Bank of the Night was the only bank that was open in Crystal City at this hour. In fact, this bank was only open during the night. It was run by two thestrals and specifically catered to the thestral population of Crystal City. The number of bat ponies who lived in the city was small, but large enough to support a hoofful of businesses and government services catering to the nocturnal needs of thestrals. Ice’s chariot made a brief stop at the bank so she could exchange currency. Merchants in Afghanistan probably wouldn’t be familiar with Equestrian bits and probably wouldn’t accept them as payment. However, with all of the American soldiers stationed there, they would almost certainly accept American dollars. After a short exchange with a teller at the bank, she stepped out with one thousand dollars in U.S. currency, re-boarded the chariot, and they were airborne again. With nothing else to do, Ice leaned back, closed her eyes, and slept.

Some time later, a jolt awakened her from her sleep as the chariot touched down some ten hours later. It bumped and vibrated along the ground for a few seconds before coming to a stop. Ice put on her dark, UV blocking sunglasses, opened the door, and shivered briefly as a chill wave wrapped around her body. It was much colder here than it had been in the late Spring of Crystal City.

She stepped out of the chariot, her hooves sinking slightly into a layer of gray sand. The surrounding landscape was mostly arid, a combination of sandy desert, pasture, and occasional small copses of trees. Even with the dark sunglasses, the Sun here was harsh, and reflected off the sand like it reflected off the snow during winter in her own homeland. The terrain was mountainous and jagged. To her left, not far in the distance, cattle and sheep grazed, seemingly unattended. Some of them had stopped and raised their heads, as if trying to ascertain what these strange pony-like creatures were interrupting their lunch hour for. Ice removed her saddlebags from the chariot, slung them over her back with a slight grunt, then turned to the two Crystal Guard ponies pulling the chariot.

“You will be comfortable enough out here?”

“We will, ma’am. We have rations and water for four days.”

She nodded. “I don’t think I will be that long. If I’m going to be longer, I’ll bring you new supplies from the village.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Ice nodded and began her short trek into the village alone. Even though the Crystal Guard ponies were not wearing armor and gave no indication that they were military, she had decided it would be best to maintain as low of a profile as possible. Small grains of sand pressed in the frog of her hoof, irritating it like biting gnats. She found herself wishing she’d brought boots. She frowned at the desire. The years since she’d left Bat Team Alpha had caused her to go soft. Living in Crystal City with its smooth, pristine, sparkling streets had that effect on a pony.

After a short hike, she came to the outskirts of the village. She slowed down a bit as the thought dawned on her that this was the first time she’d set hoof in the human world since the war twenty years ago. But this world was very different than the one she had known then. In some ways it reminded her of the frontier villages in western Equestria such as Dodge City. But there was something horribly different about the village she was now approaching. Some kind of monster lurked here that didn’t exist in Equestria’s villages. A monster that she couldn’t quite put her hoof on. As she got closer, it became all too apparent what that monster was: Poverty. The people living in this village were dirt poor.

The village in front of her consisted mostly of low, single story buildings with flat roofs. Near the center of the village, a few buildings with two or even three stories stood above the rest. But other than having additional stories, they appeared to be similar in design to the rest. The majority of the dwellings were of mud brick construction and had a sooty ash color to them that made them blend in with the ground, clearly showing they had been built from material gathered from the surrounding landscape. Some of the buildings were in various states of completeness … or were falling apart. It was difficult to tell which. Very few had glass in the windows, and many only had torn, dirty sheets that looked more like rags than proper sheets covering the doors. Other buildings, most of which appeared to be places of business, were constructed of dirty white plaster, much of it crumbling and badly in need of repair. They had hastily constructed wooden or tin roofs that had clearly been designed for purely utilitarian purposes. They were intended to keep out the water and the Sun, and they also seemed to double as rooftop patios.

Bearded men lounged on several of the rooftops. They wore loose-fitting white or gray cotton pants along with low hanging long-sleeved white or gray shirts that by contemporary standards would be several sizes too large. The gray shirts had probably been white at one time, but had been stained gray by long hours of hard work in the fields combined with not enough washing. Given the dry feeling of the air, water was likely a precious commodity here. Not something to be wasted on things as non-essential as washing clothes on a regular basis. The men also wore short, wrapped turbans on their heads, making them look like they had their heads wrapped in bandages. They stared down at her, some pointing, some moving closer to the edges of the roofs to get a better look at her. She swiveled her sensitive ears in their direction and could already hear some of them calling to her, some making lewd gestures. She couldn’t understand the language they were speaking in, but there was no doubt the comments they were making were as vulgar as the gestures.

“I hope you fall off, you perverted monkeys,” she mumbled crudely under her breath. She could hardly blame them for staring. Very likely, she was the first pony they’d ever seen in their remote village. Still, there was no excuse for the salacious gestures and comments.

She shuddered slightly as all of the faces on the roof leered down at her. She wasn’t scared of the men themselves. If any of them actually tried anything with her, they’d have a rather painful surprise as she demonstrated Bat Team Alpha martial arts techniques on them. But along with the men on the rooftops, she saw ghosts: Uniformed men with sniper rifles. Snipers were a constant danger on rooftops. Granted, this wasn’t the war. But it was a war. So for once, she embraced those war images instead of trying to push them away. For the first time, it also occurred to her that she had been looking up for the first time in years. Briefly, the depression poked at her. That old tormenting friend reminding her that although she could look up and see the sky, she could never truly be part of it again. She forced those thoughts away and reminded herself again that she was in a war zone. Letting her mind drift into thoughts of self pity might very well get her killed here.

A light breeze brought the nauseating smell of rotting garbage and human waste on the air. She wrinkled her nose, her stomach threatening to lurch inside of her, making her glad she hadn’t eaten anything on the chariot. How could the humans who lived here stand that smell? Or was it just such an everyday companion that they didn’t even notice it anymore. Then again, maybe it could just be that human noses were defective and couldn’t smell nearly as well as equine noses.

She stepped into the village proper, walking down a dusty, unpaved road littered with potholes and wagon wheel tracks. A wooden cart approached on the left, pulled by a ragged brown ox, one of the turban wearing men sitting on a bench at the front. He looked down at her, a glint of evil in his eyes as the cart creaked passed. She met his glare, narrowing her eyes and flicking her tail once aggressively. The man turned his gaze away from her, apparently thinking better of whatever lecherous ideas had been forming in the toxic pit of his mind. She continued walking, careful to scan the roofs, and every alley for potential danger, completely in Bat Team Alpha mode now, as if a switch had been thrown inside of her. She was surprised at how quickly it had all come back to her. That even after twenty years, she could instantly switch to combat mode like this. Every muscle in her body was ready, waiting for the command. She was a coiled mamba, ready to strike without warning. Swift as a bolt of lightning, and just as lethal. Other ox drawn carts rattled passed. There were few motorized vehicles on the street. The few cars that did exist were older Soviet models; mostly Yugos from the old Eastern Bloc. Deep wagon wheel ruts in the road left little doubt that most goods here were moved by ox cart. Occasionally, a man on a motorbike buzzed passed, casting her an odd glance and kicking up dust.

She swiveled her ears towards the left at the sound of footsteps at the same time her eyes caught a young boy jogging towards her. Instinctively, she tensed, ready to strike, even though it was just a child.

“Salom! Sahiba! Salom!” he called out to her, slowing down when he was alongside of her and then pacing her, his head turned to look at her. She let some of the tension out of her muscles and her mind, replacing it with pure annoyance at the hairless young ape walking next to her. He wore a stupid grin on his face. Like some kind of mime or clown.

“Salom,” the boy called out again, although this time his voice had more of a questioning note in it. His grin changed to a slight frown, and he lowered his eyes slightly, a dejected look on his face as she continued to ignore him.

“Equestrian, Sahiba?”

“Yes,” she said with a slight nod. Equestrian was the only word he had said so far that she recognized. Several bearded men, and a few women dressed in plain gray dress-like coverings that went all the way down to their feet were standing in front of the buildings, watching her as if she were some roadside circus attraction come to town. She wasn’t sure if they were afraid of her, disgusted by her, or just curious about her.  A man laughed, then made a comment to the man next to him. No doubt, the comment was less than wholesome. The boy walking next to her was wearing that stupid grin again.

“Equestria. Celestia. Luna, Sahiba?”

She raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised and somewhat impressed that he knew anything at all about her homeland, even if all he knew was the names of the two rulers. Although, she wasn’t sure what he was trying to get at. Maybe he was just trying to prove that he wasn’t as dumb as his stupid grin suggested he was.

She shook her head once. “Crystal Empire.”

“Ah. Crystal Empire. Princess Cadance? Prince Shining Armor?”

She nodded. “Yes, Princess Cadance and Prince Shining Armor.” Okay. Maybe the kid was a bit more educated than she’d given him credit for.

Four uniformed American soldiers with automatic rifles approached from the other side of the street. Ice bristled and laid her ears back in anger. Memories of the war came flooding back to her as if a dam had burst. She forced her ears to stand straight again. She definitely couldn’t afford to attract unwanted attention. And besides, she was going to have to get used to it. If she was going to find out the truth of what had happened here with the friendly militia commander, then she was going to have to find some way to get the American soldiers to talk to her. And not only would they have to talk to her, but they would have to trust her enough to share information with her that it was clear someone far above them didn’t want her to know. The four American soldiers looked at her briefly with expressions of curiosity and surprise, but then three of them turned their gazes forward again. The fourth one kept his attention on her just a little bit longer. Just enough to make him stand out from the rest in her mind. She quickly memorized his facial features. Early twenties, brown eyes, short sandy hair visible under his cap. Rank, sergeant, last name, Duncan according to the name tag on his desert camo. The stale smell of cigarette smoke emanated from his clothing. The soldiers passed without incident, and she kept her attention on them without turning her head, able to see them with her wide peripheral vision long after they had passed behind her.

“Americans won’t bother you, Sahiba,” the boy said, apparently having seen her brief but tense reaction when the soldiers had approached. “They just come here to shop. Buy tambaaku mostly.”

So the kid spoke a little bit of English did he? Maybe he could be useful to her after all.

“You like Americans?” she asked, turning her head towards him for the first time and looking him over a bit. He was twelve, maybe thirteen years old. The hair under his cap was a chocolate brown color. His skin had a dark tan complexion, the color of tea. Probably from long hours spent working out in the sun. In cut and length, his clothing was similar to the men she had seen, although his were more colorful. Red and gold diamond cut designs were embroidered on his white top along the neckline and flowing down the chest area. Instead of a turban, he wore a short red and gold brimless cap over his head. Perhaps the more vibrant colors of his attire indicated his family had some status in the community? Or they were wealthy? Or perhaps it was just that children wore more colorful clothes than adults. The boy shrugged in response to her question.

“They spend money. Helps the keléy and my baabaa’s inn. You need inn, Sahiba?”

“Yes, I need an inn.” Baabaa probably meant father she decided. She had known she was going to need a place to stay in the village. At least that problem was solved. The kid had proven useful after all, in more ways than one. The American soldiers all had camps and tents that they stayed in. So why would they be spending money at an inn? They probably rented the rooms on an hourly basis for the purposes of sex with local prostitutes. That information could also prove useful later on.

“I take you there,” the kid said, speeding up his pace momentarily until he was slightly ahead of her.

“Thank you.” He lead her down the street. Another cart approached then, pulled by a single brown ox. The two men seated on the cart’s bench looked at her as they passed by. One of them said something to his companion that she had no hope of understanding. Then, both of them broke out in rude laughter. The corner of the boy’s mouth twisted into a scowl, but he said nothing and continued walking.

“What did he say?” she asked the boy. His scowl deepened.

“He said ….” The kid paused for a long moment, as if trying to find an exact translation. Or more likely, trying to find a way to repeat it in a way that wasn’t quite as obscene and offensive as whatever the man had actually said.

“He said I was much too young for you, Sahiba.”

She nodded, a scowl to match the kid’s forming on her own muzzle. A visual formed in her mind of the man flying off the front of his cart and getting trampled by the hooves of his own ox. It made her smile.

The kid turned a corner, leading her down a narrower street that didn’t appear wide enough for a cart to fit through. Again, the rotten smell of refuse permeated the air, assaulting her nose and making her wrinkle her nostrils. The boy didn’t seem to notice.

A short while later, they emerged onto a busy street near the taller buildings she had seen before entering the village. Women clad in long gray robes with matching scarves covering their heads bustled about. Carts lined the street and vendors with stalls sold goods ranging from cotton cloth to vegetables to DVDs and small electronic objects such as watches and desk clocks. No one here paid any attention to her at all, seemingly engrossed completely in buying and selling. The bazaar began to thin out as the boy lead her further down the street towards one of the three-story buildings. A weathered wooden sign on the front of the building said something in Persian script. Near the building, several young children, probably no more than five or six years old, both male and female, played some street game involving a small ball and two interlinked circles drawn in the dusty road. Like the boy, all of them were dressed in more colorful clothing than the adults.

Upon seeing her, the children immediately abandoned their game and rushed over to her, talking excitedly in words she couldn’t understand. Within seconds they had surrounded her, and she had to stop to avoid knocking them down and trampling on them. Little hands reached out, touching her, feeling her fur from all sides. Smiles lit up the faces of the children as if they’d just been given their favorite candy. Her heart pounded inside of her. Why were all these human children touching her? It was intolerable! The rest of the world became a blur, and all she saw were young human faces, their hands touching her, petting her, stroking her as if she were some kind of dog. They seemed to spin around her, their hands reaching for her, as if she were standing at the center of some kind of insane carousel with children instead of plastic horses dancing around her. A strong urge to rear up and bolt, or to kick out with her hind legs overpowered her. She forced the urge down. Her hooves would easily kill any of small children that they struck. Like an echoing sound from the other end of a cave, the boy who had lead her here scolded the children.

“Darawem! Biáayem! Biáayem! Dzem! Dzem!”

With a dejected look on their faces and mumbles of disappointment, the circle of children that had surrounded her begin to break up and the world around Ice stopped spinning and came back into focus. Sounds that had seemed distant and echo-like moved closer to her again. The children returned to their game, although their enthusiasm for it was clearly gone. She looked at the boy who was leading her, her unasked question obvious in her eyes.

“Afwa ghwaram, Sahiba. They have never seen Equestrian before. To them you are like ….” he paused and searched for the right words again. “Hollywood movie star, you know?”

She nodded once, her anger towards the children melting like an ice cube in the sun as she realized their fawning attention on her was not because they considered her an animal. Like some dog to be stroked and pet. Rather, it was because they considered her someone special. As if she were Countess Coloratura or something. They had just wanted to get close enough to touch her. A certain soft spot began to form for the children. But another part of her mind warned her not to let the humans tenderize her. Not even the children. If they were softening her up, it was only to make it easier to hurt her later on. So they could smash their baseball bats and throw their rocks at soft yielding flesh instead of solid steel armor.

The wooden door to the building with the sign was open, and the boy lead her inside. A rough wooden counter stood in front of them. Behind the counter and to the left was a simple arched doorway covered with a cotton curtain that had once been white, but was now stained with years of dust and grease from dirty fingers. A fly buzzed around her and she swatted at it with her tail.

“Baabaa! Baabaa!” the boy shouted out.

There was a shuffling noise from behind the curtain, like someone dragging their feet. A few seconds later, the curtain parted, and a turban wearing man walked out slowly from behind it. His shirt and pants almost matched the color of the sand outside. This must be the boy’s baabaa, though the wrinkles that lined the old man’s face, the salt and pepper color of his beard, and the arthritic shuffle in his walk made Ice decide that baabaa probably meant grandfather instead of father. The man raised his eyebrows as he made his way to the counter with all the speed of a tortoise, then put his weathered hands on it as if he needed it for support.

“Equestrian? I don’t think I have ever seen an Equestrian around here,” the man said in fluent English with a heavy Pashto accent such that she had to listen closely to understand the words. The man and boy then conversed back and forth in their native language for a short time, the boy occasionally nodding at her. The fly landed on the counter. The old man picked up a fly swatter and slammed it down, flattening the fly with a loud smack. When he and the boy had finished talking, the old man returned his attention to her.

“You need a room then?”

“Yes. One that looks out over the street with the entrance, if possible.” She wanted to be able to watch the entrance to the inn to see what kind of people entered and left. Specifically, she wanted to watch for American soldiers entering with local women, and then note how long they stayed. She swatted another fly with her tail. The open door and blazing fireplace warming the inside of the building had drawn the pestering insects inside like a moth to a candle flame. The old man nodded.

“What brings you to our keléy?” he asked as he fumbled under the counter, pulling out a locked steel box and placing it on the surface.

“I’m a reporter for the Crystal Times. Doing a special report on the war here.”

The old man smiled slightly. “It is good to see our little keléy is attracting some attention there. I always thought Equestrians didn’t care much for the plight of humans.”

Whoever said I did care much for the plight of humans? she thought bitterly to herself as the old man fumbled with a small brass key, trying to open the lock on the box. Eventually, it turned with a click and he opened the lid. It was a money box, mostly consisting of U.S. dollars. More confirmation that his clientele was mostly American.

“The rate is fifteen dollars a night. Five dollars if you just want the room for an hour or two.”

She nodded and used her mouth to open the outside pouch of her saddlebag, pulling out a ten and a five in U.S. currency and placing it on the counter. The fact that the man rented the rooms on an hourly basis confirmed her suspicions about why the American soldiers spent money at the inn. The thought of staying in a room where two humans had been doing that together repulsed her as much as the constant smell of trash oozing in from outside of the building. But given the size of the village, she suspected this was probably the only inn there was.

“Thank you, Sahiba,” the man said as he took the money, placed it in the box, and closed and relocked the lid before sliding it under the counter again.

“Omid!” The man called out. She assumed that must be the name of the boy.

“Follow me, Sahiba. I can take one of your bags?”

“I can handle them, thank you,” Ice responded. Not that she had any objections at all to using the human boy as a pack mule. Just that she strongly suspected he wouldn’t be able to carry one of the heavy bags. The boy shrugged and lead her up one flight of stairs to the second floor.

“I’d like the room at the end of the hall, please.” That would give her the most warning, and the most time to react if someone should come up the stairs. Omid looked at her and shook his head with a shrug.

“Last room,” she said, nodding to the last door on the left side of the hallway.

“Ah, yes, Sahiba.”

The boy lead her to the end of the hallway. He opened the last door on the left side and motioned her in. She stepped in to find a sparsely furnished room with peeling plaster on the walls and a scuffed wooden floor that obviously hadn’t been buffed in years. A single double-wide cot with a well worn mattress was pushed up against one wall. A mosquito net hung from the ceiling above it, currently rolled up and tied off. A window on the wall opposite the door stood open and had no screen in it, letting a cold breeze, flies, biting insects, and the smell of trash from the streets into the room. It had no glass in it. Just wooden shutters to keep out the rain. Under the window, pushed up against the wall, a scratched wooden table sat with two unmatched wooden chairs that looked like they’d probably been scavenged from a street corner. There was a dented tin pitcher and basin on the table, but no bathroom or faucet to be seen anywhere. The putrid scent of kerosene and the black streaks lining the walls suggested the electricity wasn’t reliable and that kerosene lamps were sometimes used to light the room. Probably, the inn did not have running water. She looked at the door and frowned. It didn’t have a lock on it. She was even more relieved that she’d chosen the last room in the hallway.

“It is good, Sahiba?”

“It’s fine,” she said, ignoring the lack of a lock on the door and the sickening smell of refuse wafting through the window.

The boy went to the table, picking up the pitcher and then stepped outside the room again.

“Well is outside. I bring you fresh water.”

“Thank you,” she nodded as the boy left down the hallway. His footsteps were muffled, but easily detected by her sensitive equine hearing. Yes, she’d be able to hear anyone coming up the stairs as soon as they hit the first step, even if she were sound asleep. Her Bat Team Alpha training had taught her to sleep lightly. At least the noise of the old wood would compensate for the lack of a lock on the door.

As she waited for the boy to return, she slung her saddlebags off her shoulders and onto the bed, the springs making a tortured grind of protest as the weight was carelessly thrown onto them. The mattress sagged in the middle so that it resembled a canoe with both ends upturned. She would have preferred better accommodations, but she was former Bat Team Alpha. She’d lived in conditions much worse than this. And besides, it was only a for a few days. A tinge of sympathy for the boy tried to infiltrate her mind as she considered the fact that he lived like this every day, and would continue to live like this long after she was back in her comfortable apartment in Crystal City. The boy seemed happy enough, though, and hadn’t complained at all. Either he wasn’t aware of how bad the living conditions were here, or he just accepted it with a serenity that could only come from someone who had suffered so long that they believed it was their lot in life to suffer.

A couple of minutes later, she swiveled her ears forward. The sound of his feet hit the first step, climbed the rest of them, and then walked down the hallway, the old floor boards groaning in quiet protest. It would be virtually impossible for anyone to approach her room without he hearing them. Not that she expected visitors, but her old Bat Team Alpha training was in full gear now. She was in the human world again, and she had to be hyper-vigilant. The boy entered her room a few seconds later and set the pitcher down on the table before stepping out and turning to face her.

“You need anything else, you let me know, Sahiba.”

“Where can I find the American soldiers?”

“Cafe. One block down. They go there.” He raised his arm and pointed in the direction of the cafe.

She fished around in her saddlebag, coming up with a few U.S. dollars and a couple of gold Equestrian bits, that she took over to him, His eyes brightened as he looked them over. He seemed far more interested in the Equestrian bits than the U.S. dollars, as if they were a novelty he had never seen before. They were probably worthless as currency here since no one would have any idea what they were worth in relation to local currency. Still, that stupid grin on the boy’s face again told that he clearly liked them as he turned them over and over in his hands, looking at the images of Princess Celestia on one side, her solar cutie mark on the other. He looked at the other coin, which was embossed with Princess Luna and her cutie mark … Okay, maybe the boy’s grin didn’t look so stupid anymore. Just excited and appreciative.

“Thank you Sahiba!” the boy said with an excited tone. He bowed to her at the waist before turning and skipping down the hall and down the stairs with all the quietness of a marching army, calling out to his grandfather to show him the prize she’d given him. Ice allowed herself a small smile before closing the door.

She went over to the window now, pushing one of the chairs out of the way and sitting down on her haunches near the table as she watched the street below. The smell of mildew and mold from the floor underneath the window mingled with the ever-present smell of garbage coming through the window. The lengthening shadows of the people and carts going by told her that the Sun was getting lower on the horizon. For the most part, it was locals traveling the streets below. Men and women going to and from the bazaar, buying and selling. Occasionally, children would run passed the window, laughing and playing tag or some other such game. As the shadows continued to lengthen and the light continued to fail, American soldiers began to mix with the locals. Probably heading towards the cafe the boy had told her about. The vendors at the bazaar began to pack their unsold wares into their carts and head home, the traffic thinning out rapidly as the market closed. Two more American soldiers passed by underneath the window, talking amongst themselves. They were being careless, never once looking up. Was it complacency because they had walked this street on a weekly or nightly basis and not been attacked yet? The dark thought occurred to her that she could leap out the window onto them and break both of their necks before either one of them had the slightest clue what had hit them. All of the Americans were going in the same direction, towards the cafe that the boy had mentioned. So far, none of the Americans had been with any local women, and none of them had entered the inn. But that probably wouldn’t happen until well after dark.

She stepped away from the window and over to the bed, a plan forming in her mind as she opened the saddlebags and begin to fish through the clothes she had brought with her. All of the women she had seen so far had been dressed conservatively and had been wearing scarves covering their heads. She decided it would be best to follow their example. She scanned over her clothes. Her entire wardrobe was as plain as an empty piece of paper, but she was looking for the plainest of the plain. She also looked for pieces that appeared old and well worn. It would serve her plan best if she looked like she were a bit down on her luck. She picked out a stone gray saddle pad, tossing it over her back and adjusting it to make sure it covered her wing joints and her sides where her wings would have normally shown. Then, she pulled out a matching scarf, wrapping it over her head and tucking her midnight-blue mane inside of it.

She went to the window again, looking down at the street. The shadows had almost disappeared now as the Sun dropped below the horizon and only the ambient light of the ever-darkening sky lit the ground. She took off her sunglasses. She wouldn’t need them anymore. Then, she stepped outside her room, closed the door, and made her way down the squeaking staircase and outside into the chill evening. She waited for a group of four American soldiers to pass her. They looked at her curiously, but other than that, did nothing to harass her. When they were a short distance ahead of her, she stepped out into the street and followed them. Next Chapter: IX Estimated time remaining: 3 Hours, 18 Minutes