, “if yah can’t get back to the forest in tahm, stop over and see Twilight, and tell her ah sent yah. She lives in the big castle, can’ miss it. She’s got plehnta of empty rooms, and between you and me, I think she gehts raht lonely in that big ole place.”

“Noted,” said D27. “I will also show the assorted tiny Crusaders to their respective homes.”

“I’m already at my home,” said Applebloom.

“And that’s where you’re gonna be stayin for now,” said Applejack. “Six tons of apples…by golly, me and Bic Macintosh are gonna need all the help we cahn get!”

“Eeeyup,” added Big Mac, still staring angrily at D27.