“My father used to say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. I laid the first stone right there. I'd committed myself. I'd pay any price, go to any lengths, because my cause was righteous. My... intentions were good. In the beginning, that seemed like enough.”
– Benjamin Sisko, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: ‘In The Pale Moonlight.’

“Let's make a deal, doctor: I'll spare you the ends-justify-the-means speech, and you spare me the we-must-do-what's-right speech. You and I are not going to see eye-to-eye on this subject, so I suggest we stop discussing it.”
– Luther Sloan, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: ‘Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges.’

I’d like to be able to say I could think of something else. Anything else. I kept running it through my head, as the night wore on. Was this really the only way? I considered what other options we had again.

The truth…

Bowman’s words about faith in our allies came to mind. Maybe, I thought, we could try that. Lyra would have. She had faith, in all beings, to do the right thing, to stand by the side of life. But it was a risk. If we told the truth, there was a chance, sure, that everyone’d get it, see the risks more clearly knowing what the Solar Empire was capable of, even here…

… Or there was a chance we’d appear weak in front of our allies, that they’d question whether working with us was worth it. Worse, there was a chance we’d appear to be more a threat than the Empire; we brought the Spy into Equestria. We let her walk the streets without checks in place. More ponies would question why we had done this, why we had allowed this to happen. Any burgeoning anti-Alliance movements would only grow.

No, I decided. Bowman was wrong. We couldn’t risk having faith. Lyra could have pulled it off, but I am not her. I'm just me.

So, I turned again to other options. Maybe we could use a Changeling to confess, have them create a new baby-blue pony form for the occasion? But there’d be questions about that. Who was this mare? Who were her friends? Where had she come from? If we’d had more time, a month, say, to fabricate this fictitious mare’s life story, maybe we could have done it, but we needed a quick solution, and that would take far too long. But what about a Changeling using this world’s Trixie’s face? Maybe there’d be no need for the memories… except she needed to be absolutely convincing, needed to sell the confession. If there was any hint of a lie, of something amiss, then it wouldn’t work.

There were more ideas, believe me. Create a clone from the Mirror Pool? Maybe, except we barely understood the Pool and its potential, we barely understood how it worked… was the clone a sentient being? Wouldn’t that be worse, creating a sentient being for this sole purpose in life? I’d never been one for watching those old episodes of Star Trek where they’d argue the philosophy of creating intelligent life and treating it like shit, but this… hell, for a brief, dark moment, I was questioning if we shouldn’t just do that with our troops, until I realised how sick the idea of creating a clone army actually sounded to me. There’s a reason those projects were shut down back when Davis became President.

In any case, even if we used a Changeling, or clone, it would still look like Trixie. Whether she remembered or not, she’d be the face of blame.

We were damned either way, and so was she.

The morning came.

It felt like sleep.

A long sleep, yes, but all things considered, Ana felt nothing out of the ordinary, apart from the fact she’d just touched a tree and fainted from the backlash. Well, some backlash that was. She wondered if she was being monitored at all, for she’d been waited long minutes before the first nurse arrived to take care of her, after her rather anticlimactic awakening. Yet, of all things Ana could have thought, as she sat with an open Bible and Saint-Exupery’s Little Prince beside her, she thought of weeds. Not the peculiar little plant those Americans referred to as weed, but literal weed, the pest-of-a-plant that ruined many a garden.

‘Well, I guess I have all day to figure that one out,’ she thought.

There were many questions she’d have liked answered, such as how she’d got here, or what had happened inside the accursed cavern.

‘Welcome to my domain…’ the creature within the Tree had told her. A crystalline pony, to be precise.

And with the image of the entity within the Tree, Ana’s mind was once again drawn to the thought of weeds, an unrelenting parasite and unyielding pest. Yes, yes, she remembered the bits and pieces, here and there. But before she could gather her thoughts coherently, the door creaked open, and the last person Ana had expected to see stepped in.

“Harwood, I–”

But the man, ignoring her, grabbed the nearest seat in the pristine-white room. Dressed in combat fatigues, he looked outwardly fine, with not a single strand of brown hair out of place. The eyes, however, those green eyes must tell a different story. At no moment did they ever fully meet her own.

“Well,” he began slowly. “You look quite vibrant today, little duchess.”

All the tension in the room evaporated at a stroke, and soon Ana was laughing along with her eternal friend and companion, the overhanging worry of the last few days gone with the uplifting sound filling the room.

“Yeah, well,” Ana said, brushing away a lock of her hair, “Had the time to groom a bit, eh? Hospital’s not the best place, but here I am!”

She chuckled with levity, but even so a flash of concern went by Harwood’s expression.

“So how’s the Company doing?” she asked. “Did you have a chance to check in on them? They’re doing… fine, right? Dancer and the guys should be fine and all but, I gotta know.”

“Same old, same old,” Harwood said dismissively. “But that’s not what I’m here for, Ana.”

And Ana’s heart sank. “Harwood, listen,” she stammered out, nearly dropping her book from her lap. “Whatever happened with Colonel Renee, it’s not–”

He raised his hand. “Yes, I know, it’s all quite the… talk, Ana,” he said slowly. “Been wondering if you were alright, actually. Renee’s got something of a reputation as a hardarse when he comes down on people.”

To Ana’s own surprise, she simply shrugged. “He wasn’t like that, actually,” she said lightly. “But he… did have things to say about what happened in Ponyville.”

Harwood snorted. “I can imagine.”

“It was alright,” Ana said softly. “I got the same thing all of us did. Leave, while they… do whatever it is they’re doing.”

Harwood shot her a sullen look. “Well, in my experience that’s not really reassuring.”

His words were dismissive, but Ana thought she caught a tone of bitterness. For a moment, the two of them fell back into silence, and she began to ask herself whether Harwood had got a good look at the Spy after...

“How was the view up there?”

“Huh?” said Ana, shifting her eyes away from her twiddling fingers.

“The view of your…” Harwood cleared his throat. “Sniping range:”

“Well, it was... real hilly and... yeah. Real hilly. Bit tiring to get all the way up there in a ghilly. All things considered, it wasn’t a bad spot. Ponyville’s got some of the prettiest sights. You should check it out sometimes.”

“Heh, just like Ilkley Moor in ole Yorkshire, I suppose?” Harwood said, with a chuckle. Now, Ana remembered the man hadn’t actually mentioned his old home region all that much, beyond saying he was from a town called Sheffield. Mentioning home was a sure sign he was winding down.

“Well, I... haven’t actually been to Yorkshire,” Ana replied truthfully. “Apart from the whole deal with Blackburn, I’ve never had any real dealings with England.”

“That's fine, really,” answered Harwood, with a shrug. “Now you mention it, the Moor’s probably still around. Fancy a look with me?”

“Gladly!” Ana said eagerly. “I mean, you remember it so well and, it’ll be nice, and all.”

“The North remembers,” Harwood replied wistfully, with a characteristic smirk and wink. “Now don’t you go and beat yourself, Ana. Isn’t it your thing, always looking on the bright side?"

“You know me too well,” Ana told him, smiling, though she wasn’t sure how genuine it felt.

“We’ll have to make sure you bring a hat, though.”

“Pardon?”

“Tha’ll catch tha death o'cold barht’at. Then we’ll ha’ to bury thee.”

“... What?”

He laughed. “Remind me to teach you proper Yorkshire.”

“I’ve never heard you speak like that,” she said. “I mean, you do these things with your U’s and L’s, but I haven’t heard it so thick before.”

“And you don’t do the same with your L’s and B’s?” Harwood retorted, with unusual fondness. ”Anyway, I don’t speak like that much, for t’most part–” He winced. “I mean, for the most part. My granddad did, though. No one really talks like that anymore,” he said wryly. “Clever bloke, my granddad was. ‘Lad,’ he’d say to me, ‘dost tha know, tha can be as tough and as brave as tha likes, but if tha don’t think about what tha’art doin’, then tha’ll have a bash t’noggin from some bugger what does.'"

Ana wasn’t sure who started it first, but without a moment too soon, the pair was soon engaged in a mutual, hearty laughter. Yet as all good things do, it came to an end, when Ana remembered her charges in the Company. Trainees she’d probably never see again.

“Remind me,” Harwood said, interrupting her thoughts. “To bring you along to Central Park. A little bit of fishing should clear your mind. Wolfsschanze would sure love it if you came along, the big lug, to speak nothing of Morning Glory. I mean, I’d join you, but, as you may know, the brass are keeping me busy…”.

“Yeah…” Ana said hesitantly. “How’s that looking, anyway?”

Harwood shook his head, more out of frustration than anything. “Not so great. Three days on, they still haven’t got the Blue Spy out of her glass case–”

“Wait, three days? How… how long was I out for?”

Swallowing, Trixie willed herself not to tear her gaze away from the book she was trying to read in the relative comfort of her bunk, a task more easily said than done, since her book – a blocky tome entitled The Rider in the Hay’s Worth – wasn’t particularly interesting, and did not do much to draw attention away from her circumstances. Nor from the disquieting company she held in this place.

The Night Guards, standing watch beyond the bars of her cells since daybreak. Batponies. Thestrals. Perhaps she ought to have been reassured, with the light of day to see these strange, quiet pegasi by, but she did not. If anything, it felt uncanny, questioning what about her merited that Equestria’s night watch should stand guard outside their proper schedule. At least they made for better company than Locksmith...

Nothing was in its right order anymore. Not since the bear incident.

Colts and fillies in the night, beware! beware!
Creatures lurk within the dark, out there! out there!
Wouldst thou bringst disharmony, do you dare? do you dare?
Thestral-kin will taketh thee, take care! take care!

With a sad sigh, Trixie laid down the book, storing it under her surprisingly fluffy pillow. It was plain to see she wouldn’t be finding solace in there for now; her grandfather’s old nursery rhyme kept playing in her mind, its warnings against little foals’ misbehavior ringing only too clearly against the walls of her skull, given where she was.

Not for the first time, she wondered just how they’d got her.

It wasn’t even as if she’d been technically doing anything illegal, buying an old artifact from a curio shop up in Neighpon. Sure, the elderly shopkeeper might have shown reluctance to part with a rare, dangerous item, but wasn’t it his own fault, keeping that thing on display for any magical initiate to spot and covet? At least she had the scruples to bring fair, hard-earned pay.

Or that was how it’d have gone down, hadn’t the old fool told her the Amulet was confiscated.

They’d set an ambush. That was the only explanation. Somehow, they’d known what she planned to do, and had lurked in the shadows waiting for her to show up, see how she reacted when informed her hopes were thwarted. And, although she knew it was her every right, after the pains she gone to, she herself had to admit, she’d reacted a bit… poorly.

But destructive fury quickly gives way to cowering fear as thestrals swoop down to take you. And your first encounter with mythical ‘humans’ not far behind.

Ana could scarce believe her ears as she learned she’d been unconscious for over two days. She watched Harwood carefully all the while he told her, looking for some sign of what feelings this had left him with. He had said, apparently aiming for some ironic humor, that two ‘sleeping beauties’ in a week were more than any man of medicine might hope to handle. She quietly begged that he hadn’t noticed her blush as the word ‘beauty’. Although he’d put no particular inflection on it, the fact he glanced at her was enough.

Harwood’s explanations, however, were cut short by a knock on the door. With a look, he stood up, and went to open the door. There in the entrance stood a mousy woman, even shorter than Ana. Her nametag read ‘M. Hooper’, and she looked quite lost, even if her professional-looking wear bespoke of her occupation as an important personage’s assistant.

“Sorry, is this the right room?” she said hesitantly. “With, uh, Ana Bjorgman?”

Harwood gave Ana a glance before he answered the woman.

“Yes, what seems to be the matter?”

“The matter, Mister Harwood, is that I need to see my friend,” Amethyst Star’s voice cut in, and to Ana’s delight said mare strode into the room, looking none the worse for wear, relatively.

However, her somewhat disheveled mane, a contrast to her usual, impeccably combed state, implied otherwise. Still, the mare managed herself a smile.

“Hey, Ana,” she said, plopping herself upon the chair. “How’s it going?”

“Never been better, all things considered, heh,” Ana said with a friendly chuckle. “Still got this headache but, well, at least I’m awake!”

Sparkler looked her over with concern, and then shook her head.

“You were lucky that bit of the gorge wasn’t steep at all,” she said in exasperation. “Watch yourself out there, would you? You gave poor Daring and me a rightful scare.”

“Tell me about it,” Harwood interjected. The sound of the door swinging close let them all know that the woman who had been with Sparkler seemed to have left. “All of that trouble in Ponyville, and now… here you are.”

“Oh, hush, Mister,” Sparkler replied in annoyance, as Harwood sat himself on the other side of the bed. “I mean, you weren’t there when this graceful lady tumbled into the gorge. I was.”

To Ana’s eternal exasperation, two of her closest friends shared a laugh at her expense. With a huff, she set aside her Bible to open the other book, hoping to engage herself in deep thought mulling over the name of the Little Prince’s asteroid.

“Okay, that’s enough, both of you,” Ana said chidingly. “Who was that woman, anyway?”

The twinkle in Sparkler’s eyes faded. “Ah, I was… hoping you’d notice a little bit later, heh,” she said sheepihsly. “I… may have called someone.”

“Someone?” Ana raised an eyebrow. “Who…?”

“It’s a bit complicated... very complicated,” Sparkler said. “The point is, word got out about your little incident and... please don’t freak out,” she added, placing a placating hoof to Ana’s mouth. “And… well. He might have something to offer you.”

Another knock upon the door, and Harwood apprehensively stepped to answer it.

“Ah, Corporal,” the man at the door said genially. “I trust that this is the correct room?”

“Er, yes, sir,” Harwood said. “I suppose Miss Star invited you?”

“That is correct. May I?”

The man’s voice sounded professional and articulate, and to Ana’s eyes, it perfectly fit the individual who had just walked into her room. Although beneath the elegant suit, tie, and trouser ensemble,he looked older than he should be, with a receding hairline, and a few wrinkles around the eyes, it was his eyes that caught Ana’s attention, a watery gray color which complemented the look of a man who liked getting his way.

Meanwhile, Harwood looked unusually worried and confused as he closed the door.

The man sat himself on the chair Harwood had previously occupied, setting his jet-black umbrella and briefcase nearby. He gazed at her in a look of intense scrutiny, before reaching out to shake her hand with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Miss Bjorgman, I have to say, finding you was quite the challenge,” he said, still in that professional tone, and a distinctly English accent.

“Er, to whom do I owe the honor?” Ana stammered out.

“My name is of no consequence, Miss Bjorgman,” he said, in a tone that implied he wasn’t used to telling strangers or subordinates his name personally. “But you’ll find it easily enough in the visitation list down at the lobby.”

“... Alright, I guess,” Ana replied.

“As your friend said, Miss Bjorgman, I am here on your companion’s invite,” he said nonchalantly, nodding to Sparkler. The unicorn also seemed a little put off by him, but nonetheless, Ana kept her cool.

“Oh, so what… brings you here, sir?”

“Ah, it concerns recent matters,” the Englishman replied, calculatively. “If I may, two days ago, what exactly were you doing with Miss Star, Corporal?”

Suddenly, the room felt that much colder.

“It was, it’s, it’s not what you think, sir,” Ana said frantically. “It… well, it was a simple visit between old friends, nothing more or less.”

The Englishman observed her curiously, as if her answer didn’t match what he’d anticipated.

“Very well,” he said, after a moment’s contemplation. “I presume there’s no harm done, apart from your… accident, Miss Bjorgman?”

“Yes!” Ana said, nodding vigorously. “There, there was no harm done, at all, sir. Miss Daring Do and the others can vouch for me, though even then, I’m still not sure how I got here..”

Harwood looked positively mortified by the inelegant answer, but Ana brushed it off. Of course, Harwood wasn’t quite as reserved as the man opposite her seemed.

“I see,” the man said plainly. But his tone lowered. “However, as I’ve read from Colonel Renee’s report, eyewitnesses aren’t the most… reliable of sources, Miss Bjorgman.”

“Sir?” Ana said, twiddling her fingers, and holding her breath.

“Hyperbole,” the Englishman said coldly. “In my experience, and that of my dear brother, the more imaginative eyewitnesses are the most likely to be quoted and taken as a valid source. The human eye can only remember so much, and I daresay the same applies to our allies.”

He leaned back, steepling his hands. “On that note, do forgive me, for arriving to my conclusions so bluntly,” he said. “With everything considered, the only reliable source of yesterday’s curious intrigue is the very same woman that lies before me, Miss Bjorgman, and not your comrades here.”

Behind the man, Harwood stepped up, a frown on his face as he clenched the chair’s back.

“Sir, with due respect,” he said firmly. “Ana here isn’t fully recovered yet, and anything she says might not be of any worth for Colonel Renee. I will have to ask you to leave her to recover fully.”

“Harwood, please,” Sparkler scolded him.

“I’m not here under Colonel Renee’s orders, Corporal Harwood,” the Englishman said quietly. “And Colonel Renee has no knowledge of the events that led to the hospitalization of Miss Bjorgman.”

“Pardon?” Harwood said, folding his arms. The Englishman picked up his briefcase and handed it to him with a distinctly triumphant look.

“Miss Bjorgman has been awake for almost a day,” he said. “So, do forgive me if I assume Miss Bjorgman is perfectly capable of responding to any question I wish to see answered, Sergeant.”

Harwood, to Ana’s surprise, recoiled.

“Sergeant?”

The Englishman tapped his folder.

“Only if you’re willing to let Miss Bjorgman speak with me, Harwood. Your documents are contained within this file, and I can assure you, any promotion is very much legitimate.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Ana interrupted, as Harwood stared at the folder with increasing curiosity. “With due respect, what drew your attention here?”

“There are quite a few reasons for my presence here, Miss Bjorgman,” the Englishman said, his grey eyes boring into Ana’s own. “But... my query remains...” He leaned closer to her. “What did you find within the Tree?”

Ana’s eyes widened in surprise, confusion, and everything in-between. “I… don’t understand?”

“Yes, you do. Before I came here, Miss, I took the liberty of questioning Miss Star,” he said mechanically. “While I personally do not deal with matters regarding the most sensitive of the thaumaturgic division, your case with the Tree is a distinct one.”

Ana began nervously. “I’m, I’m not sure I’m at all qualified to answer your questions. The Colonel, a-and Major need to–”

“Neither I nor Miss Star are here, to their knowledge,” he interjected. “I have little business to conduct with them after my current, rather delicate task has been accomplished, for they lack the subtlety and dagger-precision I need. I prefer methods that do not utilise blunt instruments such as the Afrikaner, nor the so-called Dragons of the East, Miss Bjorgman.” He nodded towards Sparkler. “Your friend here, as well as her father, have thankfully assured me that information of our exchange, before or after the fact, will not be sent to Colonel Marcus Renee or Major Stephan Bauer.”

Cold sweat dripped down past Ana’s brow, and her finger tapping became more pronounced with each passing second. Yet the man did not yield in his gaze, and Ana wasn’t sure if this Englishman would accept amnesia as an excuse.

She felt fur brush against her hand, and there Sparkler was, comforting her with a touch.

“Ana, you can trust him,” Sparkler said. “Dad knows him from way back. Dad and I, we’re not exactly friends with Bauer or the Colonel. He doesn’t like Bauer, for sure. Whatever you say won’t reach their ears, I can assure you.”

And Ana realized how much trust she had placed in the brilliant mare. Finally, she relented.

“Alright, sir.”

Comfortable as this place was, it was still a cell, and Trixie was starting to wonder if she had been placed in a cell for a particular reason. Was the Amulet she’d been trying to seize important to someone? Was it important to these human strangers, maybe? Was that why she was receiving special treatment, because they planned to do something to her, or because at the very least they wanted to speak to her about it?

‘I just wish I knew what they wanted,’ she thought to herself. ‘I can’t stand this waiting!’

She sighed and leant back against her bed. The pillows were fluffy. She snorted. Fluffy pillows. In prison. None of this was making sense. No-one put fluffy pillows in a cell.

Trixie frowned slightly as she heard the sound of hooves tapping against the floor outside. A moment later, the door opened, and Trixie sat herself up. And blinked in shock at the sight of whom stood there.

“Trixie Lulamoon,” Princess Luna said quietly. “It is good to finally meet you.”

“Princess Luna!” Trixie said, stammering, instinctively jumping off her bunk to kowtow to her royal visitor. “Princess. “Trixie, that is, I–”

“Be calm, Miss Lulamoon,” the Princess said quietly. “And please get up. I do not mean to cause you alarm.”

Trixie raised herself, but she felt no less assured, looking at the much taller mare. “Princess, if this is about the artefact–”

“No,” Luna said, cutting her off. “It is not.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Miss Lulamoon, what do you know about magical means of altering a pony’s memories?”

Trixie blinked. ‘Altering a pony’s memories?’ What did that have to do with anything?

“Trixie knows… that is, I know they exist,” she said slowly, fighting the urge to speak in the third person. “I know that, mostly, they’re banned, they’re seen as immoral. But I don’t see…”

She trailed off at the Princess’ grim expression. “What’s happened?”

“Miss Lulamoon,” Luna said slowly, “you believe you were arrested by my Night Guards, brought here to a cell in Canterlot merely for attempting to steal an artefact.” She paused. “That is not the case.”

Trixie blinked, her eyes widening in horror. “I... no, b-but that’s impossible. I don’t remem–” She stopped, rethinking the sentence. “I don’t have any gaps, any signs…”

Luna simply sighed. “Listen carefully, Trixie. We believe that agents of the Solar Empire, the enemies of the human beings whom we have agreed to assist, managed to... alter your mind. You… have been convinced to perform… unpleasant actions.”

Trixie frowned at the description. “Unpleasant… in what way?”

“It would be difficult for you to accept,” Luna said quietly. “For they are actions which resulted in your incarceration, and actions you must be asked to answer for.”

Trixie took a breath. “How bad?”

“Bad enough,” Luna said quietly. “Hence, we believe, why your memory was wiped.” She smiled softly. “However, I believe we may be able to undo the work that has been done to you. We have scheduled an appointment for you to have this damage repaired–”

“What damage? Trixie doesn’t–” Trixie exclaimed, before calming. “I don’t feel damaged.”

“That, I fear, is merely a sign of how skilled the artisan of said damage was,” Luna said. “But rest assured. We shall repair the damage, and you shall know the truth… and be able to answer for it.”

Trixie blinked. “Princess, I… I don’t even remember what I did. How am I supposed to answer for it?”

“Not alone, that much is certain,” Luna said. She gave a small smile. “Do not be afraid, Trixie Lulamoon. Though there must be consequences, you are not alone. We have assigned a Friend to you.”

Somehow, the old-fashioned alicorn made the capital ‘F’ stand out in her pronunciation of ‘friend’, and Trixie, remembering her history, realized what Luna meant.

She swallowed. “A… you mean a Prisoner’s Friend? W-who, may I ask? I hope they are at least competent…”

Luna’s eyes gave a small twinkle. “I am a little rusty, Trixie Lulamoon, but I believe I am, at least, competent.”

Trixie blinked. “Y-you, Princess?”

“Indeed,” Luna said. “I suspect that, whatever has been done to you, it was not entirely of your own volition, and with that in mind, I will ensure you will be treated fairly. Do not be afraid.” She paused. “I… will be here for you. Whatever happens.”

“Th-thank you, Your Highness,” Trixie said slowly. “I am honored.”

Luna inclined her head slightly, almost in respect, before turning and exiting the cell, leaving Trixie alone, suddenly very tired. But her memory felt fine. She couldn’t detect anything that might indicate an irregularity…

‘... “That, I fear, is merely a sign of how skilled the artisan of said damage was”,’ she remembered. ‘The artisan. Makes them sound like a Faust-damned painter.’

“What was it?” she asked the empty cell aloud. “What did I do?” She felt a ghost of a feeling, like something walking over her grave. “What did I do?”

They had moved the Spy from her glass box on Doctor Bowman’s request. Yet she was strapped to a bed still, and Stephan had been somewhat edgy about having her moved, in case she tried to escape, but for the moment, she seemed to show no sign of stirring. The palace bedroom was somewhat crowded, considering its small size of it. In one corner, watching them like a hawk, was Chrysalis, her eyes flicking from the Spy to Stephan, and then to Marcus and Luna, all of whom were standing near the Spy.

“When’ll he be here?” Stephan asked quietly, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on his beloved.

“I don’t know exactly,” Marcus replied. “But hopefully soon.”

Stephan nodded once, silently cursing the Doctor, all incarnations of him. Marcus sighed and moved a bit closer.

“This is shit,” he said quietly. “I know.”

“But we’re still doing it.”

“Yeah,” Marcus said quietly. He shook his head. “I was up all night, thinking it over. Trying to find another way.”

“Nothing?”

Marcus shook his head. “Nothing. Mirror pool clones, Changeling drones, none of it would feel... right, and we need it to be rock-tight.”

Stephan sighed. “Yeah. I know. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Neither do I,” Marcus assured him. “Neither do I.”

They paused, before glancing at Luna. She couldn’t have heard them, but she was looking at them with an odd expression. Stephan brushed it off for the moment. Pleasing as the Night Princess’s attention may be, his whole being was focused elsewhere.

“So,” Chrysalis said. She was addressing him and Marcus. “Where is he? Where is our professed expert, hm?”

“Mister Holmes may have a means of contacting him, Your Majesty,” Stephan replied tersely, “but I am not in possession of any such homing beacon, and for some reason, Holmes felt it more important to saunter off at the drop of a hat this morning. The Doctor will be here soon, however.”

“We made the consequences clear if he didn’t come through for us,” Marcus added grimly.

As he said it, a familiar groaning sound began etching its way into existence, ending in a thump, and the Doctor walked into the room. He looked very tired, like he hadn’t slept a wink. He wore a scruffy t-shirt and hoodie under his old tweed coat, like he couldn’t be bothered with the smarter getup.

“You look like shit,” Stephan commented, trying to lighten the mood.

The Doctor glared at him, but said nothing. He looked back at the unconscious Trixie.

Marcus folded his arms. “Alright, Doc. Stephan said you had something that could do this job.”

“He meant this,” the Doctor said, holding up a small crystal. “An Eponian Apex Crystal. Complicated bit of kit.”

“Will it do the job?” Marcus asked.

“We-e-ell, it couldn’t fix all of the Blue Spy’s problems,” the Doctor said, “but copying her memory is a simpler job, in theory.”

“‘In theory’?” Stephan asked, raising an eyebrow.

The Doctor shrugged. “I don’t exactly make a habit of this, Major.”

“... Wait a minute,” Stephan said, holding up a hand. “Before, when you came to try using that to help Trixie, you said you got that from the future?”

“Yeeees, that is the gist,” the Doctor said, frowning.

“Then why can't you just go back in time?” Stephan demanded, folding his arms in turn. “Maybe stop this from happening?”

The Doctor sighed. “Ah, how best to explain this…”

“It's a good question,” Marcus put in. “Back in your days at R&D, Colonel Hex always said you changed history before. He said he thought you were manipulating events. Colonel Munro backed him on that one.”

“And they were half right,” the Doctor said, slipping the crystal back into his pocket, “but they were also wrong. Without going into technical details, I can't change the history you’re experiencing, and it would be foolish to try.”

“Why?” Marcus asked. “If you’ve done it before?”

The Doctor sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, so, history can be changed. With precision. I can’t change everything, only things that won’t end up radically messing with things.”

“Such as?” Stephan asked.

“Well, for example, a ship full of relative nobodies - or maybe one mare here or there,” the Doctor said, shrugging. “But even when you change history, you're really just either swapping timelines or creating a new one. That line becomes your present... but no-one else’s. From your various perspectives, I would change nothing. From my perspective, an entirely different Marcus, Stephan, etcetera, would be waiting for me.”

“Then why change anything?” Stephan cried angrily, clenching his fists.

Try and hide it though he might, he was getting sick of it all. Sick of worrying for Trixie, sick of Kraber, sick of Bowman. Almost enough to wish Miss Cutter would actually dig up dirt on the Doctor in her trailing. He felt sick of everything.

“To create a new timeline with better outcomes,” the Doctor shrugged. “And that timeline would likely become the ‘Prime’ of a particular multiversal strand, which makes it the… well, ‘healthiest’, I guess you could say, less likely to disappear up a causal nexus or get swallowed by a crack in time or something catastrophic like that. And ‘Prime’ timelines can sometimes absorb non-Prime timelines, if the differences are minute enough.”

“How can timelines be absorbed if the events are different?” Marcus asked.

“Why do you think two people can sometimes remember things more differently than merely having different perspectives would allow?” the Doctor asked. “Your memories aren’t just at the mercy of your little human brains. They’re at the mercy of time itself.”

Chrysalis chuckled. “That sounds hilarious.”

The Doctor glanced at her, a soft smile on his face. “It’s also the reason you once forgot where you put Cadance’s favourite comb, searched the same spot three times and found nothing, and then found the thing there two days later.”

Chrysalis’ smile dropped. “How do you know about that?”

The Doctor winked at her, before turning back to Stephan and Marcus. “So yes, I can change things. Those changes can even get absorbed back into the flow of the ‘Prime’ timeline. But it’s precision work. Almost like pruning flowers. Except not, because it’s not flowers and I hate gardening.”

Marcus shook his head. “This time travel shit really makes my head hurt.”

“As it is, I met a starship captain who had the same problem. I recommended herbal tea,” the Doctor said sagely, with a look at Stephan.

Marcus nodded with a soft smile. “Yeah, that–” He paused, before shaking his head. “Dammit, Tia.”

The Doctor ignored him. He lifted the crystal back up, frowning at it. “Alright. Chalcedony?”

The crystal began levitating, before floating away from the Doctor, hovering above the ground. A moment later, a light flared, and suddenly a grey unicorn mare was standing there, her expression neutral.

“Chalcedony, online,” she said dully, her voice tinged by something unnatural. “How may I be of assistance, Doctor?”

Marcus stared at her with wide eyes. But Stephan scowled, reminded of an unpleasant memory, and Luna seemed neutral. Chrysalis gave a small, inscrutable smile.

“The hell is that, Bowman?” Marcus asked.

“This is an Apex Crystal,” the Doctor repeated. “Depending on what words you want to approximate the concept with, it’s basically a really, really, advanced computer. One that has an intelligence.” He paused. “I custom-wrote Chalcedony, based on… a friend.”

“How may I be of assistance, Doctor?” the mare asked again.

“You’ll need to make contact with the blue mare in the bed, and copy down memories of the last seven days for perusal and rework,” he said to her. “This is a mission of extreme delicacy. No damage to her memories. They want her to be the same as she was before you copied her memory. Also, erase her memory of your incursion.”

“Noted,” the mare said, turning to look at the unconscious Trixie. There was another flash, and the crystal had floated over to Trixie’s head.

“Not to be pushy, but a lot is riding on this, Bowman,” Stephan muttered.

Chrysalis looked as if there were half-a-dozen dirty, or otherwise inappropriate jokes she wanted to make following the recent developments, but if so, she kept unusually quiet. She was busy observing, fascinated, the business between crystal and mare on the bed.

Regardless, The Doctor threw a sideways glance at him. “Oh, please. I know the stakes. You can hold a gun to my head, if it makes you feel better.”

“Gentlemen,” Luna said in a warning tone, taking note, as Stephan had, of Marcus’s rather thoughtful look, him no doubt actually contemplating the idea. “Remember that we are all on the same side, and want the same things.”

The Doctor snorted, but said nothing else. He looked at the crystal that was sitting on Trixie’s head with a worried expression.

“Now what?” Marcus asked.

“We wait,” the Doctor said quietly. “This is delicate business, Colonel.”

“Waiting,” Marcus said. “I hate waiting.”

Usually, Stephan wouldn’t have shared his friend’s impatience. But now, eternity stretched before them. And at the same time, everything about the future felt as though it approached with inexorable, relentless finality.

Trixie Lulamoon, the real Trixie, opened her eyes, and found herself lying, staring up at a white expanse of nothing. She frowned. The last thing she remembered was… what was the last thing she remembered? She wasn’t actually sure. Something about Ponyville, and...

Imagine you are the Blue Spy.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. Her mind was fuzzy. She didn't clearly remember everything. It was like there was a wall of some kind, blocking total recall out…

“Where am I?” she asked. “Where is this place?”

“Technically, this is not a place,” an unfamiliar, feminine voice replied.

Trixie sat up, finding herself in the company of a sad, grey unicorn mare with an equally grey mane and eyes. An individual whom Trixie recognized from one of her intel files.

“... Chalcedony?” she asked.

“You do not know me,” the mare replied blandly. “I am an Actualised Intelligence construct designed to match the late Chalcedony’s physical parameters. An atonement.”

“What, for your whole ‘Equestrians for Humanity’s Survival’ crap?” Trixie asked, frowning.

“No,” the mare said shortly.

She raised a hoof, and a translucent screen appeared in midair, showing an image of the Everfree Forest. It appeared to be from someone’s point of view.

‘My point of view,’ Trixie realised with wide eyes.

“What’s going on?” she asked aloud.

“Your memories are required,” the construct of Chalcedony said, blandly. “To this end I have partitioned your memories from your conscious mind.”

“‘Partitioned’…” Trixie repeated. “Why?”

“Your mind would attempt resistance,” the construct said. “This option negates that possibility. Your conscious mind is partitioned. Access to your memories and alternative personalities is restricted or limited. This is only a temporary effect.”

Trixie shook her head, feeling a little lost. “What are you doing to my mind?”

“Perusing the contents of your memories,” the construct said. “Once a complete ‘photocopy’ has been catalogued we shall terminate this conversation. And I will erase any recursive memory of our discourse.”

Trixie’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that.”

“Incorrect,” the construct said. “Morally, the question is irrelevant. As a matter of practicality, I am more than...”

Trixie roared suddenly, charging at the mare, only to bounce off of an invisible wall that lay between them, solid as rock.

“That was futile,” the construct said. “Our interaction is limited to discourse. Your perception of mobility is a concession to your personal comfort. You cannot touch me.”

“If I ever see you in real life, I’ll murder you!” Trixie yelled.

“Unlikely on both counts.”

The Doctor hadn’t said a word for two hours, his arms folded as he observed the unconscious mare and the little crystal he had sent to work. Chrysalis had her eyes focused firmly on the mare, a frown on her face as she looked at the crystal, which seemed to pulse faintly as it performed its job.Meanwhile, Stephan was sitting, hands clasped, still as a statue, watching his lover as her eyes darted back and forth beneath their lids.

“Is it some kind of REM state?” he asked softly.

“Don’t know how to couch it in ways you’d understand,” the Doctor replied shortly. “But call it a REM state if that makes it easier.”

“Great, thanks,” Stephan muttered.

Marcus walked up to the Doctor, before leaning by his ear.

“Do you think you can maybe go a bit easier on him?” he said quietly. “After all, this is the mare he loves.”

The Doctor glanced sidelong at Marcus. “Being repeatedly insulted and having my friends threatened with death does not put me in a mood to maintain my bedside manner, Colonel.”

“Look, I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but this was better than our plan B,” Marcus hissed. “Which was finding and killing a conveniently baby-blue scapegoat, Doctor.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows shot up. “So a heinous act can be forgiven as an alternative to a truly appalling one. Duly noted.”

“Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones,” Marcus said, “but you still have to choose.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows settled into a perturbed frown. “Ah, that old chestnut. I remember.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, Colonel Renee, I do understand that none of this is easy for you, whether I agree with your choices or not.” He snorted. “I suspect that had your mind and body not undergone the changes they had, you would have broken down by now.”

Marcus crossed his arms. “‘Mind and body changes’, huh? What do you know about those?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Nothing more than the things in ancient records, but they had some fascinating stories.” He sighed. “In any case. Chalcedony should be done soon.”

“And then you can transfer these memories to our world’s Trixie?” Luna asked, speaking for the first time in hours.

“Not as they are,” the Doctor said, frowning thoughtfully. “I’ll be perusing them and setting them for alteration after our time here. We’ll need to make sure they mesh with the other Trixie. The process of altering her memories will be a complex one.”

“But it can be done?” Luna asked again.

“You’ve spoken to her already,” the Doctor said. “If you can convince her that her memories were tampered with, plant the seed of validity for new ones, they’re less likely to be rejected.” He sighed. “Tell me, have you given much thought to what happens to her afterwards?”

Marcus and Stephan exchanged glances.

“Uh, no,” Stephan said, frowning somewhat at the lack of forethought on his part.

“Given that she is a subject of my sister and I, her care would fall unto the royalty.” Luna stepped forward, her face showing nothing but determination as she looked to the suffering patient on the bed. “I’d rather have no more bloodshed. There have already been too many losses, and we’ve yet to even reach the field of battle.”

“I see,” the Doctor said, but he did not elaborate, his face clouded in thought.

“You don’t approve,” Luna pointed out, looking at the Doctor.

“As has been made clear to me, Your Highness, my personal approval is irrelevant,” the Doctor shrugged. “I suspect you can do whatever you like to make her comfortable, but it will not change what happens, what you are doing.”

“Perhaps,” Luna agreed. “But if we are asking an unknowing sacrifice of her, we shall honor it, even if we cannot tell her that.”

The Doctor nodded, though his expression did not change.

“So,” Trixie said, still staring at the fast-paced slideshow of images. “Chalcedony, why do you want my memories?”

“I do not ‘want’ them,” the construct said, almost haughtily, as though the very concept of ‘wanting’ something was mildly offensive. “I have been ordered to retrieve them.”

“By whom?”

“That data is not relevant,” the not-Chalcedony said.

“Yeah, well, I’m curious,” Trixie said. “You want them for some reason... so what...”

She paused, her eyes widening.

“You’re giving them to another,” she whispered.

“I am not aware of any intentions in that regard,” the construct said.

“I don’t remember,” Trixie whispered. “What did I do? Did something happen to me?”

The construct paused. “That information is not relevant.”

“It's relevant to me!” Trixie yelled. “What happened to me?! Why do you or whoever sent you need my memories?!”

The construct said nothing.

“What did I do?” Trixie whispered again, before her eyes went to the translucent screen… just in time to see a fuchsia mare, Cheerilee, staring at her in horror, and the sight of red blood. “What did I do?!”

“That information is not relevant,” the construct said blandly. “If it is any comfort to you, I beliveve that Princess Luna and your Major Bauer will come to rescue you soon. Until then, this is your consignment.” She paused. “Data copy compete. Wiping interaction.”

There was a sudden flash of light, and Trixie knew no more.

The crystal suddenly glowed slightly. The Doctor straightened.

“Is that it?” Stephan asked, looking between the crystal and the Time Lord. “Is it done?”

The crystal floated away from Trixie for a moment, and then with another flash of light the grey mare was standing there.

“Chalcedony,” the Doctor said softly. “Report?”

“Incursion complete,” the mare said blandly. “The subject is undamaged. All trace of incursion wiped.”

“Oh, thank God,” Stephan muttered. He leant over Trixie for a moment, pressing his hand to her forehooves. “We’ll get back to you soon, Liebchen.”

“So, you've got what you need, right?” Marcus asked the Doctor.

“Potentially,” the Doctor said. “Chalcedony: log off.”

The mare nodded as she disappeared, and the crystal floated back to the Doctor’s hand, where he pocketed it. He closed his eyes.

“You okay?” Marcus asked.

The Doctor’s eyes opened, and he glared at Marcus again. “What do you care?”

Marcus straightened, looking unusually stung by the remark. “We need you.”

“I know,” the Doctor replied. “I’m starting to really wish you didn’t, any of you.” He paused. “I’ll return to my ship, work this stuff through. I trust you’ll be alright with it taking a day?”

“As long as it takes no longer than that,” Luna put in. “The sooner it is done the better. I promised Fancypants we would have a press conference in three days hence to reveal the truth of our ‘investigation into Ponyville’.”

“The ‘truth’,” the Doctor repeated. “Well, then. I’d better go make the truth for you.”

The Doctor said nothing else. He turned and walked out the room, his expression unreadable.

Luna stared after the door he’d left through. “Is he reliable?”

“We have leverage,” Marcus said. “And Holmes believes we have the Doctor’s cooperation.”

“He neither likes nor respects any of you,” Luna pointed out. “Even the blind could see that.”

“And yet he will do the task we ask,” Marcus assured her.

“You’d better know what you’re doing, Holmes,” Stephan said to no-one in particular. “I don’t like any of this.”

“There is little to ‘like’, Major Bauer, though you’ve convinced yourselves that all is necessary,” Chrysalis told him. It was the first thing he’d heard her say in hours. She paused. “Yet don’t blame the Umbrella Man for all your woes. I suggested a body, and when that fell through, it’s Moonbutt who saw fit to doom another Trixie by bringing up her name.”

“I shall never know why I chose so,” Luna said regretfully. “It would be right that Miss Lulamoon carry out a sentence for her infraction, yet in no way can what we are doing be called a fair, just sentence, by any law... Yet there was a saying in the old days. Given the odd overlap between many of our languages, you may be familiar with its meaning. Inter arma enim silent leges.”

Marcus snorted as the Lunar Princess now walked towards the exit without another word.

‘In times of war the law falls silent,’ Stephan thought grimly. ‘Small comfort.’

“What the hell are we doing, Marcus?” he asked quietly. “This all feels so fucking… zwielichtig.”

“I know what you mean,” Marcus said quietly. He shook his head. “It’ll all be worth it, Stephan, I promise.”

‘Goddamn it, but it had better be fucking worth it.’

The Doctor – oh, how he now hated the name ‘Doctor Bowman’ and all it had come to represent about him – walked down the corridor towards the little blue box. Nopony seemed to have noticed it, was it just that they were used to the unusual? Celestia had been quite the eccentric when he had known her, but… no. That had been very long ago, a different Celestia. He approached the box and gently opened the door. The dark console room greeted him with the twinkling lights of the console, the soft hum of the time engines at rest, and an indescribable feeling of being home. He had the urge to hug something.

‘I should never have come back,’ part of him thought.. ‘But I did, and it was still the right thing to do. It has to have been.’

He went to the control console, pressing a few controls and turning a few dials, before sighing. He heard a small beep. He blinked in mild surprise as he went to a hatstand in the corner and took a small phone from one of the coats.

One new message, it blinked at him.

“Huh,” he grunted.

My dear Doctor Bowman, read the newest message in his long-disused PHL email inbox. Once you are quite done attending to the matter of the Blue Spy, I’d like you to do a small favour for me–

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “And I’d like to have my own personal tailor, a few people back from the grave and a more consistently functioning set of navigational controls on the TARDIS, but I guess we all live in false hope, Mikey.”

I assure you, this is nothing untoward, continued the message, as if somehow anticipating his objection. I merely wish you to examine a patient, of sorts. Meet me at Canterlot Central Hospital, Unusual Cases Ward, Room 231.

The Doctor sighed again. “Ready when you are, mate.”

After switching off the inbox, he pulled out the small Apex Crystal from his pocket and placed it on the console, and a moment later it began softly glowing.

“Alright, Chalcedony, let’s look through this,” he said quietly. “Fast playback, main screen.”

He turned to look at the screen, his eyes narrowing as a series of images began playing, faster than human eyes could have comprehended. His mouth thinned as he watched, but never did he turn away, even as an innocent met her sad fate because of the Spy.

When it was over, the Doctor turned around.

“Interface,” he said. A moment later, the grey mare stood by the console, looking at him with a frown that might have been concern.

“Doctor, are you alright?” she asked, her bland voice belying the words.

“Fine,” he said simply. “just… I don’t want to remember seeing that. I can’t imagine how the Downtime Trixie Lulamoon is going to react to actually thinking it was she. Besides, I knew her once, in another world. I don’t like the idea of doing this to her.” He took a breath. “But… that’s what we’ve been… asked to do.” He sighed. “There’ll need to be a lot of reworking, especially considering the fact it needs to fit with the subject’s own memory–”

“Doctor,” the not-Chalcedony said. “I have been programmed to assess your mental health as part of my role as your Actualised Assistant. You seem distressed.”

The Doctor smirked. “How thoughtful of you.” He paused. “I am distressed. I… I don’t do this. Don’t do these sorts of things. Not anymore.”

“What course of action would you like to take?” the not-Chalcedony asked.

“What would I like to do, y’mean?” the Doctor asked. He frowned slightly. “I don’t know. Go to Space Bermuda for a week, sunbathe and forget this nonsense ever happened?”

“This is a time machine,” the construct reminded him.

“I don’t like cheating too much,” the Doctor said. “I’ve already broken more rules in three relative years than I have in three thousand.”

“Nonetheless, a period of relaxation might be in order,” the not-Chalcedony suggested.

The Doctor smiled. “For an AI, you’re remarkably persistent.”

“I was programmed to be persistent,” the construct remarked.

He nodded, a slow smile appearing on his face. “As it happens, I do have one idea. Little bit of a cheat… but I suppose checking what the history books say never hurt.”

The Doctor flicked a switch, moved to the typewriter, input a series of coordinates, and set the TARDIS in motion...

There was a certain charm in rereading a book, over and over again. A flow of sorts, if Ana were to describe the sentiment. Unfortunately, her latest read-through of The Little Prince was occasionally interrupted by the coughing of the only other person in the room. The peculiar Englishman with the umbrella. It wasn’t only that, either. From glances here and there, the man came across as someone who possessed quite the intelligence, and knew it. His gaze confirmed as much when Ana caught him scrutinizing her for the umpteenth time.

He had said something earlier about calling in a specialist in ‘unusual things’ to examine her, and that they would be arriving shortly. That had been at least two hours ago, and he had only grown more visibly impatient as time went on. Suddenly, from somewhere outside the room, there reverberated a noise, a distant rumbling, ringing noise, one very familiar to Ana.

She started. ‘But that’s–’

A moment later, a new man walked into the room, a slight frown on his face. He was young, somewhere in his late twenties, perhaps, with red hair cut reasonably neatly. He wore a tweed coat over a mothworn green jumper and brown corduroy trousers.

The Englishman frowned at him as he entered.

“You’re late, Doctor.”

The man, surely no lowercase-D doctor, smiled thinly. “Traffic was murder.” He looked at Ana. “This is the patient you wanted me to examine?”

The Englishman glanced at Ana with that icy gaze of his.

“Yes, obviously,” he said, shortly. “Doctor, would you kindly…?”

“Yes, yes, ‘get on with it’, I get it, Mikey,” the redhead said irritably. He walked up to Ana’s bed, frowning at her. “What happened to her, anyway?”

“I touched a tree,” Ana blurted out, quickly, simply.

The redhead blinked. “You touched… a tree.”

“Well, in my defense,” Ana continued, ignoring the dark look from ‘Mikey’ “It wasn’t exactly an ordinary tree, or ordinary anything, really. It’s hard to explain, so, um, bear with me?”

The redhead motioned for Ana to continue. His expression had softened from disbelief to something resembling curiosity.

“Don’t worry too much. I’ve got all the time in the universe.”

“Right… right,” Ana inhaled. “It’s… old. Really old, I mean. an ancient tree, white and glimmering. You, you could tell it’s old just by… feeling it, or even just looking at it. I sound ridiculous, don’t I?”

The redhead shook his head, eyes narrowed. “Not at all. It sounds like you encountered the Tree of Harmony.”

“The ‘Tree of Harmony’?” the Englishman repeated with a frown.

“Short story, magical tree of magical magicness,” the redhead said. “Longer story, technical source of Harmony with a capital ‘H’ in Equestria. Thing’s a great big source of ‘Big Good’. Generally powerful magical… thing, and sometimes alive, depending on which version you look at. The version on this world serves as much as an epitaph as anything else. Or a legacy.” He turned back to Ana. “I never caught your name, by the way.”

Ana smiled. “To be fair, I never caught yours, Doctor…?”

“Just Doctor,” the redhead said. “Or ‘the’ Doctor. Definite article. I had a real name... but it’s long and very boring. I go by ‘Richard Bowman’ sometimes, but given certain individuals…” Here he glared at the Englishman, “I’d rather not go with that one if it can be helped.”

“The Doctor is here at my personal request,” the Englishman said stiffly.

“I’m here because Mikey threatened my friends,” the Doctor clarified, smiling sardonically. “But, hey ho, that’s probably the least unpleasant thing I’ve encountered over the last few days, so, Miss…”

“Ana Bjorgman.”

“... Bjorgman.” The Doctor smiled. “Let us have that examination.” He turned to look at ‘Mikey’. “In private.”

“Doctor,” the Englishman said, “I really think–”

“Ever heard of ‘doctor-patient confidentiality’?” the Doctor asked. “Trust me, it’s awesome. Don’t get your starched underwear in a twist, Mikey, I’ll let you know if there’s anything you need to worry about. Unless of course you don’t want me around?”

The Englishman sniffed. “Very well, it seems you leave me little option, Bowman.” He inclined his head. “Miss Bjorgman.”

He turned to leave, and the Doctor sighed in relief.

“Phew, thought he’d never go,” he said. He took a small silver device, not unlike a penlight, from his jacket pocket. “Now then, Miss Bjorgman…”

“Are you the Doctor?” Ana blurted out.

The Doctor blinked. “Pardon?”

“Sorry, that came out faster than intended,” she said sheepishly. “But, I know Sparkler, and I’ve met her Dad–”

“Oh, right!” the redhead said, smiling. “Uh, no, I’m not him. Technically, I used to be ‘somepony’ very, very similar to him. Used to be a bit of a big secret, it did, but the cat’s out of the bag now, he knows.”

“Oh, cool,” Ana said, smiling. “Harwood made me watch Doctor Who... once…”

“What?” the Doctor asked, concerned by the sudden worried expression on her face.

“Well, I never saw too much of it,” Ana explained, “but if he’s here, and you’re here, then isn’t that bad?”

“Oh, no,” he said with a smile. “Different timelines. He’s never going to become me. When I was him, I never married Derpy Doo, and Dinky wasn’t my child, and Amethyst Star had literally nothing to do with them.”

“Wow,” Ana said, blinking at that last one. “That sounds… strange.”

“Imagine how I feel,” the Doctor said with a snort. “I come here, and the version of pony me running around is married. As in, married. To a missus and everything. Not something I’d have expected.” He paused. “Anyway, I believe I have a job to do.”

“Oh, right, right,” Ana replied hurriedly. “Where do we begin, Doctor?”

The Doctor ran his penlight over her, before glaring at it. “Huh. Let’s start with the other brain pattern that keeps popping up in your head, shall we?”

“O-other brain pattern?”

The Doctor smiled. “Yup. Faint reading, but definitely there. Or didn’t you know?”

‘Oh. Well then.’

“Shh.” Ana whispered out.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing rea– just, just carry on.”

The Doctor frowned. “Hm. Y’know, if the is another brain pattern in there, it could very well be malignant. I could–”

“I’m sure it’s fine!” Ana said, her haste betraying her.

The Doctor smirked. “Well, if you’re sure.” He glanced at his device. “Well, apart from that, you’ve just had a bit of what I suppose you could call a thaumic shock.”

“A thaumic shock?” Ana repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Uh, think static electricity, but bigger and thaumaturgical in nature,” the Doctor explained. “Must have been when you touched the tree. What made you decide that touching the blasted thing was a good idea?”

“Well, ‘I don’t know’ wouldn’t be a good enough answer, I think,” Ana said. “But… well, I really, really don’t know what pushed me there, to do it and all.”

“Does the voice inside have anything to do with it?” the Doctor asked.

“Uh… would ‘no, ish’ be good enough?” Ana asked with a slight shrug. “I can’t say I fully understand it myself.”

“And why wouldn’t you?”

“Because it’s on her, really.”

“Her being…”

“The ‘other brain pattern’, I guess. Never thought of it like that.”

“No,” the Doctor said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

There was a pause. Ana idly wondered which Doctor he was, with the eccentric behavior par for the course when one spoke with the Doctor himself. He did come across as slightly weary, compared to Amethyst’s ‘father’. Jaded, maybe even fatigued, but very much ‘the Doctor’.

“Curious as to what Mikey was worried about,” the Doctor said after a moment

“Well,” Ana replied, “he does seem like someone who’d be worried about anything.”

“Hmph,” the Doctor said, his tone turning bitter. “That’s one way to put it. I’d put it that he’s a politician. Willing to do anything and everything he can to get what he thinks is the best option, whether he tramples on anyone’s toes or not.”

Ana blinked at the tirade. The Doctor turned away from her, tapping his sonic screwdriver with one knuckle and frowning at it, as though expecting it to tell him something more.

“Um, Doctor,” she began slowly. “If… if you don’t mind me asking…” He glanced at her, and she gulped. “What… what did he do?”

“To me?” the Doctor asked. “Threatened me, mainly. And my friends, which is basically the same thing.”

“But… why?”

“Why?”

“Well, he…” Ana paused, thinking her next words over carefully. “He doesn’t come across as a man who does things for no reason.”

The Doctor snorted. “Oh, he had a reason, alright. Not a very good reason, but a reason.”

There was a pause. He blinked at the expectant look on her face. “Oh,” he said, “you wanted me to tell you.”

“If… if that’s alright.”

He smirked. “Well, I don’t care much about keeping his secrets right now. Just don’t spread this around, please.”

She nodded once.

“Basically, he wants me to do something abhorrent,” the Doctor said slowly. He frowned, as though deep in thought. “It… he… a question, for you.”

“Oh?” Ana asked, taken aback.

“Do you think a bad deed can have a good outcome?” the Doctor asked. “Do you think it would be worth it, even if it did?”

And Ana found herself back in that one, dark corner of her mind.

If she were to have taken the shot early, would it make a difference? If she had never taken up that unblinking, polymer-hoofed mare’s offer in Indonesia, what good would she have done? And where would she be now, if she had never accepted a shady smuggler’s work offer, all those years ago in Russia?

“Well,” she finally replied. “It… wouldn’t be too obvious, without, without the benefit of… hindsight, as it were. I mean… we, we all have, well, one or two mistakes or, wrong turns, in our pasts, of course.”

“Some of us more than one,” the Doctor said quietly. “Alright, how’s this for a question. Imagine you’re doing something bad. Now, imagine you have a time machine, and you go to the future to see just what happens, and it’s even worse than you imagined. The ‘good’ thing you wanted to happen, happens, but there are prices to pay that none of the people asking you to do the bad thing anticipated, or if they did, they didn’t try hard enough to prevent it. Now the question stands, are the bad deed, and that ‘good’ outcome, really worth it?”

Ana frowned, feeling a weight on her head. “Does this… does this have to do with Ponyville?”

“Perhaps,” the Doctor said. “I can’t really talk about it, of course.”

It all came back to the shot. Her call to make, how one mistake led to another. But was it a mistake? Was it not?

“Difficult, isn’t it?” he asked with a sympathetic smile. “Fortunately, it’s my problem to deal with. Too much foreknowledge’s a terrible thing. I should really give it up.”

Ana inclined her head, not entirely sure of her own response.

“Now here’s a final question, Miss Bjorgman, the trickiest of all,” the Doctor said. He sighed. “I know one person will suffer terribly for what happens. I’m not talking about probabilities here, I know what is going to happen to them. I’ve seen it. I can try to save them, but it’s risky. A lot at stake.”

“Like… what?” Ana said quietly.

The Doctor sighed. “My friends. If I don’t do as I’m asked, Mikey’s made certain aspersions, and I believe he’d follow through.”

Ana blinked, surprised at that. For a moment, there was a silence, as she thought about what he had said.

“I… well, I don’t know you very well,” she said. “But I wouldn’t think you were the type to give in to threats.”

“Normally, I’m not,” the Doctor said with a sigh.

“Then what’s different?”

He paused for a moment, as though trying to find an answer, then he shrugged.

“By the way,” he said, “have you ever heard a song in Simlish?”

“In what?” Ana asked, bemused by the sudden non-sequitur.

“Simlish. language the Sims use. I can’t stop listening to them. It’s so weird when the TARDIS tries to translate it.” The Doctor chuckled. “Sorry. That just occurred to me.”

“Well, I might have, but it’s been a long time since anyone’s played the Sims…”

“Ah, quite,” the Doctor smiled. “Well.”

“Look, Doctor,” Ana said, frowning slightly. “I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about but… do what’s right. That’s important, isn’t it?”

The Doctor took a deep breath. “It is. It always is.” He paused. “Alright, Miss Bjorgman. You seem fit as a fiddle, thaumic shock notwithstanding. Have a day more in bed, and.. Oh...” He pulled out a small metal case out and passed it to her, winking. “Take two of these and call me in the morning.”

He stood up to walked out, closing the door behind him. “Oi, Mikey…!”

“Well, Bowman,” she heard the voice of ‘Mikey’ say from outside. “I trust all went well?”

“As well as anything’s well these days,” the Doctor said shortly. A pause, yet as Ana strained her ears, she caught the sound of him rustling around his pockets. “All on this beauty… and, no, Mikey. You’re not having it.”

“‘No’?” the Englishman repeated, barely audible over the sound of footsteps, with both men wandering ever farther off. Yet Ana managed to get the Doctor’s last few words.

“The crystal,” he said. “Apart from what Colonel Renee said, there’s also the fact I custom wrote this AI, modeled after someone dear to me. She’s essentially a living being. I’m not giving her to you to dissect...”

The reply of the strange Englishman with the umbrella was lost to her. Shaking her head, Ana chose to put it out of her mind for now, focusing on the metal case before her. Hesitating, her memory still fresh from the last time she’d touched something unknown, she lifted the lid. Inside were… sweets?

There was also a small note, written on a card adorned by a question mark.

It’s the simple things in life you miss the most when they go.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Ana said aloud, smiling. She took one of the sweets and bit into it. Relishing its succulent taste, she decided to lay back and relax, maybe have another.

‘It’s the simple things.’ She nodded. ‘I can definitely get behind that.’

“I know she’s not the same as the one you love,” Chrysalis said. “Yet even I would find it hard to believe that after seeing what our enemy forced your girlfriend to do, Bauer, you can just sit there and watch as we make another Trixie Lulamoon pay for it.”

Stephan ignored the comment, keeping his arms folded as he observed the unconscious Spy. The three of them were the only ones left here.

“Silent treatment?” the Changeling Queen asked, snorting in amusement. “That’s hardly a mature attitude.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Stephan asked suddenly, sounding more than a little angry.

“‘Enjoying’?” she repeated. “Why yes, I suppose in some ways I am.” She chuckled. “After all, it’s not every day one gets to witness an absolutely masterful ploy such as this. I could learn a thing or two.”

“You might think this is fun, Chrysalis,” Stephan said, scowling at her, “but I don’t.”

“No,” the Changeling Queen said with a smile. “And that’s the most ironic thing about you humans yet. You’re willing to do such things, willing to lie, to cheat, use others to take the blame for your actions… and yet you’re so dour about it all. No sense of playfulness. So talented at what you do, while hating the fact that you do it.”

Stephan’s scowl deepened, but he kept silent. If only she knew how wrong she was about certain people he’d rather not name.

“I mean, look at this situation,” Chrysalis said. “You accept that you need to do this to the Blue Spy’s oh-so-innocent counterpart, and yet here you are, brooding about it. It’s really quite hilari–”

“Shut up,” Stephan snapped. “I’m not interested in your sniping, your barbs, or your cleverness. Yes. I hate this. Would it make more sense for me to enjoy it? Would you prefer it if I had a laugh about what we’re doing? Would that make it easier for you?”

“Easier? For me? No,” Chrysalis said, unruffled. “But still. If you hate this so much...”

“If I hate this so much, why am I letting it happen?” Stephan finished. “You could ask any of us the same question. I dare say you’re the only one getting any enjoyment out of this.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Though I will remind you, Chrysalis. You were the one who suggested giving the other Trixie the Spy’s memories.”

“Well, yes,” Chrysalis admitted. “And it makes wonderful sense. But I neither love her nor particularly care what happens to her, whereas you apparently do both.”

“I do,” Stephan admitted. He glared at her. “And you’re right. This entire thing is scheisse. But we do it anyway.”

“Why?” she asked, still smiling.

He looked away from her. “Because it means someone else doesn’t have to.”

Chrysalis chuckled. “Well, we should hope that this mythical ‘someone else’ appreciates it. Otherwise this would all be rather pointless, wouldn’t you say?”

He said nothing.

Luna approached Celestia, who was staring out of a window in the empty corridor. The Sun Princess had her back to her sister, but Luna could catch a glimpse of her expression reflected in the window. Melancholy, regret, concern.

“Well?” Celestia asked quietly.

“The seeds of doubt are planted,” Luna said, dolefully as ever. She stepped up to stand next to Celestia, looking out of the window with her. “I do not doubt she at least partially believes me, even if she senses nothing wrong with her memories.”

“Of course,” Celestia said quietly. “I have told Fancy that the PHL will give a press conference with the perpetrator. He is making preparations.”

“He believed us, then,” Luna noted with a frown.

“I hardly expected another course,” Celestia said quietly. “Who would disbelieve us?”

Luna glanced at her sister, to see her face had grown dour. “Tia,” she said softly. “if you do not believe this is the right course-”

“I don’t,” Celestia hissed. “This is such… the words fail me...”

“It is Discord-work,” Luna finished for her. “Warping the minds of people to our own ends.”

Celestia nodded, her expression hardening. “And we agreed.”

Luna took a breath. “We could still stop it. Could speak with Marcus, this Mister Holmes, come to some alternative arrangement…”

“Could we?” Celestia asked. “Now we are so committed?”

“Yes!” Luna hissed softly. “Why not? Why could we not? Neither of us likes this, Tia, not me, not you, not Stephan. Even Marcus hates it, you must sense that, too.”

“Oh, yes,” Celestia said with a mirthless smile. “His expression is quite plain, much as he believes himself the picture of stoicism. He hates this as much as we do. Hell,” she added, her voice taking on a strange timbre, “even Holmes has a fucki-”

She caught herself, closed her eyes, and Luna’s frown deepened.

“Sister?” she asked softly. “Are you alright? That… did not sound like you.”

“Marcus’ memories have left their indelible mark,” was all Celestia said, by way of explanation. She opened her eyes again. “There is not one amongst us who believes this is a good option, Luna. That was never the question. The question is, do we believe we have another?”

“The truth?” Luna asked.

“No,” Celestia said. “No, not this time. Sometimes, the truth is not good enough.”

Luna’s expression turned icy. “So when did lying to our subjects become something we were comfortable with?”

“I am not comfortable,” Celestia hissed, rounding on her so fast that Luna actually took a step back from her sister. “Nothing about this makes me comfortable, or happy, or satisfied.”

“Then why are we doing it?” Luna asked. “Do we really trust our subjects so little?”

Her sister sighed, turning away from her. “It’s… not about trust.”

“Oh, it is,” Luna said, scowling. “Celestia, when did we stop trusting our subjects?”

Celestia gave her a look, full of sorrow and anger all at once. Then she sighed. “When we learned that, even on this world, some would rather support the genocide of an entire species than defy tyranny. Our little ponies, Luna. Not strangers with their faces from another world. Our. Ponies.”

Luna blinked. “Tia… you do not believe that. This isn’t the real reason. You, out of all of us, would know ponies aren’t perfect. Many of them are just scared. They do not understand. They have not seen the world Tirek has created, not like we have.”

“Except they have,” Celestia said heavily. “By proxy, anyway. In the month of my absence, what did we allow the PHL to do, if not hammer the same lesson into them, over and over, that Equestria’s great enterprise of Harmony is doomed to fall into corruption, unless, if we truly want peace, we must prepare for war?”

“We’ve seen war before,” Luna reminded her sister. “Together, we shouldered this burden for hundreds of years, keeping the nameless things that gnaw at this world at bay, so that our people would not let deepest fear cloud their vision, and focus their attentions on what truly matters… each other. But if we no longer trust them, what was the good of it?”

Her head began to sag, suddenly tied down by invisible weights. She straightened up again, however, as she felt Celestia droop a comforting wing over her shoulders.

“Little Moon,” Celestia said with a sad smile. “You know how, out of all the mistakes I’ve made, my greatest regret is my failure to sense your loneliness, a long time ago. How I remember, it is not anger which drove you at first, even as you refused to wrap up the night.”

As, slowly, she nodded, Luna had to hold back tears. “And I’m still… sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, big sister. I thought, if only they could stay and see how beautiful my night was, they’d like me. Instead, they grew afraid, and I grew angry.”

“And so you declared war on the day,” Celestia said simply.

Luna flinched, but did not rebuke. Hard as they were to hear, her sister’s words spoke truth.

“Yes,” she said. “A brief, bitter war… upon you. Wearing a monster’s face, but deep inside, it was just me... sad, and angry, and vengeful. How you could trust me afterwards, I don’t think I’ll ever understand.”

Celestia nuzzled her forehead. “You’re my sister, Luna. Always. The same sister who let dark forces take her, whom I believed that, on a night when six of our subjects had rekindled a friendship like the one I let slip away from us, would embrace its spark, because this is what Princess Luna truly wanted.” She exhaled, blowing softly on the strands of Luna’s starlit mane. “Nightmare Moon was just a bad dream. Inside, you were always you.”

Luna slowly shook her head, in regret, not denial. “What are you trying to say?”

Celestia sighed. “Maybe this is how to make our subjects truly understand,” she said sadly. “Make them see. They’ve been shown images, heard the stories, but it’s as if they weren’t hearing about ponies at all, merely another monster, which happens to wear ponies’ faces.”

“But that’s just what this is,” Luna said, pulling away from her sister. “Tirek, his claws around many of our people and the converted humans alike, like a puppeteer pulling strings. The Tyrant has less to do with you than Nightmare Moon did with me, Tia.”

“Yes… Except they do not know of Tirek. Nor of what humans are capable even without him.”

And at last, true understanding struck Luna. “Madame Heartstrings… her secret... this is exactly like that, isn’t it? What you mean when you say the truth isn’t good enough. You believe, for now, it is lying which shall elevate us.”

“Nearly,” Celestia said. “Or close enough. Our people won’t go into war knowing those they fight are, essentially, them, twisted out of shape by the Centaur. All they see, all they’ve been taught to see, are creatures who look like ponies yet act like the worst Tartarus has to offer. And I don’t mean the Newfoals.”

“But the humans…” Luna began slowly.

“... have, from the start, not been fully honest,” Celestia acquiesced. “Why should they be? They need us. And if the Tyrant comes here, we shall need them. It’s the reason we cannot admit that what Miss Lulamoon did was, beneath the subtle manipulation, a product of human warcraft.”

Luna stared out the window. “So… is this it?” she asked, glancing at a line of dust on the sill. “To deny this hooded mare her victory, we sacrifice one more of our people for humanity’s sins. When I mentioned we had another Miss Lulamoon in custody, is that why you allowed me to continue speaking?”

Celestia sounded grim. “Do you remember what we each said that day, before we learnt of the terrible news, after we’d presented Sir Fancy anew with the keys of power?”

Closing her eyes, Luna nodded. “My words were, ‘Humanity’s wrath today shall be the vanguard of this lesson. It is time that our ponies learn we shall not always be around to stem the punishment which their faults bring upon them. A simple smile cannot make all of the Nightmares go away’.”

Though Celestia chuckled, there was no humor in it.

“You do love grandiosity, dear sister,” she said. “I must admit, it’s most easy to get caught up in your passions. I was scarcely better. In declaring Equestria needed to forfeit its arrogance, I saw too much of this dark Empire we’re confronted with, and not enough of the quiet, peaceful nation we’ve truly been for centuries... Yes, Luna. To preserve humanity’s image as righteous victims in this war, we must make our people see that the evil we face is no outsider, no fearful ‘other’, but a rot which lurks inside each of us... Us ponies, that is.”

“And so our Trixie Lulamoon becomes our proof,” Luna whispered. “Our proof of how anger, fear and desperation can drive basically decent people to commit great crime… even though, in her case, that isn’t what actually happened.”

“Yet does it matter,” said the High Princess of Equestria, “so long as a lesson is learned?”

A great weight hung between them following those last words.

Finally, Luna sighed. “We have already taken... the first steps.”

“Indeed,” Celestia said softly. She took a breath. “Now all we are left with is the hooded mare.”

“The one Major Bauer encountered?” Luna asked.

Celestia nodded. “With this unsavory business concluded, we shall need to turn our attention to her.”

“You suspect she is the enemy’s agent on our world,” Luna guessed.

“It is obvious, is it not?” Celestia asked. “An agitator, one who seeks to sow confusion, or something more perhaps. I suspect all that has transpired has done so according to her design. The Spy, Bauer’s kidnapping, perhaps even the chaos in Ponyville and its results.”

“Whoever she is, she’s dangerous, dangerous enough to threaten Discord, Bauer, the Spy,” Luna said. “We are not facing an ordinary opponent. And yet…”

“And yet?” Celestia asked.

“The Spy could have been turned to deadlier purpose,” Luna pointed out. “Deadlier still than she was. It seems strange she should be set upon a village like a blunt instrument.”

“Perhaps,” Celestia said. “But we mustn’t assume our enemy did not make that choice deliberately, or that she did not do so for a reason. Make no mistake. We act now as much to counter her plans as we do to protect the Alliance, whatever her endgame may be.”

“We cannot be on the defensive forever.”

“There,” Celestia said, a new, almost predatory look in her eye, “you are absolutely right.”

Luna sighed. “For now, we await this Doctor Bowman, see what he’ll do with the memories.”

“Yes. What he will do. Whatever that proves to be.”

“What do you mean?”

Celestia met her eyes. “Marcus knows of Bowman through reputation, primarily, but they have met. The impression I get is that he is not one to simply ‘do as he is told’.” She smiled mirthlessly. “You may yet get your third option.”

Luna nodded. “Until then, we bear this shame together, humanity and we.”

“Like any good packhorses, my sister.”

We had the first pieces of the puzzle in place. The memories of the attack on Ponyville had been copied, the innocent Trixie Lulamoon had been told our lie, and was even swallowing it. Part of me thought, ‘maybe we should stop’. That we should quit while we were ahead, let Bowman go do whatever he wanted, and forget this whole stupid fucking thing.

But now we’d committed. We’d promised to reveal the details to the public – and I still couldn’t bring myself to believe the truth wouldn’t damage the Alliance. I couldn’t. It was too big a risk, especially now, when we were so fucking close...

And so we pressed forwards. Now all that remained was implanting the memories in the other Trixie…

Author's Notes:

Hey. Jed R here again, continuing In The Pale Moonlight. I'd like to take this chance to thank everyone for their feedback on the last chapter. Hope you enjoy this :-)