Doctor Hugs discarded the branch near a stack of firewood.

“That was a most inspiring speech, captain,” he said, bringing up his trademark smile as he approached the Wonderbolt in charge. “My name is Hugs, Sunlit Hugs. I’ve been corresponding with your office?”

“Spitfire. You have,” Spitfire replied with a stern hoofshake. “Well met, doctor. On behalf of the Wonderbolts I’d like to thank you and the Canterlot Orphanarium for having us. We find Operation Wonderbit to be an excellent opportunity to introduce the younger generation to our organization, and we hope some of them will choose to join our ranks when they grow up. Perhaps we’re looking at the future of the Wonderbolts right now?”

By the time Spitfire was done talking, Doctor Hugs had sketched her psychological portrait. Curious as it looked, he tucked it at the back of his head for the moment.

“Thank you for coming. I realize that you have a tight schedule, and I appreciate you found an afternoon to spare for a good cause. If you please follow me, I’d like to introduce you to someone of my own team. She’ll have more details regarding the kids assigned to you. It’s important to know such things when you’re in command, wouldn’t you say? You’re about to spend the entire afternoon with them, after all!”

“Now that’s something I wanted to talk over with you. Your assistant was convinced I’d be joining Operation Wonderbit as well, but that won’t be the case. My ponies are at your disposal for the rest of the day, but I only dropped by to get them in position, do the pep talk, and clear any questions you may have. The moment we’re done I’m heading to the Academy for my own debriefing.”

The stallion’s ears flopped as he summoned a disappointed look to his face. “Oh? That’s… unfortunate to hear. You see, we’ve already split the children into six groups, and based on our letters I was led to believe you’d be participating as well.” He paced away a few steps and put a hoof to his chin, pondering on a solution. He turned back to the mare. “That debriefing of yours. Wouldn’t it be something you could postpone, by any chance?”

“Negative. I’m expected at sixteen hundred hours sharp,” Spitfire replied. “I don’t see a problem here, to be honest. Since I’m not vital for the success of this mission, I suggest you disband that sixth group and reassign your pupils to someone else. It’s better than leaving them behind, and I’m certain any of my Wonderbolts can handle another foal or two. If you think about it, it’s going to be a good experience of how things work in the military.”

Doctor Hugs shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, captain. These children aren’t your regular recruits, even though they need guidance all the same. The thing is, they’ve been preparing for your visit for over a week now. Your history, uniforms, flight patterns, achievements—you name it, they talked about it. Moreover, each group was tasked with making a card they’ll give their respective Wonderbolts later today. A little gift from the orphans to their heroes,” he said, then leaned closer to the mare and whispered, “Just don’t tell anyone. It’s a surprise.”

“I-I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t even have my suit on. What’s the worth of meeting a Wonderbolt when she looks no better than a post office clerk?”

“I’d be sending letters everyday if that was the case,” he replied with disarming honesty.

Spitfire pursed her lips and glared from over her glasses. “I hope you’re not trying to convince me with cheap compliments, doctor.”

“Not at all, captain. What I meant was, seeing a Wonderbolt without her costume is also something. For the kids, that is,” he added. “In the end, they want to meet not the suit, but the pony underneath in her true colors, even if the costume was what captured their attention in the first place.”

That perhaps wasn’t the best explanation he could have gone for, but going further had a risk of sounding even clumsier. He wasn’t thinking clearly but he couldn’t pinpoint the cause—either the adrenaline shot from the raining orphans was wearing off, or it had something to do with the faint yet pleasant scent of perfume on the mare’s neck. The cause was irrelevant. He spent too much time with Fizzy organizing today’s grand event and making sure every one of his pupils would have the best time ever to allow the sixth pegasus to go now, even if she was the Wonderbolt prime. Even if it meant unleashing the full capacity of his psychological bag of tricks to make her stay. For the children!

As he was choosing his approach, another Wonderbolt came by—a stallion of dark mane and easy-going attitude.

“Doctor Hugs, is it?” he asked. “Hi, my name’s Soarin. My squad has reported a missing beanie cap. Permission to go inside and retrieve it real quick?”

Not for the first time the problems of others had overridden his own. “A beanie cap? That means you’re with Soft Spot. She’s our expert on all things fashion. By all means, please, take the stairs to your, uhm,”—he hesitated, turned to face the large entrance doors, and nodded to himself—“left, follow the corridor, and take the second doors to your”—he turned a quarter—“right. Or, you know, just follow the kids,” he said, spun back to the stallion, and added at a hushed tone, “Oh, and Mister Soarin? Just to give you some context. Before she passed away, Soft’s mother told her to never go outside without a headwear. She’s very attached to her cap.”

“Understood,” Soarin said with a nod. “Hey, chief! I’m so glad we’re doing this. And I heard you’re staying after all? Some kids I talked to said they’re assigned to you and they were pretty fired up about it. Well, gotta run!” He trotted to a pack of ponies behind him. “Wonderbits, we have a go! That means Doctor Hugs said we can go and find your missing cap, what was your name again, Sweet Spot? Soft Spot, alright. You guys know the area better than I do, so lead the way!”

Doctor Hugs pretended to watch Soarin and his squad breaching the perimeter, but in truth he kept an eye on Spitfire. She flushed, winced, and looked away. Her conviction crumbled when her subordinate presented her with a fait accompli, something that had more convincing power than any persuasion. Doctor Hugs felt his upper lip twitch. It was the only part of his expression he never learned to control, and it trembled whenever he was trying to hide strong emotions—in that case, the gloat of the upcoming success, of how exposed the mare had become. He could very well use her embarrassment against her, but she was of the proud type, and would likely react with hostility, so he decided not to.

“Back to you, Miss Spitfire,” he said. “I believe there has been some miscommunication in our correspondence. I obviously can’t ask you to spend the rest of the day with our orphans. Perhaps we could reschedule?” he asked, but at the first glance of the mare shaking her head he cut in before she could say a word. “No, you’re right, I’d hate to bother you when you’ll be even busier. But you’ve said your meeting is at four o’clock, correct? How about you at least walk your group to the café? It’s a short trip from here, it shouldn’t take long. That way the kids will get to spend some time with you, we’ll get the gift part done real quick, and you’ll be free to go. Unless, of course, there are other premises that would keep you from joining?”

“There… are no such premises, I admit. But it doesn’t seem you’re giving me much of a choice, either.”

Doctor Hugs laughed heartily. “But you’re a Wonderbolt. Even if I was a pegasus I couldn’t possibly catch up to you if you decided to flee now! Besides, we’re both adults. There’s no point in telling you, say, that you’d disappoint the poor parentless ponies and you’d never forgive yourself, or to blackmail you otherwise. No, I’m simply counting on your good nature to free up maybe half an hour from your timetable.”

“You’re putting a lot of hope in my supposed good nature.”

“Of course I do. What would become of us ponies if we weren’t?”

After a moment of careful consideration Spitfire sighed and took off her glasses.

“Alright, doctor. I’ll do it,” she said and then shrugged. “I think there was a singer in the eighties who had a number about the children being our future, so let’s make it a good one.”

“If we teach them well and let them lead the way, then I’m sure they are. Honey Whitestone, eleven eighty-six, I believe,” he replied. “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding. Of course should you so desire, and should your meeting be a short one, know that much like your teammates you’re invited for the rest of the Wonderbolt-themed games and activities we’ve prepared for today,” he suggested, receiving an angry glare that lost a lot of its force without the glasses framing it. “Or perhaps we’ll settle for just the walk. Follow me, if you please!”

The kids and adults gathered around the courtyard were having the time of their lives. To the left, Soarin and his team crouched in a circle to discuss the success of their recent escapade to the second floor. To the right, Fleetfoot described her dreamed Prince Charming to a group of giggling girls. She called him the strong but silent type, and oddly specified his likely whereabouts to a farm in a town south from Canterlot. Cloudchaser told a story about how her flight goggles helped her stay on course in an unexpected dust storm during a sheep rescue mission near Dodge Junction, Rapidfire joked about how the Wonderbolts were eating clouds for breakfast to stay in shape, and Lightning Streak and his group trotted to Fizzy to get clearance for heading into the city.

Doctor Hugs led Spitfire to the last leaderless squad—the three orphans he knew all too well.

“Miss Spitfire, I’d like you to meet the three of the Orphanarium’s most valiant explorers. Well, two and a half, actually,” he said and, proud of his joke, flashed a smug smile. “Kids, this is Miss Spitfire. I’m sure she needs no introduction. Why don’t you tell her a little something about yourselves?”

“Hi! I’m Wind Whisper and I want to be a Wonderbolt when I’m older!” He jumped forth to inspect a big, decorative button keeping the mare’s jacket together, engraved with the emblem of the Wonderbolts. “Is this a medal? How many dragons did you have to fight to win it? More than five?”

“Hiya!” Chestnut shouted out and cut in before the colt. “My name is Chestnut and I like listening to music and also when there’s sunny outside! It’s pleasurific to meet you, Miss Captain Spitfire!”

Wind pushed the filly’s rump aside, turning her sideways. “And here is Glavia. She’s a griffon and she’s very little. Go on, Glavia, say hello! Hell-o!” he said and poked the fledgling. “Hello? Say hello!” He walked around Chestnut and squeezed himself between her and the mare where he met Glavia’s foggy stare. She looked at him and let out a yawn so endearing it could as well reinstate a dozen outlaws back to the society. Resigned, Wind Whisper looked up at Spitfire. “She won’t say.”

Spitfire gave an uncertain nod. “Well met, uh, all three of you. I’m… glad I’ll be working with you during this assignment.”

“I’m certain you’ll all get along just fine,” Doctor Hugs said. “Alright, kids, you know the rules. You stick to Miss Spitfire on your way through the city. Captain, as you can see there’s three of them here, but you’ll have to pay attention only to the big ones, because Chestnut and Wind Whisper have a task of their own—they’re taking care of Glavia and they will carry her on your way to the café.”

“What? Doc, no!” Chestnut protested. “Now we have to carry her there as well? She can walk, right?”

“She can, but she gets tired easily. Just look at her, she’s already asleep!” he said. Chestnut turned to see the griffon, but the more she turned the further her back eluded her, for some undisclosed reason. She was stopped by the stallion after a few dizzying spins. “For you two, trotting to the Cuckoo and back may be nothing, but for her it’s like she had to walk the whole Canterlot. You and Wind can switch every hundred steps if you want.”

“Fine by me!” She paced around the stallion. “One, two, three, four…”

“Alright, alright, that’s not how it works. Every five minutes, then.”

“But we don’t have a watch though,” Wind Whisper pointed out. “How can I tell it’s time when it’s time? How will I know Nutsie’s not cheating?”

“Hey, I’m no cheater! I’m an honester!”

“And how long is five minutes, anyway?”

Doctor Hugs mustered up all of his self-control not to respond with a tired sigh. Now he really craved for that cup of tea.

“Five minutes is the time you spend in your bed after you say ‘just five more minutes’ every morning I come to wake you up,” he said. He spotted Chestnut furrowing her brow in deep consideration, but before she managed to point out that she was, in fact, an early bird who enjoyed greeting the day the moment the first rays of sunlight touched the ground, he defused her argument. “You know what, I think it’ll be for the best if we ask Miss Spitfire to watch the time. She’ll be also making sure that you’re behaving well. You know what I’m talking about,” he said, to which the two young ponies nodded. “And that’s about it! You go now, see if Miss Fizzy has anything to tell you about today’s trip.”

“It’s so cool you’re coming with us, Miss Spitfire!” Wind Whisper said. “We’ll be your best team ever. You’ll see!”

With that warning of a promise ringing in the air, the orphans bounced towards the gate.

When they were no longer within earshot, Spitfire turned to the stallion.

“Those children. I understand their parents have passed on?” She reflected upon what she said. “Well of course they have, that’s what makes them orphans. Sorry, that wasn’t well thought out of me.”

Doctor Hugs’s smile made way for a pensive look. “Oh, you’d be surprised. I actually wish the passing of the parents was the only cause these children get orphaned,” he said. “Wind Whisper, for example, he comes from a broken family. When the father left with another mare, the mother slipped into serious alcoholism. Or did her addiction come before? I’m sorry, my memory fails me today. Anyway, abuse came next, first psychological, then physical. Thankfully the child services intervened in time,” he said. “Wind has been with us quite some time already, but I’m afraid he’s still a bit of a troublemaker. He doesn’t respond well to authority because, well, he never had a positive model to follow in either of his parents.”

“What about the griffon? Is she from a broken family too?”

“She’s a mystery. A foundling. You could say her story has been taken from a novel no less—a doorbell in the night, a wicker basket at our doorstep and a hastily written note with her name. When we found her she was nibbling a scone. A scone! Hardly the right diet for a newborn, but that’s all she had,” he said. “Now she’s barely two years old, she’s really calm, and she doesn’t get into trouble. Not on her own, at least,” he added and looked up to the sky. “What else? Oh, she’s chirping and tweeting alright, even if on rare occasions, but she’s yet to say her first word. I’m a bit worried, you know, as by now she should have about ten to twenty in her vocabulary. But she’s a talented doodler!”

Spitfire chuckled. “The more I listen to you, the more respect I have for my own parents,” she said. “What should I know about the thestral?”

“First and foremost, try avoid mentioning Princess Luna around Chestnut. She’s… not too fond of her.”

The mare threw him a questioning stare. “That’s it? Aren’t you going to elaborate on that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t go into details due to the ongoing therapy. Chestnut may be an orphaned child like the rest, but she, specifically, is also my patient and thus I’d like to limit her exposure to potentially damaging elements. I’m only telling you this because I’d hate to see months of my work go for naught, so don’t worry about it too much—just keep it in mind,” he said. “Aside from that, you’ll find her quite talkative. She’s the one who balances Wind’s troublemaking tendencies, and I’m counting on her to become his role model, like an older sister, but she still needs to learn a bit about responsibility. They both do, actually.”

“Is that why you’ve tasked them with carrying Gladia around?”

“Glavia. And yes, you’re quite right. Of course for legal purposes you’re still the one responsible for all three, but please do show your disapproval if they try anything you’d classify as irresponsible around Glavia. I have a hunch your word will do wonders for their maturity.” He looked around the courtyard that got empty in the meantime, for other teams had already headed out for the Red Cuckoo. “Good gracious, would you look at the time! You have so little today and yet I’m still taking minute after minute you should be spending with your group. Your Wonderbit squadron, rather.”

“After we’re done, can I just leave them at the café?”

“I’ll have Bubble Effervescence pick them up,” he assured. “Once again, thank you for adjusting your plans for us, Miss Spitfire. It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m afraid I have matters to attend to here, and I won’t make it to the, oh, what’s the word? Rendezvous point, is that how you call it?”

Spitfire rolled her eyes and snorted a mocking affirmative.

She trotted away and swapped places with Fizzy who left her at the mercy of the notorious duet.

“A new t-shirt, I see,” Doctor Hugs noticed when the rocker girl approached. “What ear-bleeding band you’ve got there this time, kid?”

Fizzy pulled the zipper and revealed a world where words and musical instruments waged war over a pile of shattered crystals—at least that’s what the stallion got from the picture.

“It’s Gemtrance. Thirty-five bits at Rockerture,” she said, stretching the shirt down. “They just came in from Manehattan. Pretty radical, isn’t it? The overprint is made in the same style as the cover of their latest album, Shouts & Whispers. I have it—of course I have it, and I’m thinking about bringing it, you know, so that the kids could listen to some real music for a change.”

“Please don’t,” Doctor Hugs implored. “We’d rather keep to the classics.”

“Just because they’re old doesn’t make them classic. When was the last time you bought a fresh album, anyway? Ten, twenty years ago? Hit me with a decade. The seventies? Was zebra funk still a thing?” She waved her hoof. “Forget it. I’ll just bring something and then we’ll talk,” she promised and glanced back at Spitfire. “So, I take Captain Snooty is coming after all.”

“Only until four, but yes, she’s in.”

“She didn’t seem like she would be when she talked to me. What did you do?”

Doctor Hugs shrugged. “I implied that misery will occur should she not join us,” he replied. “She took some convincing, you know. She’s a strict, task-oriented pony with a strong military mindset, and unlike the rest of her team, she was here exclusively to represent the organization of which she is obviously very fond of. I did my best to warm her up to the idea of spending time with the kids, but I’m afraid it may not be enough.” He sighed. “A shame, really, considering how excited they’ve been to meet one of their heroes.”

“Well, it’s still a lot better than having them stay. That would suck.”

“I’m not giving up on her completely,” he continued. “There was that little shrug shortly before she agreed, the universal gesture of uncertainty, the subtle switch in posture indicating submission. That’s not how your average fighter archetype reacts to defeat, and they definitely don’t do casual pop culture references either. Did you know she likes the same music as I do? I mean, I can extrapolate her taste basing on her likely fondness of Honey Whitestone. Can’t be sure, though.” The stallion met Fizzy’s eyes when she stared deep into his own, as if in search of something. “Get off my face, kid. I know I have bags, it’s been a long week. Anyway, my point is, Miss Spitfire may not be a hundred percent drill sergeant she wants to pass for.”

“Do you have a crush on her?” Fizzy asked unexpectedly.

“No,” he quickly replied. “I do not have a crush on her, why?”

Wrong answer, he realized twelve words too late, the first ten of which had left his mouth.

“You do! Oh, you so have a crush on her!” Fizzy exclaimed, getting to the tips of her hooves.

“What are you prattling about?”

She laughed. “What, did you think you were the only one who can play this game?” She circled around him like a predator delighting in its prey’s obliviousness. “You had your head tilted to appear friendly and less dominant. You stayed leaned towards her after you’ve had a chance to whisper something to her ear. You sound softer whenever you speak her name. Oh, and my personal favorite”—she found herself face to face with the stallion again—“I can see your dilated pupils from a mile away. Do you want me to go on, or will you go ask her out?”

Beaten at his own discipline, what a disgrace. Doctor Hugs cursed the day he suggested the idea of studying psychology to the filly. Her parents cursed him for that very reason as well.

“Out of the question!” he shouted, only stoking his furious blush further. “What I will do is go to my office for a cup of tea!”

Fizzy stood in his way. “No-no-no, no way! I know you! The moment you step through that door you’ll head not to your office, but to the living room to ‘check on some things’ and you’ll end up preparing everything yourself,” she said, turning the stallion away from the building. “But hey, here’s a totally random but sound idea: since the kids are off, and Summer Rainfall has the gift bags covered, me and the guys will get everything up and running here. We’ll clean the popcorn machine, put the mattresses and pillows around, and set up the screen. It’ll be great, just as you planned.” She walked him up to the cast iron gate, smoothing his tie and fixing the collar of his shirt on the go. “You, in turn, will go to the café, order half a cake and a big cup of tea, and have, uhm, about fifteen minutes for yourself before the kids get there.”

“Fifteen minutes! That’s ridiculous! What is it, early Hearth’s Warming?”

Fizzy rolled her smoke-smudged eyes. “Right. Like you’re going to have even five on Hearth’s Warming.”

She had a point. Last year, he spent half of the evening frantically searching for Glavia until he found her slumbering inside a woolen sock hung on the mantel. Then he spent half an hour explaining to Chestnut and Wind Whisper why you don’t put griffon fledglings inside woolen socks for safekeeping. Truth be told, he himself was to blame—earlier that day he made a remark over Glavia’s doodling, saying that she was a gifted griffon indeed. The crafty minds of the other two did the rest.

“Alright,” he said after a while, “here’s the deal: I’ll go to the café to see if Vicky needs a hoof. I’ll take a quarter of a cake and I’ll get back to help you wrap things up.”

“And you’ll get yourself a tea if you want to stay awake until the evening.”

“And I’ll get myself a tea,” he repeated and went through the gate. He turned around. “And kid? Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Fizzy giggled. “Boss.”