Little Ponies

It wasn’t the call that put me off my oats, I’d seen plenty of unpleasantness in my time on the force. It wasn’t the target, either. Hospitals are prone to more than their fair share of violence. It wasn’t the time, with only three hours until what passed for dawn. I was scheduled for desk duty. It wasn’t even the victim, one Nurse Redfern who’d always been good with the foals in her care.

No, it was the method. I’d been told by the first responders to expect the worst, and it hadn’t been enough.

Not for any of the usual reasons, of course. Nothing dripping, oozing, or pooling here.

Somehow, in the middle of the Nursery, one of the most secure wings in Celestia Memorial Hospital, the attendant for nineteen foals had been bound in wires, suspended, and turned off.

The technicians on scene had never seen anything like it. She was alive, the emergency brain scans showed that much. She just didn’t react to anything. No one was home.

The wires, though, they were the real strange part. The teeth-chattering hum that had plastered my cocoa brown ears under my blonde mane poured off of them. I slid in my earblooms to filter it out, while allowing me to interview those first on scene.

“Darndest thing I ever seen, Chance,” Summer Breeze said. He was the lead medtech on site, and had been the one to discover what unique properties the wires had held. They were mechanized, with over thirty thousand volts charging through them. “If I’d been an Earth pony, or had the cutter in my teeth…”

The scorch mark on the other side of the room made it clear what the unicorn was saying.

“What in the sweet sunshine is it?” a junior medtech asked.

They all looked at me.

I pulled my hat low on my brow. I didn’t have an answer.

The silence coiled around me like a python. I hated not knowing, which is why I chosen my profession. Black or white, no exceptions.

My name is Bon Chance. I’m a glitterpony for the LPPD. It’s not a glamorous job, certainly not one most ponies would choose, but one that’s increasingly relevant. Technically, I’m part of Property Crimes, but that’s growing more inaccurate by the month.

Short version: I keep illegal tech off the streets of Las Pegasus. Usually that means VR sims that push the simulated sense programs too hard, or the more dangerous artillery that slips in via CrystalCorp.

Sometimes it means spiros.

“What are we doing about this?”

Breeze cut through my reverie, bringing me back to the ruined nursery ward, the nineteen missing foals, and poor Nurse Redfern suspended by cables.

I still didn’t have an answer, but protocol exists for a reason.

“Leave her for now. Clear the room. I’m going to find out what in the moonlight those cables are. You,” I singled out a security buck with a hoof, freezing the poor sod in his tracks. “Bring me the sensegems for this floor for the past hour. I want to see what happened here. The rest of you, get back to your stations. Life doesn’t stop in LP for one nurse.”

There was a flurry of activity in all directions, as ponies cantered this way or that to start carrying out my requests.

I was left alone in the room with the body. My muzzle ached just behind the bridge of my nose. This was going to be a bad one.

I traced the wall where Breeze’s cutter exploded against it. There was very little sign of the plasma torch, except for a few twisted pieces of metal and a rank odor of burned plastic. The amperage inside those coils must’ve been ludicrously high, to do this to hardened rescue-grade material.

Following that train of thought, I gazed up at the coiled cables cocooning Redfern to her place.

Her blank stare felt accusatory, like I had somehow failed her.

Maybe I had.

I paced around her, studying every inch of her cocoon. It almost stank of spirotech. I wished I had wings. If I could get closer, I’d—

I bopped my forehead with my hoof. I slid my SparkleTech glasses out of my saddlebag, and clipped them on. They whirred quietly as the spell lattice booted up.

I blinked past the welcome screens, waited for the retinal login, and then began recording.

“Log date twenty-nineteen point five point twelve. Unknown magitech construct holding Subject One seven feet off the ground. Subject is catatonic. Cause unknown. Beginning initial analysis.”

I dragged my gaze across the splintered bassinets and the shattered incubation pods. “Missing: nineteen foals. Victims cross races, sectors, corporations, and economic lines. No clear motive as of yet. If this was targeted, it’s unclear as to whom. Could be the Riches, could be the Apples. Both had foals here.”

I winced as a grim possibility crossed my mind. “Or worse. Lots of genetic diversity present.”

Using my kit to interface with the Bureau of Arcane Science’s database, I cycled through my glasses’ filter, landed on my magic analysis, and began to analyze the cables. They were channeling a truly impressive amount of magic through them. I watched as two distinct colors swirled around each other. One was Redfern’s own, but it was faint. The other was as vibrant as the other was dim. Correlating the data, this was tied to memory and identity.

Before I could really start wrapping my head around that, an alert flashed across my vision. The cables had been crafted out of a biomechanical alloy normally found in cyberware or—

Sweet Sun. This was spirotech. Probably generated internally, like a spider and her webs.

But why? I could usually understand what purpose a spiro served from its tools. A cargo loader will be stockier than others. A bodyguard will look unassuming but possess hidden weaponry, like hoofspurs or something.

What could something that leeched magic to transmit memories possibly do? And where were they being sent to? Who was receiving? The spiro?

Why?

The security buck returned with two thick onyx crystals. These had witnessed everything on this floor. I hoped they held an answer.

“Thanks, er…”

The security buck doffed his cap, revealing a balding mane. “Buckle. Brass Buckle, miss.”

“Detective.”

“Oh. Right. Uh, sorry, Miss Detective.”

I rolled my eyes again, and slotted the first one into the media channel of my glasses. Taking a deep breath, I accessed the sensegem.

The color bled out of the world as I was suddenly floating out and above the seventeenth floor. After a moment, all I could see was the general floorplan hovering in space. Little specks of color flitted from place to place.

I checked the time code. T minus seven minutes. I slowed down the playback and watched carefully.

There was a commotion near the freight elevator. Within moments, it had spread throughout the hallways. Some kind of gas? Nanotech? I couldn’t be certain.

Suddenly I was blind. The whole lattice blipped out, suspending me in an infinite empty blackness. Sweet Sun, but I hated malfunctioning gear. I let it ride, trying to center myself so I didn’t get vertigo and lose my hayburger.

After too long, the floor plan swam back into focus. It was too late. Whatever I wanted to see had already happened. Redfern dangled over the devastated Nursery. So much for that.

I dialed in the quit command, ejected the sensegem, and slotted the second.

I hoped this one didn’t wig out, like the other had.

“‘Once more into the breach,’” I muttered.

Again, the color washed away and I was borne up into the sky. This time, I was looking at columns running the length of the building. Elevator shafts for Earth ponies like myself, others for large cargo.

I watched a day’s worth of shipping whiz by twice before I caught it. A pony, her rose petal pink coat swathed all in black and a silver mane that glowed wanly in the yellow lights of the elevators, was stepping on. The time code said T minus eight minutes.

She glanced up at the sensegem, light catching at the back of her eyes, and her chrome mane bouncing. She was beautiful, with features that would have looked at home on any Manehattan socialite or Applewood starlet. And she was deadly.

“Spiro. Of course.”

She was muttering something to herself, and being quiet enough that the two other ponies in the elevator didn’t even look her direction. At the seventeenth floor, still mouthing sounds, she stepped off the elevator and shook herself like she was shaking off water.

The ponies nearby began to scream.

“Rewind fourteen seconds. Zoom sector three and track current car. Enhance audio by one-hundred-fifty percent.”

Only whispers now. I watched her lips.

“Loop it.”

Again, and again.

I slowed it down once more, and watched her mouth as she babbled:

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer. Things fall apart. The center cannot hold. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world."

What did that mean? Had she snapped?

I wasn’t sure spiros could get unhinged. It was a scary thought.

I quit out of the view, and ejected the second sensegem.

Drat and double drat. I spun up my supervisor. “Gaffer? Chance, GP61661. Celestia Memorial suspect is confirmed Synthetic Pony-Replicate Organism. We have a breach.”

Our Motto

Spiros had been around for a while. Some unicorn with more brains than sense took what genetic material they could find of the changelings’ old hives and started cloning them. Then, later, improving on them with chrome and wire marinated in a technomantic broth of unicorn magic and Earth pony ingenuity.

The genegineers had worked out how to make them adaptable to any situation, while removing their ability to shapeshift. All that memetic magic instead went to making them accept the cyberware implants necessary to fulfill their duties. This had the unintended side effect of slowing their emotional development.

The plan had been to find a way to get necessary pony labor for tasks ponies couldn’t or shouldn’t do. They’d begun construction on the lunar colonies. They'd started to explore the nearby planetary bodies. The earliest models had plumbed the depths of the ocean to build the underwater domecities before they were exiled Off-World. They could take pressures up to several hundred atmospheres, or none at all. They could lift more, move faster, and go longer than any other ponies, except maybe the Princess.

Sweet Sun knew what she was capable of, given the right set of circumstances.

Spiros were forbidden from stepping onto Equestrian soil after a series of incidents. One of the tamer ones involved a spiro in a salt saloon in Appleloosa. He got involved in a fight with several stallions of the local rail company some years back. The spiro was the only one who walked away from it. The others had been given early retirement, since they’d never be able to drag the loads required of them again.

Spiros didn’t care who they hurt, They survived and endured.

After all, that’s what SparkleTech programmed them to do, survive at all costs.

After the ban, CrystalCorp teamed up with F&F Industries to create some darn near perfect wards against spiro infiltration that left most of Equestria defended. On the few occasions where a hoofful found their way past the wards, we took advantage of their muted emotional ability, and identified them with things designed to provoke a response.

Tell somepony to imagine getting a kitten for Hearth’s Warming. Allow them to name it, ask them what it looks like. What its purrs sound like. What its coat smells like. What games it likes to play. Really get them to see that kitten.

Then have them imagine it getting struck in traffic.

Glitterponies are trained to read the smallest emotions to find those who don’t have them, and dispatch them. We called this the empathy test. If there's nopony else around, we called them “friendship problems.”

We didn’t do this out of spite, we did this to protect Equestria. They were too wild for civilization for the most part. Too quick to escalate problems, not quick enough to understand things like humor or sarcasm.

And this one had broken into a secure nursery.

She’d swept off the elevator, shaking a weak neurotoxin off her coat. When it hit the air, it whipped the other ponies into a frenzy. She’d moved through them like they weren’t there, and that’s all anypony could be sure about.

Most of the affected had recovered by the time we’d shown up, but one older stallion had to be taken off to the psych wing. Bad reaction to terror and the neurological agent. When I had tried to interview him, all he’d do is scream:

“The blood-dimmed tide is loosed! The ceremony of innocence is drowned! She comes again! Beware, she comes again!”

So he’d lost it, and we were left holding the bag.

Nothing new there.

My report to the BAS regarding the spirotech underlined the significant amount of mnemonic energy running through the cables. Whatever was happening to Nurse Redfern involved her memories. What a spiro would want with those was beyond me, but it bothered me the more I thought about it.

I was in my skywagon, flitting through the cloudlanes of Las Pegasus towards the six towers of SparkleTech. I ran through the evidence from the top. I didn't have much.

A spiro had assaulted a hospital, and then vanished with nineteen foals.

This would have been bad enough, all those missing kids, but with a spiro….

I shook myself. ‘No point plowing with nothing to plant,’ as Ma used to say. I had the coils, the poem, and the reaction of those ponies affected. I had her method of approach, but nothing about how she'd gotten out with those poor—

With her cargo.

What did she want with them? Spiros usually only cared about their own survival. They pursued it with a passion usually reserved for a pony’s special talent.

Which they didn't have. Having a lifespan of no more than sixteen seasons saw to that. In their place, most spiros had their primary protocol imprinted on their flanks.

I always got itchy near ponies who covered their cutie marks. Side effect of the job, I suppose.

The skywagon started its descent, and I flipped open my kit. I pulled up my contact at SparkleTech, and dialed him. He was a researcher into artificial intelligence by the name of Silver Strand.

I can’t express how disconcerting it is to speak with a unicorn bearing a cutie mark of a brain made out of wires.

“Hello? Dr. Strand’s office.” His lab tech again. She was nice enough, but it meant he wasn’t taking calls.

“This is Bon Chance, GP61661. I'm calling for Silver Strand.”

The voice on the other end sounded strained, like I’d caught her doing something embarrassing. “Oh, the glitterpony. Yes, of course. Hold for Miss Glimmer’s office.”

I froze getting out of the skywagon, and fell back on my haunches. What did the Chief Innovation Officer have to do with a foalnapping?

Before I could even begin running that thought to ground, a silky mare’s voice that would have turned me to butter had I swung that way came on the line.

“This is Skysign Glimmer. You must be the detective assigned to the Celestia Memorial break-in.”

While I’d never actually met her, I knew of Skysign. She had a reputation for being both a decent manager for the researchers beneath her, and ruthlessly cutthroat in the boardroom. Persistent rumor had that she was on the fast track to replace the Princess if she were to step down. Although those who whispered this never had an answer for why the nigh-immortal Princess of Friendship would leave the corporation she’d built from the ground up.

Turning the state of friendship in Equestria over in my mind, I thought of a couple compelling ones.

“Yeah, this is Bon Chance, GP—”

“Yes, yes, I know. You're penciled in for a brief chat. Come on down, the tea’s just coming out of the kettle.”

Two things were clear. One, she wasn't happy that her "filly fatale" routine had fallen flat. Two, they'd been waiting for me to call and likely knew I was already here.

Neither one particularly enthused me.

The elevator ride down the four floors to Miss Glimmer's office was brightened by the presence of an orange and red firebird with a cloak of flame across her wings. She buzzed me a few times as I put my glasses and earblooms on, and began streaming straight to my storage back at the station.

The elevator doors opened with the tinkling of an invisible bell. The room within was truly colossal, with almost the entire floor taken up by a series of concentric engraved circles with hundreds of tiny sigils dancing between them. A massive window stretched across one entire wall, displaying the lights of Las Pegasus at night. After a moment, it flickered to display the spires of Canterlot under a noonday sun. A flicker later, and I was overlooking a SparkleTech development campus somewhere in the hills.

I knew about as much magical theory as I did about firebirds, but I could tell the spells all around me were powerful. The taste of ozone hung heavily in the air, making my head swim.

The firebird plucked my hat off my mane, and winged its way over to a perch near a long table. A teapot sat nearby, steam spinning out of the spout. The bird rested my hat on its perch, gripped the handle of the kettle in her talons and gingerly poured a cup. The faint scent of jasmine and ginseng wafted over as I trotted up.

I tried not to think about how empty everything was. How loudly my hooves were echoing off the polished ebony marble floor.

The firebird trilled at me as I approached. She fanned her wings over the cup. It was just cool enough to sip when I arrived, so I did.

I'd never seen a firebird up close before. I'd heard that they were mostly extinct, since the last Yakyani conflict froze most of their homeland under windigo ice. She was beautiful, as elegant perched as she was in flight. Every movement sent ripples of flame across her feathers.

“Do you like our phoenix?” The silken voice of Skysign Glimmer echoed in the cavernous room. Her ivory coat and ice blue mane almost shimmered in the long shadows. A petite set of pince-nez rested daintily on her muzzle.

“Is she artificial?” I asked before I could stop myself. Owning endangered species outside of designated zones was illegal. Sentient ones doubly so.

I'd defaulted to ‘Cop’ when I needed to be reaching for ‘Diplomat’.

She smirked, folding her glasses into her magic and tucking them into her seafoam green dress. “Of course it is.”

“Must be expensive,” I muttered, embarrassed at my slip.

“Very.” She slid onto a velveteen bench, and tucked her legs underneath her. She wrapped the teacup in her magic, and sipped some. “I'm Skysign.”

“Chance.” I took a swallow.

She set her teacup down on the onyx table with a clink. “It seems you feel our work is not a benefit to the public.”

I almost choked on my tea. It took me a moment to recover, but I'd formulated an appropriately diplomatic response, “Magitech is like anything else. It’s either a boon or a liability.” I set my teacup down as well, and flipped my mane back. “If it's a boon, it’s not my problem.”

Her faint smile grew a little, and she took another sip.

I didn't. ‘Only foals slip twice when they've seen the ice,’ like Ma used to say.

She met my gaze, and shifted in her seat. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she was scrutinizing my face.

I returned the gaze, watching her react to whatever it was she saw in me.

“Have you ever dispatched a pony by mistake?”

Despite my desire to stay in the game, I felt my hackles rise. I swallowed against my rising anger. “No.”

“But in your position, that is a risk—?”

“Is this your idea of an empathy test?”

Somewhere in the thick shadows, a door boomed shut. Long, powerful strides echoed as a tall lavender alicorn crossed the room, her mane ablaze with pinks, indigos, and violets drifting in an illusory breeze. Her clear, strong voice cut through Skysign’s gambit, and scattered my building rage like embers on a breeze.

The Princess of Friendship’s horn flared, projecting an illusion of my face moments ago. As she mentioned each result, they were highlighted and displayed for study.

“Capillary dilation of the blush response. Ears fixed and forward. Involuntary flaring of her nostrils.”

Skysign blushed under the glow of the Princess’s horn, and squirmed. The Princess’s gaze didn't waver.

“What are you doing, Skysign? Why are you infuriating our guest?”

Skysign looked about ready to bolt. “Oh, uh, Princess! Spike said you were—”

Princess Sparkle tossed her flowing mane. “We’ll discuss this breach of protocol later.”

Skysign nodded, and kept her gaze downcast. “Yes, miss.”

The Princess rolled her eyes, and turned to face me.

Suddenly I understood Skysign’s reaction. She was… tall. Her mane…

“Greetings, Miss Chance! My name is Twi—”

“—Twilight Sparkle, yes. Uh. Princess.”

She snorted, a little miffed. Her mane expanded outwards, spiralling into stars and nebulae. “Why doesn’t anypony let me finish my introductions? Maybe I should do the whole ‘royal procession’ thing, then I’d at least get a word in.”

I scooted back a bit, which got her attention. I cursed myself for not being more careful.

“Oh, don’t! No! Don’t be like that! I, uh, look, I need you to listen!”

I blinked, a little surprised.

“We’re here to talk experimental models, and a herd of missing foals. You don’t have time to cower in awe. Move past it.”

I choked down my first few simpering responses and tried to wear the old ‘jaded glitterpony’ mask. It didn’t quite fit.

“I really like your mane. And your uh, phoenix. She’s pretty.”

I was as smooth as a gravel slidewalk.

“Who? Oh. Phaedra! Bring Miss Chance her hat, please?”

The bird flared to life, and plopped my hat on my head. As I adjusted it to sit securely on my mane, I felt a bit of the old me returning.

The Princess smiled a little. I think she could tell what I was feeling. Somehow, it was less intimidating than it had been.

We got to work.

Revel In Your Time

An hour later, I was back in the skywagon. Skysign Glimmer had been in the loop since the beginning, monitoring my updates from Celestia Memorial and intending to guide me from the shadows. However, with the missing foals, she’d abandoned the charade, and pitched me straight into the Princess’s path.

I’d forgive her someday for that.

Maybe.

The spiro had been identified as a special one-shot model, commissioned by Gold Bar, the duke of the Marean Sea colony on the Moon. His colony was under constant threat of unrest thanks to the introduction of some unpopular legislation. When the suddenly disenfranchised took to the streets in anger, he’d doubled down with the Civic Defense Force.

Somewhere in all this, his foals started getting home-schooled by a new governess named Damask Rose, who had come highly recommended by none other than Skysign Glimmer. She had spoken to some of the developers, and had designed a spiro with an experimental new feature intended to allow for communication over vast distances by using a pony’s innate magic.

The cables mimicked the mind of a pony exactly, providing the spiro access to any of their memories and experiences. In effect, as long as the cables remained around their target, the spiro was the target. Figuratively speaking.

“I’d hoped to use that model to coordinate asteroid miners, or as a way to stay in touch with the Off-World colonies without the long delay. I never intended them to be used as weapons,” the Princess had said.

Naive. One would think the ageless Princess of Friendship would know better.

Then again, ‘Friendship’ isn’t about seeing the worst in each other. If I squinted, I could see her point.

However, since the spiro—Damask Rose—had snared Nurse Redfern, she could be tracked along the communication frequency. The Princess had reprogrammed my kit to receive the same frequency, and had looked on as I tested it with a slightly self-satisfied smile. I wasn’t sure if the Princess was pleased at the simplicity of her solution, or smug at the execution of it.

Little bit of both, probably.

I swerved above a cloudlane snarl, and hit my lights. I was running out of time.

Her smirk had lasted right up until the kit switched on and displayed dozens of snares. Damask Rose had not been idle, nor had Redfern been her first victim. According to the metadata feeding to my kit, the earliest victim had been taken several days ago, and never been discovered.

Life in the big city, I guess.

Skysign and the Princess had almost trampled me getting me out the door. Now, I was rushing towards the only moving signal. We’d coordinated a response using this data to retrieve Damask Rose’s victims. Periodically, I’d have an update from SparkleTech corporate security. They’d rescued this guidance counselor, or that political activist. Almost always somepony with an eye towards aiding those weak and downtrodden.

Sometimes, they made no sense, like a filly with a solar flare cutie mark who’d been in the middle of her cute-ceañera.

But there were always more. She was escalating quickly.

Somewhere below me, in the middle of seventeen million ponies, there lurked a predator. A timberwolf locked in the henhouse.

“Dispatch to GP61661, report in.”

Swearing, I hoofed the broadcast switch. “Receiving!”

There was a silence just long enough for me start grinding my teeth. I spun low over the third district, and traced the thin line of recent contacts. She was close.

“From kit of GP58241, this just in: suspect sighted near Celestia’s Palace.”

That was one of the larger casinos on the Strip, just inside—

“Confirm receipt, I’m in pursuit!”

I tuned an earbloom to SparkleTech’s internal network, and listened to Skysign and the Princess coordinate SparkleTech corporate security as they fetched Damask Rose’s victims from around the city. Then, I set the skywagon to autopilot, and pulled out my lightning rod.

Twenty inches of brass conduit leading to a sapphire specifically cut to channel electricity, complete with insulation along the bitgrip. A little something CrystalCorp cooked up to even the playing field for us Earth ponies. This one had most of the safety enhancements disabled, so I could bring it to bear against most spiros and come out on top.

Most.

I really hoped Damask Rose was one of them.

The skywagon was setting down in an alleyway, off the main drag. I leapt out of it before it fully landed, and took off towards the Palace.

I was too late. Scores of tourists, revelers, and staffponies had all been cocooned by Rose’s cables. I bit into the grip and triggered the rod. As it flared to life, I dashed inside.

More cocoons. What in the moonlight was she doing? All those voices in her head had to be distracting.

I knew the feeling.

“ST Executive to GP61661; Miss Chance, are you still listening?” Skysign’s silky tone silenced the ever-present chatter on the line.

I signaled the affirmative on my kit. ‘A full mouth can’t share anything but a load,’ as my Ma used to say.

“ST forces are prioritizing retrieval of the victims. Hurry. Twil— the Princess thinks she knows what the target’s goal is.”

I signaled the negative and affirmative at the same time, hoping to convey my confusion.

The foyer of the casino was in disarray. Gambling tables had been flipped over, cards, chits, and chips scattered all over the floor.

Not to mention the dozen or so cocooned bodies.

I galloped past them, following the moving signal. I pulled up a hospitality map on my glasses, and overlaid the two. She was going for the elevators. Off in the distance, there was an explosion.

Why?

The elevators had all stopped, killed from afar by the Princess’s orders. It didn’t look it on the outside, but Celestia’s Palace was a wholly-owned subsidiary of SparkleTech. However, one elevator shaft had been blasted open. She was heading for the roof.

Over my earbloom, I heard Skysign again. “Stop her before she reaches the spire!”

Why? It didn’t make any sense.

My alarm went off for desk duty. Dawn was right around the corner. I waived it off.

Then everything clicked. The focus on wisdom. On justice. The poor, when she’d started. Everypony, now that Damask Rose was gravid with her victims’ memories. All of their magic, Earth pony, pegasus, and unicorn.

A love of Her subjects, racing towards the dawn.

Sweet Sun, She was coming back.

Incept Date

I’d managed to jump start one of the elevators with my lightning rod, and saw Damask Rose for the first time since the hospital. To say she had changed was an understatement.

She'd ditched the black jumpsuit she'd worn back at Celestia Memorial, revealing an enameled coat of a very pale fuchsia. Her chrome mane had streams of magic pouring out between each strand, bathing her in the colors of the oncoming dawn. Her bare flank displayed a web of glowing strands but as I watched, a golden sun in its full glory blossomed in its place. She was flying on powerful wings made out of crystalline feathers. With each flap, feathers fell away and drifted to the ground.

The sky above her was a gray-blue brightening towards a periwinkle.

I jammed my lightning rod into the control panel, locking it into emergency ascent, and braced against the railing. It rocketed up the shaft, outpacing the ascending spiro. As I shot past her, a horn began to press through her brow.

The elevator collided with the roof in a shriek of rent metal and stink of broken wards. I tumbled out of the wreckage, a mess of scrapes and bruises. If I had not been prepared, it would have been nasty.

I’d landed near another hole in the casino, this one neatly carved out by magic.

To have that much power already….

I glanced down it at the spiro becoming one of the greatest lights ponykind had ever known. The transformation was almost complete. Her limbs and body had already become the graceful lengths of a true alicorn.

She looked my way, and opened her mouth. Twin targeting lasers in her mouth lit up my face. She spat a cable at me as I rolled away from the hole and took cover. A mnemonic net spun past me, landing nearby.

An idea occurred to me. I switched my lightning rod off, and opened my kit.

“ST Executive, this is Chance. What if we reversed the flow?”

“ST Executive, standby,”

I looped the net around my lightning rod. The glow from her blazing mane began to shine out of the hole.

“ST Executive. Chance, do you have access to one of the cocoons?”

“Yeah.”

A schematic of the mnemonic webs appeared over my glasses. Six areas were highlighted with angry lightning bolts.

“Gotcha.”

I spread the net on the ground, switched my lightning rod on, and fused five of the marked spots. The hum of the net became an ear-splitting whine.

She crested the hole. The horizon burned pink with a real, honest dawn. Her horn, easily three times the length of any unicorn’s I'd ever seen, was incandescent with a golden aura. The sun visibly brightened as she extended her wings.

I was out of time.

I twisted the web around the live rod, and stamped.

“H’y! Y’r hr’nss!” I shouted through gritted teeth.

She turned to face me, a beatific smile gracing her lips. “Yes, my little—?”

I whipped the net at her, and pounced. It coiled around her body, but her majestic wings had avoided the snare.

Before she could take off, I jammed the lightning rod into the coiled cables.

She shuddered and fell over, twitching.

“No, you can't—” she sputtered.

I jabbed her with the rod again. She shrieked in anger more than anything, but lay still.

“ST Executive. Chance, do it! We can't let her ascend!”

I raised my rod again, this time over the final node.

“Wait!”

It was the plaintive wail of a filly. I scanned the rooftop in the fading shadows, and saw her watching from a maintenance hut.

“Chance, dispatch it!” shrieked Skysign.

The filly had clearly been on the streets a while. Her matted violet mane framed her ice blue eyes, but her coat had been recently brushed. As she stepped out, a herd of baby ponies followed her out.

“Chance, dispatch the target!”

“I've confirmed the missing foals,” I said absently.

“And we have their parents en route! Now do it!”

I took my earblooms out and crushed them underhoof. Their magical auras died in a spray of glittering energy.

“Please,” the filly said. “Don't hurt her. She just wanted to bring the sun back.”

I turned back to the insensate alicorn-thing behind me.

“Please—”

I looked out at the city of Las Pegasus, and the first rays of sunlight.

“— leave Momma Sun alone! Me an’ the rest, we’re gonna be a circle of pony friends, like the song says! Once Rosie becomes Momma Sun, she said! She promised!”

“She's not Momma Sun, squirt. She's only pretending.”

I jammed my lightning rod into the last node, fusing it. Lightning danced inside her muzzle. She smoked.

The whine intensified, and a pale blue aura began to shine around the cocoon. The vanished Princess’s features began to melt away like wax in a blast furnace. The filly screamed so loud, I checked to see if she'd been hit.

It was only shock and sorrow.

After a few moments, there was only the spiro.

Only Damask Rose, with her pale pink coat, chrome mane, and delicate features.

I fried the latch, and pulled the cocoon off of her. More glittering spray as the net’s auras died. The filly ran up to her, and nuzzled her fiercely.

I was tired.

“… Why?” Rose choked, the glitter of dead magic on her breath.

Sweet Sun, even her voice was beautiful. It was gentle, lyrical, and comforting. She was brilliantly designed for her role.

I tried not to hate Skysign.

“You've seen what we are. You know who we need.” She sounded exhausted.

“Get out of here.” A voice said, sounding weary and defeated. Stunned, I realized it was my own. “Squirt, help her. You two need to hurry.”

I felt their gaze on me.

I continued, “Go! I won't hurt her. But somepony will if they catch her. Now go!”

They stood together, each helping the other to escape before the authorities arrived.

I couldn't bear to watch them leave.

A large skywagon appeared at the roof’s edge, and several armed SparkleTech security officers poured out. Behind them, several panicky ponies swarmed into the maintenance hut. Foals were rescued. Tears were shed. Happy endings all around.

I pulled my hat over my brow, and watched my first sunrise.

Spiros never work out on Equestria. They grow up out there Off-World, and the frontier societies raise them wild. They can't hack it down here. Our society’s ironbound laws strangle them. They stumble, fall, and usually take some of us with them.

But maybe Rose was different. Maybe she could manage to make it through to her expiry date.

For somepony like her to make it all the way, maybe that was a kind of freedom. One that would last forever.