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Inevitabilities

by Sharp Quill

Chapter 21: 21. A Marathon, Not a Sprint

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Steve’s eyes were closed; the strain of powering the spell continued to build. Focus. Keep the spell matrix in the forefront of his mind. Be receptive, as the spell extended to infinity, to whatever feedback it produced.

There was no feedback, none that he could sense; that was to be expected. It took hours for the size of the realm—or whatever it was that was being measured—to be determined. He never imagined just how physically draining prolonged magical exertion could be. It was like attempting to run a marathon—or so he imagined, as he had never done that either.

“Six minutes.”

It was too much. His horn went dark.

Sunset Shimmer pushed the button on the stopwatch floating in front of her. “Six minutes, eight seconds.”

Gasping for air, he looked up at his trainer. After a few deep breaths, he said, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep this up for hours.”

She replied with an encouraging smile. “It would help if you remembered to breathe,” she said. “Don’t get discouraged; it’s your best time yet.”

“Yeah, remember to breathe,” he said, wiping his brow. “Still, not too shabby for somepony who never attended magic kindergarten, never mind Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns.”

Most graduates of Celestia’s school can’t cast that spell at all, so don’t belittle yourself.” She levitated a jug of apple juice and poured its contents into a glass. The glass floated over to Steve. “There’s a reason the size of our realm is measured so infrequently. It’s like running a marathon. You need to train, hard.”

Steve took the glass in his own magic—almost dropping it to the crystalline floor in the process—and quenched his thirst. “Even for an alicorn?”

Sunset mulled it over. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I don’t know the last time Celestia cast it, or if she ever had. Lack of time is more likely the problem for her; she’s just so busy, and there’s no real reason to cast it over and over again. It’s not as if the results ever change. And as for Twilight…”

“She’s more interested in me casting it than spending the hours herself, regardless of whether becoming an alicorn has made it a walk in the park for her.” He managed to put the glass back on a crystalline table.

“Well, to be fair, she’s hoping your special talent will yield new insight.”

Steve experimentally lifted the glass again. He’d need more time than before to recover. “Not yet, it hasn’t, but I guess none is to be expected after only a few minutes.” He tried lifting the glass again. “What if others added their power to the active spell? I know that’s possible; Twilight had me do it for a spell she had cast once.” That had been a year ago, when the spell in question had staunched the flow of magic into the human universe.

“Yes… and no.” Sunset retrieved the scroll that laid out the realm-measuring spell. “See this section here? Other unicorns can supply power, true, but it’d mess up the feedback, rendering it pointless.”

Steve reviewed the section in question and… didn’t really get it. In resignation, he asked, “Does Celestia’s school have night classes?”

“Afraid not,” she said, then broke out in a smile. “But you do have world-class experts to tutor you. You’ll get there eventually.”

He wasn’t sure he shared her optimism. There was a reason Celestia’s school took in foals at a young age. The best human athletes, artists, and musicians also got started quite young.

Sunset rolled the scroll back up. “I wonder if it’s worth hopping over to your realm. The spell completes immediately there, according to Twilight, so you could experience its conclusion.” Sunset shrugged. “Not sure what that’ll accomplish, honestly.”

That was a good question. If it were possible to establish a magical field of a known size, then the spell’s feedback could be correlated with that size. And it was possible, obviously, using a magic generator in the human universe.

The problem, unfortunately, was that the fields in question were too small. They needed a field measuring on the order of tens of thousands of miles across, and a magic generator that could do that was simply impossible—never mind what that would do to the nuclear-based technologies on the planet.

“Hard to say,” he finally said. He couldn’t resist a smirk. “At least it proves I was right. That spell does not measure the size of the realm, it measures the size of the magical field.”

Sunset was quick to counter. “But magic fills the entire realm, so that’s a distinction without a difference.”

“Do you know that for a fact? Or is it an assumption?”

“I, uh…” A sheepish smile. “How could it not?”

Steve sighed. Honestly, he expected a bit better from a former star pupil of Celestia. “I haven’t a clue. Doesn’t mean it’s true; doesn’t mean it’s false. I don’t know if it even matters.” A thought came to him. “But the spell ought to give some indication as to which it is, because it’d affect how it terminates: either by hitting the edge of the magical field, or by encountering itself as it wraps around the positive curvature of this realm.”

“Aren’t you the one making assumptions now? What if the curvature isn’t positive?”

That elicited a smile from Steve. “In that case, the size of the realm is infinite, so the spell must terminate because it had hit the edge of a quite finite magical field.”

Sunset Shimmer grimaced. “Right. Good point.” She paced around the castle’s library, digesting it all. “And in that case, our realm is also eternally expanding, just like your own, so no need to explain how it remains balanced on a knife’s edge.”

“It would eliminate that particular conundrum, yes.”

She completed a circle and stopped. “Then we do want you to cast the spell in your own realm, because that’s a data point for when the spell terminates due to encountering the edge of the field. And when you successfully cast it here…”

Successfully. Her optimism was touching. “I may be able to tell the difference if it terminates due to encountering itself,” he said, completing the sentence. That had sounded more like a star pupil of Celestia. “But we don’t need to do that now—we shouldn’t, actually. It’d be best to do it right after casting it here successfully, with the data fresh in my mind.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” Sunset said, waving it away. “We can’t do it right now anyway; Twilight didn’t leave me enough plaid pills for side trips.” A mischievous smile broke out. “Though we do know where Discord is right now…”

We certainly do. He was helping his wife with Smooze’s speech synthesizer. “Like I said, no need to do that now—and besides, he might not cooperate.” He rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t be the Spirit of Chaos if he was predictable or dependable.”


The train from Canterlot pulled into the Ponyville station, right on time, as Meg arrived. She began her descent, wondering how often a train ever arrived late or early. It was uncommon, that’s for sure. When she had asked Twilight how they did it, the alicorn had trouble understanding the question. Why wouldn’t they follow the published schedule, she had asked, or publish a schedule they couldn’t follow? Surely human trains did even better, what with the assistance of computers and advanced communication technologies! Convincing her that wasn’t the case had been… difficult.

Meg touched down on the platform, not a dozen feet away from the resting train. No security pony came to challenge her. Why would they? Equestria was blissfully ignorant of terrorist threats.

Passengers began exiting the train. A light yellowish unicorn mare with glasses and a full set of saddlebags hopped down onto the platform. She looked around, spotted Meg, and made a beeline for the pegasus.

“Hi, Moondancer. I’m glad you could fill in for Twilight on short notice.”

The unicorn magically adjusted her glasses. “I wouldn’t miss this chance to see a computer mage at work. I still find it hard to believe that numeric computations can yield an artificial voice, without—or even with—magic.”

A mage? Meg supposed she ought to be flattered—though if she were a true computer mage, she would have been able to decrypt that damn message, a copy of which was currently in her own saddlebags.

She started walking. “Definitely without magic. It’s not quite that simple, of course. I barely understand how it works myself, but I don’t have to. It’s more or less a solved problem—starting from written text, that is.”

“And the challenge is coming up with that text. Yes, I’ve read the notes Twilight left for me. It’s a rather interesting problem.”

“Which is totally outside my area of expertise, of course, but I have to deal with it anyway because of the machine learning algorithms we’re trying to apply—which isn’t my area of expertise either, but I’m still better qualified to tackle it than anypony else.”

Meg made a turn that surprised Moondancer. “Isn’t the castle that way?” she asked.

“We’re going to Fluttershy’s cottage.”

“Fluttershy?” She looked at Meg. “Isn’t that one of Twilight’s Ponyville friends?”

“Yeah, umm…” She looked back at Moondancer. “You are aware that Discord will be there, right?”

“Yes, but I fail to see the connection to Fluttershy.”

Twilight may have reconnected with one of her childhood friends, but it would seem much remains to be shared between them. Meg assumed this particular detail had not been intentionally withheld. “Fluttershy is why Discord is reformed; she’s his first true friend. Nopony else can better handle him and keep him, uh, under control—sorta.”

They walked in silence.

“Interesting,” the unicorn finally said.

As they walked to Fluttershy’s cottage, Moondancer peppered Meg with numerous questions on how data from the magical sensors were interpreted by software, yielding text, which could then be handed off to the voice synthesizer. Meg’s protestations of ignorance did not stop the questions on how the voice was synthesized and turned into audible sound.

None too soon, the cottage at the edge of the Everfree Forest came into view. “The equipment is already set up inside?” Moondancer asked.

“Probably… I wasn’t there when Twilight set it up.” Meg didn’t have the chance to ask her either, because she had already left for Tartarus. Sunset Shimmer had been the one to bring her across, along with her husband. “Wait a sec while I take a quick bird’s-eye view.”

The pegasus launched into the air before Moondancer could say anything; it was an excellent opportunity to get a breather from her endless questions. Quickly she gained altitude and positioned herself over the cottage. Some of the sessions had been held outdoors and, with sunny skies scheduled for the day, it could be outside again; it hadn’t just been an excuse to get away for a moment from the insatiably curious unicorn.

A three-sixty scan around the cottage came up empty. “Inside it is,” she muttered to herself. “I sure hope Angel Bunny got over that little incident.”

Meg descended. Moondancer had been walking up to the cottage while she was taking a look-see. Since the unicorn was almost there anyway, Meg went straight for the front door. With Moondancer still a dozen feet away, she knocked on the door. “Fluttershy? It’s me, Meg, with Moondancer.”

The door opened on its own, revealing nopony behind it. Looking inside, Meg spotted Fluttershy, Discord, and Smooze sitting around the coffee table, upon which were a tea set and a plate full of little sandwiches.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Fluttershy said. “We decided to have an impromptu tea party while waiting for you to arrive.”

“Mind? Why should we mind?” Meg asked as she stepped inside. It was a sincere enough question, if also rhetorical. Fluttershy would apologize to a cloud for making it rain.

Discord appeared in front of them. “Ah, Moondancer! We finally meet. Twilight had so much to say about you!” He held out a paw to the coffee table. “Care to join us for tea and cucumber sandwiches before we get started?” Another two cushions fell from nowhere onto the floor.

Moondancer looked at Meg with a questioning look; she shrugged in response.

“Sure, I can do that.” The unicorn went over to the table.

The draconequus turned his attention to Meg. “Will you also be joining us?”

He was being quite polite and proper. Much better than the alternatives, Meg concluded, not wishing to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I’d love to, but first…”

She reached into a saddlebag with her muzzle, withdrew the encrypted message, and presented it to Discord. Full of curiosity, he took it with his eagle talons and inspected it.

“I’ll admit this is an act of desperation,” Meg said, “but is there any chance you can make sense of that?”

Disapproving eyes peered over the top of the sheet of paper. “Make sense? Make sense?! The pure randomness of these numbers is its own sense! That a computer, the very definition of logic and order, could turn an intelligible message into…” He thrust out the message. “This! Oh, Meg, it's delicious. Rich, chocolatey, positively decadent... chaos. Oh, I love a good encryption.”

Was he actually shedding a tear?

“Maybe there’s hope for your realm after all.”

Meg’s expectations had been low, but she could have done without the melodrama. “Yes, but can you, I dunno, extract the randomness? You can keep it and do whatever you want with it.”

He wiped a tear from a mismatched eye. “As thoughtful as that offer may be, I’m afraid I cannot.” He returned the message to the saddlebag from which it had come.

“Worth a shot,” Meg said, sighing. She looked at the sandwiches. “I’d be happy to join you.”

Discord had already returned to his seat and was setting out a plate for her, while Fluttershy poured tea into a cup.

Meg walked over and sat on the last, unoccupied cushion. Smooze greeted her with his usual inarticulate smile. Her eyes drifted over to Fluttershy, who was looking down at…

That’s not possible. Then she remembered who was seated across from her. A head of cabbage, with radishes for eyes, leafy lettuce for ears, tiny carrots for teeth… “Angel Bunny?”

The not-a-bunny glared at her.

“He was so possessive of his food,” Discord said, “and as you are what you eat, I thought it was only fitting.”

Meg looked aghast at Fluttershy. “You’re tolerating this?!”

“Well,” she said, grimacing, “it all started, as you know, when Smooze accidentally ate his lunch…”

She didn’t continue, but she didn’t have to. That insufferable rabbit must have plotted revenge and learned the hard way that one does not piss off a certain draconequus.

“It’s only temporary,” Fluttershy assured her, then she fixed her gaze on Discord.

“Yes, yes,” Discord said. He snapped his talons and Angel Bunny was once more a rabbit, a rabbit that lost no time darting from the room.

Meg looked at Moondancer, who was surprisingly taking it all in stride. “You get used to it,” she told the unicorn.


The room wasn’t that much larger than the White House press briefing room. The walls and floor were made from the ubiquitous rock of Tartarus, solid slabs of material tweaked such that the omnipresent light filling the room was whitish instead of the usual reddish-orange. No windows were present, just the one door.

“This will do just fine,” Twilight said, wandering about the bare room. “We’ll need thirty chairs. Minotaur chairs ought to be fine, but please use nicely padded chairs if possible. We want to make a good impression.”

The senior administrator and his assistant, who was dutifully writing down what Twilight had said, remained at the door. Neither said anything.

She turned to face them. “Is there a problem?” This passive-aggressiveness was getting on her nerves.

“Of course not, Your Highness,” said the administrator. “There will be no problem acquiring chairs of sufficient padding.”

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

The two minotaurs looked uneasily at each other.

Twilight sighed. She almost wished she could trade places with Rarity. Dealing with Tirek while making final adjustments to his attire had to be better than this. “You have permission to speak freely—so out with it.”

He put on a placating smile. “I’m not sure you appreciate just how dangerous Tirek is. Perhaps if you consulted Princess Celestia—”

“Princess Celestia has delegated this matter to me,” she said, flaring her wings in royal display. “As I’m the one who recaptured him after he escaped from here—and you still don’t know how that happened—I think I do appreciate just how dangerous he is.” She folded her wings. “But, if it would finally put this to rest, I’ll go fetch Princess Celestia—”

“That won’t be necessary,” he quickly said. “But please consider our position. As you… pointed out, he escaped from a locked cell.” He waved a hand about the room, then let it drop to his side. “Can’t you see the problem?”

She had already tried explaining that Tirek had every reason to be on his best behavior; it had fallen on mostly deaf ears. Nor had she done herself any favors by reminding them of their failure to keep him within Tartarus. A different tack was needed.

“I will be present, don’t forget, and Royal Guards will be posted at the Gates.”

“That does lower the risk.” Those were polite words, said without conviction.

It was tempting to just issue a royal decree and be done with it, but it was always better to have willing cooperation. Celestia had drilled that into her. She just had to figure out how to get it.

There was one card left she could play. “Humans have weapons and tracking devices you cannot conceive of, and they use no magic whatsoever. Tirek, not to mention many other inmates, would be helpless against them, here where magic is of little use as a defense.”

Both of them were speechless. The assistant had yet to write down anything of what she had just said.

“You have our attention,” the administrator said.

Twilight did her best to suppress a sheepish smile. It wouldn’t do to admit that she may have promised something she cannot deliver. “I’ll schedule a training session with the human equivalent of Royal Guards as soon as possible.”

“I shall select candidates to receive training, with an eye on those most capable of passing their training onto others.”

She could only wonder how President Serrell would respond to this request. The weapons themselves ought not be a concern; there was no need for military grade weapons, just what was available to upstanding citizens—or not so upstanding, as she’d personally experienced.

Was this something worth mentioning to the human news organizations? Best to defer to Serrell’s judgement on that. But speaking of those journalists…

“There is another matter I’d like to discuss with you. The humans know little of Tartarus, and even that is in the form of myths and legends passed down from the ancient past.”

The administrator shrugged his broad shoulders. “If you say so. I had no idea they existed until you brought several here as prisoners.”

Nor had anypony else in Tartarus, so far as she could determine. “That’s not where I’m going with this. The humans would like to learn more about Tartarus. Would it be possible to give them a tour?”

Both minotaurs just stared at her. “A… tour?”


Meg turned off the ignition. She had parked the car far from the entrance.

“So now what?”

No one else was there to provide an answer.

Inside that cafe brewery were Andrew, Elaine, and the other senior staff members. She would not have the option of ignoring the Tirek question.

She considered turning around and going home, to cut off all ties to the convention. It had long since stopped being fun. It wasn’t even clear that it was still safe, what with all the anti-pony lunatics out there.

Meg sighed and opened the door. If she was lucky, the government would put an end to this convention in the name of public safety—or at least forbid any and all Equestrians, regardless of current species, from showing up.

Unfortunately, she was well aware that Serrell would do that only as a last resort, that public appearances by Tirek would fit the president’s plans perfectly.

Closing the door, she faced the entrance.

Let’s get this over with.

Meg walked across a few empty rows of parking spaces, threaded her way through several rows full of cars, and reached the entrance. Once inside, she made her way through the crowded and noisy restaurant to the now all too familiar table.

Andrew lost no time in greeting her. “Ah, there you are!” he said with a practiced smile. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up.”

Me too, Meg thought but did not say. “Sorry,” she said, not really meaning it. “There was something I had to take care of first.” She picked out a seat that was far, but not too far from Andrew, and sat down.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with booking an appearance by Tirek, would it?”

Not wasting any time, is he?

Meg gave him a flat look. “He’s still in Tartarus, you know.”

Surely with your connections…”

No, of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. She glanced at Elaine, who sent back a don’t-look-at-me look.

Maybe the direct approach would work. “Believe it or not, the princesses do not automatically grant every request I make.” Not that she had made that particular request. “When and if humanity takes him back, then we can try to book him—and who knows how long that will take.”

“Perhaps if I could talk to Twilight…” he began. “Persuade her how useful it’d be…?”

He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Tough. “She’s really busy right now, you know, getting that press conference organized.”

“How about Celestia—or even Luna?”

Meg’s jaw dropped. “Sure,” she said as sarcastically as possible, “when I have tea with them next week I’ll be sure to bring it up.” Of course she had no intention of mentioning it when she did have tea with them next week, as she did most weeks. It was in the job description of being a Royal Advisor.

The irony was that Twilight almost certainly would let her visit Tirek for the purpose of booking him. It’d be a taste of what his new life could be. But there was no way in hell she was going to let Tirek make the connection between “Common Ground” and her human self. What that tyrant would do with that information terrified her.

“Meg, I think you’re holding back on us.”

“Excuse me?!” Meg glared at Andrew. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m getting the distinct impression you don’t want to book him.”

Meg struggled for some rebuttal, any rebuttal. “And I suppose you’d book Hitler if you could.”

A few gasps, to Meg’s instant regret.

“That’s not the same thing, and you know it. He didn’t kill millions of ponies.”

She had to get things under control—fast. “Okay, fine, that was uncalled for. But it doesn’t change the fact there’s no way to book him right now.”

Andrew frowned. He got up. “I’d like a private word with you outside.”

This didn’t bode well, not at all, but refusing was not likely to improve matters. She got up too.

Without saying another word, Andrew headed for the exit. Meg followed.

Once they were outside and far enough away from the door, he stopped and turned. “Seriously, what is your problem?”

“And what’s your problem?” she hissed. “A. K. Yearling ain’t good enough for you? Seriously, why the Tirek obsession? Even if he didn’t kill those ponies, he still stole their magic. That’s not a minor inconvenience!”

He seemed flabbergasted by the question. “You watch the news, don’t you? I’d happily swap Yearling and all the others for Tirek. Just think of the publicity!”

Meg shook her head. “No. I-I can’t do this any more. I quit.” She turned and started walking. She’d have to explain it to Daring and the others, but that was preferable to… to this.

“I’m not giving you that option. Book him, or else.”

“Or else?” Meg stopped and turned around. “Or else what.”

Andrew threw up his hands in self-defense, evidently regretting his choice of words. “Look, I’m not the villain here. I could… hypothetically...” He looked around; no one was within earshot. “I could out you as a human who has been to Equestria, who has been turned into a pegasus, who has experienced Equestria as a pony, and who has hobnobbed with all the characters from the show. That would be even bigger than Tirek.”

She stared at him like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. How many bronies would sell their souls to trade places with her? Maybe it would be a bigger story. After several long seconds she found her voice. “But, as you said, you’re not the villain.” And, it was true, that hypothetical wasn’t meant as a threat—for what that was worth.

He smiled. “This is a win-win for everyone—yourself included.” His smile got bigger. “I’ll make it worth your while to book him.”

Next Chapter: 22. The Wisdom of Alligators Estimated time remaining: 5 Hours, 43 Minutes
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