“I once asked Kai Opaka why a disbeliever was destined to seek the Prophets, and she told me one should never look into the eyes of one's own gods. I disagreed. I told her I would do anything to look into their eyes. She suggested that I sit in darkness for a day and quite properly so.”
– Winn, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, ‘In The Hands of the Prophets’

“I’m not an impatient man. I’m not one to agonize over decisions once they’re made. I got that from my father. He always says worry and doubt are the greatest enemies of a great chef. The soufflé will either rise or it won’t. There’s not a damn thing you can do about it, so you might as well just sit back and wait and see what happens. But this time the cost of failure was so high I found it difficult to follow his advice…”
– Benjamin Sisko, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: ‘In The Pale Moonlight’

I promise I’m not doing this to string you on. If anything, I’m stringing myself along... Dammit, I don’t want to say it, but… I have to do it. So the plan was in motion. We were relying on Doctor Bowman to pull a rabbit out of his hat the same way he’d pulled a grey unicorn computer out of his coat. But the plan relied on him being willing to see it through.

I had my doubts. Not about his ability, God knows Doctor Whooves has always been able to pull shit out of his hat, but about his dedication to our cause. Don’t know if you read up on him, but Bowman’s history is a file littered with him refusing to do what Colonels Munro or Hex wanted, Hex complaining, Munro complaining, and Bowman telling them where to stick it, only getting off the hook because somehow, he was useful enough to be worth the shit he pulled. He’d been involved in more crazy shit than I could throw a stick at, Montreal, Imperial Creed, Armacham… until he’d finally up and vanished after a mission only referred to as the “EHS operation”. All this told me was he was a competent guy… but he did what he thought was right, not what other people told him to.

Now our entire plan was hinging on a man I didn’t trust to get it done.

As it turns out, I was right. More right than I knew.

“Are you serious?”

Stephan’s voice was a low hiss in Marcus’ ear as he rose from his seat next to Trixie.

“Do you realize how many loose ends we’re left with?” he growled. “Discord might as well be rock again for all the help he can give, one of Vanhoover’s trainers is nursing an injury in the hospital, one’s been sent on leave by you, and the third’s spending half his time here in confidence as medic, I’ve got Cutter trailing Bowman, and… and now you’re telling me we can’t even tell Trixie, our Trixie, the truth?”

The Spy’s hospital room hadn’t changed. Trixie had been placed back in the glass case, though the lid was left open, and Stephan sat next to her every night. Few would have known, but Marcus did, how anxious he always was, inside and outside this room.

Marcus sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “The more people know, the greater the risk of it leaking out. You know that.”

“I don’t fucking care!” Stephan yelled. “She has a right to know, even… even if it hurts, living with what she did! Hiding this from her would be the final sign we don’t trust her!”

“A right to know what?” Marcus said quietly. “That she got turned into a weapon? Was ready to slaughter an entire town in the name of the mission? She’s already living with enough horrors as it is. Do you want her living with that weight as well?”

“Are you sure you’re talking about this for her sake,” Stephan said darkly, “…or yours?”

The German officer must have seen him wince at those words. Yet Marcus had shared his regret for the fiasco at Defiance to none except Stephan Bauer. Told him how, while the rest of the world had celebrated the destruction of the HLF leadership, he had drank himself into a stupor for several days, to try and forget.

“We’ve got mess on our hands. We need to fix it. What do you want to do, Amerikaner?”

Marcus closed his eyes in thought, humming a tune. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked to his friend.

“What do you want, Stephan?” he asked.

“I…” Stephan’s eyes, hooded and darkened from too many nights like this, were fixed on the perpetually-sleeping Trixie in bed. “I want her safe… whole and unbroken by this war.”

Marcus remained silent, watching as Stephan took his place back by her bedside, taking her hoof with his hand. Stephan brought it up to his lips and gave it a light kiss.

“She would hate me…” Stephan murmured. “She will hate me for doing this. To even consider passing the burden to another from her own faults. She will never forgive me, and I would gladly accept her lashing words, if only to set her free.”

Marcus watched as Stephan held onto Trixie, shaking at the thought of her vanishing before his eyes. He silently straightened himself.

“I have to go,” he said quietly. “I need to do some paperwork - doesn’t seem like anything stops that stuff from being a pain in the ass.” He paused awkwardly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Stephan’s last words echoed in his mind as he closed the door behind him.

“Marcus... please… I don’t want to lose her.”

Viktor Kraber sobbing in a room with Pinkie Pie. An intense sadness. Tears staining the floor.

“I should’ve known this would happen,” Aegis sighed, hanging his head as he looked to Rarity. “It could’ve only ended in tears!”

Rarity stared up at the massive, stoic white stallion in the doorway. “There there, Mister Aegis. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”

“But I should have!” Aegis exclaimed. “This always happens! Knowing how Kraber’s mind works, it was only a matter of time before they ended up like this! How? How could I have been so blind?!”

“That made WATER come out of my eyes!” Pinkie sobbed, leaning against Kraber on their couch as the credits rolled. “That’s so sad…”

“It’s so… beautiful…” Kraber said, wiping tears from the corner of an eye.

“I should have known this would happen. He always cries while watching Wolf Children Ame and Yuki.” Aegis said, rolling his eyes as he watched the credits.

“Hana was just such a good mom!” Pinkie said, burying her face in Kraber’s arms. Then, abruptly, her mane reinflated and she got a huge smile. “She just goes through everything to support her pups...”

“Wait. Why didn’t you say foals?” Kraber asked.

“Well, with all the past few months it sounds kind of hippocentric and… well, they’re wolves, they’re children, so ‘pups’ works?” Pinkie suggested. “I dunno.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Kraber admitted, stroking his beard and running his fingers through her mane. “I have to admit. It’s… it’s a pleasure to really get to know you like this.”

“You too!” Pinkie said. “I can’t believe I was told to stay away from you, you’re perfectly nice!”

Rarity caught the look that Aegis and Kraber exchanged.

“Anyway,” Aegis said. “Kill la Kill time!”

“Kill la what now?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, you’ll like it, Rarity!” Pinkie exclaimed. “It’s got fashion, and clothes, and… and…”

Kraber was uncharacteristically silent.

“That sounds… fun,” Rarity said slowly, taking a step through the doorway. “Ah, well. I suppose I can join in. Does anyone have the DVD?”

“I do!” Pinkie Pie chirped.

“No,” the Doctor repeated irritably. “You’re not having it.”

He and the man commonly referred to as ‘Umbrella Man’ were stood on a balcony in Canterlot Palace. The Doctor had come here to relax after a stressful day, since he happened to enjoy the sky of Equestria. The Umbrella Man, unfortunately, had wanted to speak to him.

“Doctor, the technology is unprecedented,” said the stern-sounding Englishman – Mycroft Holmes, the Doctor thought, irritated at himself, perhaps ironically, for using pronouns and nicknames. “Imagine what we could achieve if granted the capacity to study it.”

“I am imagining,” the Doctor retorted irritably. “I am imagining every single potentially catastrophic thing you could possibly do with it. Let me say this as clearly as I can, Mikey. You are not having the Apex Crystal unless you pry it from my cold, permanently dead hands.”

The Umbrella Man paused, inclining his head. “I see. Then for now, the matter will be dropped. Thank you again for your assistance with Miss Bjorgman.”

“Hm,” the Doctor grunted as the Umbrella Man left. He leant against the railing of the balcony, suddenly feeling very, very tired. It had been a long, long couple of days.

He thought back to his conversation with Ana Bjorgman. The answer she’d given him. “Do what’s right. That’s important, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” he said aloud. “But what’s ‘right’ here?”

He paused, scowling, and glanced behind him. He was alone on the balcony, or so it seemed.

“Alright,” he said. “You can come out now.”

There was a pregnant pause, but nothing more.

“You can either skulk in the shadows, knowing I know you’re there,” the Doctor continued, his voice tired, “or you can come out, be polite, and we can talk. Really, I don’t mind either way.”

Another moment passed, and then a mare was standing next to him.

There was an almost deliberate air of the unobtrusive about her, but she was distinctive, with her polymer forehoof, goldenrod coat and olive-green mane, a single lock of which obscured one eye. The leather PHL jacket she wore, made out of real leather, was slung over her withers almost lazily.

“Well, well,” the Doctor said, folding his arms. “Pineapple Cutter, Salonen’s… assistant.”

“Doctor Richard Bowman,” the mare returned in a dull tone. “R&D’s favorite layabout.”

The Doctor snorted. “Well, I see they’ve got you tailing me now, as opposed to the good Major Bauer. Just as well, really, I suspect you’d be bored.”

“Bauer actually offered me Kraber,” Cutter replied, shrugging almost imperceptibly. “Would have been boring. Kraber has no finesse.”

“So you went from being assigned to follow Kraber to being assigned to follow me?”

“Actually asked to follow you,” Cutter replied. “You are interesting.”

The Doctor stared off into the city below. “Thanks, I think.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” the mare said, a glint in her one visible eye. “The Chinese use the phrase ‘may you live in interesting times’ as a curse. Want to know where I learned that?”

“Well, I tend to skip the less interesting times, so I guess I curse myself,” the Doctor snorted. He turned to look back out over the city, twin cities, as the first lights of Canterlot and New New York began to go on with the setting sun.

“Most people don’t feel comfortable turning their back on me,” Cutter remarked.

“Oh, you won’t kill me,” the Doctor snorted. “Or maybe you will. There are worse ways to go. But I am in no mood for one of your riveting discussions on the bleak nature of our existence, I’m sorry to say.”

“You asked me to show myself.”

“True.” He paused. “Well, do you want to kick us off?”

She came to stand next to him, looking out over the city. “I have been following you for the last two days. Not what one calls an easy prospect. You have been to many places. Some of them much further afield than I could follow.”

“Clever little thing, aren’t you?” he asked.

“One of my many talents,” she said with a cold smile. “Man changing clothes as often as you would ordinarily be a sign of vanity. Though those trousers are hardly flattering, yes?”

“When did you become a fashion critic?”

“I have many talents.”

He snorted. “Sure.” He paused. “So, spill. How much do you know?”

She glanced up at him. “I presume you refer to what you’ve been asked to do. What makes you so… hostile to your supposed allies.” She smirked. “Everything. I know everything. The Colonel is very loud.”

“He is, isn’t he?” the Doctor said casually, a smirk of his own forming. “And Mikey’s so long-winded. Still, I’m guilty of that one too.”

“Character filibuster,” Cutter said blandly. “Speaking and speaking and speaking. It’s called a ‘character filibuster’, yes?”

“Seriously, how do you know that?”

“I have many talents.”

“And there's no doubt you are ever full of surprises,” the Doctor said with a snort. “So tell me something, Pineapple Cutter. I’m genuinely curious about your perspective on this. A bad thing, done for supposedly good reasons by desperate people. I imagine you’re full of philosophical discourse on the subject.”

Looking thoughtful for a moment, Cutter favored him with a nod. “Bush league.”

The Doctor blinked. “‘Bush league’?”

“Humans do terrible things in war,” Cutter said, shrugging. “Changelings change shape. Ponies sing spontaneously. And, yes, water is wet. Want me to stand up and shout ‘objection’? As though this is simply not how things are? I was at Defiance, Bowman. I saw it all.”

The Doctor nodded slowly, her words sinking in deep. “There... I suppose you do have a point. I just wish...”

“You wish you could prevent it,” she finished for him. “Somehow prevent these unpleasant things from becoming necessary.”

The Doctor nodded. “That’s a fair assessment.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have done it before,” Cutter stated, tilting her head. “Changed history for your own ends. Munro. Hex. Chalcedony. All knew that you changed history. Marcus Renee knows it too. The lives of all who live now are not the lives they were meant to lead.”

The Doctor harrumphed. “You know there is no ‘meant’’ to lead. There’s only the life you lead.”

“Disingenuous from a man who plays God with millions of lives.”

“I wasn’t acting alone,” the Doctor said quietly. He looked away from her again, upwards. “You watching still? I suppose you are, you never aren’t. You sent me out here. Now what do I do?”

“Who are you talking to?” Cutter asked. “A higher power?”

“If you like,” the Doctor said wryly. “Higher powers are a lot more common than you think.”

Her eye glinted, a sharp, cold glint. “Yes. And yet they do not help.”

“Oh, they poke their heads in here and there,” the Doctor countered. “Light powers, bored powers, pseudo-gods, demi-gods, would-be-gods, not-really-gods, powerful aliens, clever aliens… it isn’t only darkness that lies in wait out there.”

“Yet are they of use to anyone’s well-being?” Cutter pointed out, gesturing with her ivory limb. “War… war never changes. The dead do not rise forever. Miracles do not happen. Mirror universes are mere stop-gaps. The cold always lurks out there.”

“Would you want anything different?” the Doctor asked.

“Me? No,” Cutter said glibly. “Don’t believe gods and powers have any place in preaching enlightenment to sacks of flesh. Not when the natural order is so beautifully simple. And not when they themselves are seldom any better. Look at you.”

“Me?”

“What are you, Doctor Bowman?” She chuckled to herself. “If not a man who makes decisions based on info he doesn’t share? What is it you said to a group of Vikings once? ‘I have taken human form to walk among you. I have tested you and I am displeased’. You said it in jest. But it’s true... isn’t it? One wonders whether you are displeased now.”

His expression hardened. “I am not a god.”

“You act like one,” Cutter said with a slow smile. “Did you ask Chalcedony whether she wanted to be saved? Or the Reavers? Did you ask the millions of lives you’ve changed whether they wanted their entire world altering? Did you even ask?”

“Is there a point buried in all of this?” the Doctor asked. “Or is this just another round of ‘hey Doctor, you suck and your morals suck, ya boo’? Cos really, that game’s old.”

“Actually I do have a point,” Cutter said. “You sit here wishing you could change things. I am telling you... why not?”

The Doctor frowned. “I… because it would be too far. What I’ve done so far, it was small. Time accommodates it. The old timeline merges in, because the changes–”

“Excuses,” Cutter said sharply. “You can change this time. You have done so before. Nothing is stopping you, yes?”

The Doctor frowned, looking out onto the twin cities again. After a moment, he turned and walked away from Cutter, aware she would be watching him go, still smiling that inscrutable smile. He asked himself what other plans people could be drawing tonight, what secrets they were keeping from each other, or sharing.

Far in the valley below, the early moon’s dim glow shone upon New New York, as thousands of soldiers from every corner of Equus trained hard beneath the gaze of their human instructors. Ranging from the banks of the Neighara, with amphibious assault drills, to the skies above, with dragons and griffons practicing their airborne strikes, neither a street nor building in the city was devoid of activity, on this summer evening.

Still, there were those given the luxury of some R&R tonight. Amongst them was the unit referred to as Vanhoover Company, currently relaxing in the high-rise buildings of Lower Manhattan. Originally a regular set of Guards composed entirely of Vanhoover natives, recent times had introduced an eclectic slew of new soldiers, ponies and otherwise, to the Company.

A lightweight, airborne infantry unit, the Vanhooverites – as they still called themselves – consisted mainly of pegasi, griffons, and Changelings, with some human instructors in various capacities, and the other two tribes of ponykind for completeness’ sake. The pegasi were a mixed bunch, from the old guard themselves to recruits from other cities in Equestria. And it was just a few days ago he’d received word they were to expect a late addition to their ranks.

To the senior officers of Vanhoover Company ~

By Royal Decree of Her Majesty Celestia, High Princess of Equestria,

Herewith do I submit the notification that Mr. Astron Blueblood, formerly Prince of Equestria, Scion of the Great Unicorn House of Blueblood, Duke of Canterlot and Knight of the Realm,

In recognition of his stated desire to serve Celestia and Country, is given permission to integrate the ranks of Vanhoover Company, the unit that was host to his customary year of military service now seven years ago.

Owing to Mr. Blueblood taking recent leave of his aristocratic titles, he is hence not applicable for the traditional position of officer granted to those of noble birth. Request that he be given the role of navigator as befits the mark of his special talent.

We understand that the belated addition of a new recruit places further demand on your duties. Blueblood has given assurance of maintaining good behavior during his time in your unit, yet should any evidence to the contrary arise, you are free to handle him as you would any recruit.

May you experience good fortune in the days ahead.

Signed,

~ His Excellency, Mr. Fancypants, Esq.,
Prime Minister of Equestria.

Winter held back a sigh as he skimmed through the triplicate letter for the hundredth time.

There in the library, seated with his books in a little armchair away from his comrades, as they laughed and joked around the warm fireplace, the young officer had a space in which to let his troubles take flight. Idly, he leafed through some heavyweight tome, trying to keep his mind from drifting back to that night two months ago. The night when he’d stood as a Guard and made the choice to join this united, greater army of Equus upon Discord’s grand opening of the bizarre human city.

His mother had asked him to reconsider, warning him of the trials he would go through on the hellworld that was Earth. But in the end, Snowdrop let him depart.

‘Humans are hard creatures from a hard world… Just promise me you’ll come back in one piece, Winter. I don’t like the thought of my son ending his days buried in the ground of an alien planet…’

Stellar had begged him to stay, for them to take care of little Frost together, playing as a war they had no stake in raged on.

‘Listen, cuz, you call me a goof, but really, I think you’re the one rushing into this blindly!’

Plus, who could ever forget, the spectacle Icewind had made in calling quits on the Guard.

Yet Winter Truce could not just stand by, watching his country march off to war. Of course, there were better things to do than deal with his insufferable cousin and ever-shy brother, though it did seem like Frost was starting to come out of his shell, thanks to a new friendship with a filly named Comet Tail. No, to serve his monarch and his nation, to go make history, would be the highest honor for him.

And so here he was, alone with his thoughts and new books. The library was filled with books covering numerous subjects, from astronomy (Cousin Stellar would have loved that), to human culture (which his mother would have loved to borrow) to children’s entertainment (which Frost would, frankly, have cuddled all night long). Then there was their history.

‘Fascinating,’ he thought, raising an eyebrow as he turned once again from the letter to the book it served as a pagemark for.

The early civilizations in the Fertile Crescent, the glory of the Roman Empire and the Chinese dynasties, the New World’s discovery and conquest, and the battlefields of the Great War... Oh, he could just turn into Twilight Sparkle and literally sleep among these books, away from those idiots and the martial arts lectures Sergeant Jaka continuously preached...

Analyzing the battle reports of the Conversion War led him to conclude that the war was playing out as a much larger variant of the Great War, what with the use of wave attacks, experimental weapons usage, and the overall stalemate situation.

Not that his comrades would care to notice.

‘That ponce Blueblood is probably fitting right in with this motley crew,’ he thought sourly. ‘No gravitas, none of them. Still act like this is one great cross-species picnic outing, and when we return, we’ll have girls – or boys, I guess – swooning all over us. How about that? His Highness, the prince of idiots in a company of idiots.’

The mere idea of dealing with someone like Blueblood around here was just too much to bear. Sure, he’d never met the Prince in person, but gossip in Canterlot trickled from the Palace servants’ quarters to the Guard barracks. Talk of how the Royal stallion cared for little except his own face was repulsive to Winter’s unassuming sensibilities.

Yes, Winter had long decided that his fellow soldiers were, to put it lightly, idiots. While some like the griffons were somewhat competent, the others, the fresh-faced pegasi and Changelings, were mindless fools in the field of battle. But at least they had the sense to accept him as the company’s loner and tactician. So he found himself left to his own devices...

“Alone again?”

… most of the time.

Suppressing another sigh, Winter looked up from Martin Gilbert’s book on world wars to see the source of interruption. It was one of the pegasus mares in his squad, one of the more laidback recruits. The dim light of the library did not show her well, but Winter could tell she had a light purple mane and a darker purple coloration.

“Yes, what does it look like?” Winter replied, a bit more harshly than intended. He thought he had learnt patience from sitting down on those long afterschool sessions together with Icewind.

The recruit frowned in response. “Well, you seem a bit grumpy... as always.”

She laid down in front of Winter, lazy eyes drifting from him to the book, then back to him. He tried his best to ignore her.

“So… a bit of a bookworm, eh?” she said casually. Winter awarded her a condescending look, before he shrugged.

“It would seem,” he said flatly. “Might I inquire as to… why, you’re here, and not the others?”

The recruit shrugged, perfectly mimicking his gesture.

“Thought the Lieutenant needed company, heh,” she said with a chuckle. Upon noticing his book, she tilted her head curiously. “The First World War: A Complete History? Looks like, uh, a heavy read.”

Winter sighed. “Depends on your definition of, ‘heavy’, Private…?”

“Morning Glory,” the mare replied, with a smirk. “You’re uh, lemme see… the Winter Soldier, that’s the one, right?”

Oh, blast. Much to his dismay, while the old, professional guard meshed surprisingly well with the griffons, his fellow trainees bonded with the Changelings over their shared statuses, and even began naming each other silly nicknames. Thus, the company now knew him as the ‘Winter Soldier’... which would, admittedly, have been kind of cool if it wasn’t just as based on his name as it was on his dirty white coat.

“Winter Truce, as I’ve insisted,” he said resignedly. “Although ‘Winter Soldier’ is, admittedly, quite the name, I must firmly order that you refer to me as Lieutenant Winter or any… variation thereof, Private.”

“Oooh, bit of a stiff one, are ya?” Morning said, with a giggle. She waved off the filthy look Winter gave her. “Sorry, I... People keep saying I should use my real name more often, but Morning Glory has a nice ring to it, eh?”

Winter raised an eyebrow. “Real… name?” he parroted.

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly… a pony, you see...” Morning said, her shape flickering.

Before Winter could inquire what, precisely, the mare had meant by her words, there was a flash of bright green light, illuminating the entire room in a brief yet eerie glow. When the figurative dust settled, Winter was left perplexed, for the mare before him had been replaced by an equally small, purple-maned Changeling. At least, he was sure it was a mane.

He cleared his throat. “So, you’re that Changeling we’ve all been hearing about, are you?”

“One and only!”

“Proud of it, as well,” Winter scoffed, and at once, the mare seemed sheepish. “Lucky for you, I’ve got far more to worry about than some… Changeling prankster. Trainer Bjorgman won’t be pleased to hear it if I have you put in chains, after all.”

“Oh, you so sure ‘bout that?” the Changeling winked, her grin returning.

Damn, the cuspids on these insect-like beings. He’d never felt overtly bothered by them, yet no wonder some other Guards had been looking over their shoulders for days after the disaster at the Royal Wedding.

“Quite frankly, that’d be the least to do,” Winter said coolly. “There’s a war on and I appreciate we’re all in the same boat while it lasts, but you must be aware that, if it came down to me, the whole buggy lot of you would spend a few months in chains for what you did. I don’t know whichever stunts you pulled, it’d be well within justice.”

She did not seem at all put off. Then again, she probably had heard it before. Bjorgman might have given him the stink-eye for it, and Mistress Moondancer would quietly retreat to her own corner of the library with a sad look of disapproval, but they knew he spoke his mind.

“Whichever stunts I pulled, eh?” the Changeling tittered. “I’ll take that as an invitation, boss. Matter of fact, we got someone here who could tell you more, if only he knew I was the same Changeling who… heh-heh-heh...”

Winter groaned. “Listen here, Missy,” he said, rolling each word. “I’ve had more than enough to deal with today, so would you kindl–”

But infuriatingly, the Changeling went ahead and snatched up his letter, right off the page.

“Ooh, what’s this?” she cooed. “Looks like we both had the same fellow on our minds, chief. Our very own Private formerly known as Prince.”

“This is none of your business, Private,” Winter told her off. “What recruits get up to amongst each other is their affair, but you can leave–”

“And what’s that about ‘military service’?” the Changeling giggled as she read further on. “Fancy any noblepony doing more training than poke a stick in the briar patch, with your sissy idea of warfare. I’ll bet they even let him sleep in late.”

“Sissy idea?” Winter said, indignant, “We’ve been incorporating new ideas from the get-go, Private, so you can shove it up your–”

“Picked up something from Harwood, hm?”

And Winter found himself a little flustered. If Sky Watch or Gilford were around, they’d have probably wanted a word with him, explaining this wasn’t proper officer conduct. Gilford had even got to see action a few days ago, lucky bird. Although he, like the other Vanhooverites commissioned by Colonel Renee for a special mission, had been strangely tight-lipped since their return, Bjorgman and Jaka nowhere to be seen, and Harwood absent half the time.

“Hey, you okay there, Lieutenant?” the Changeling said, snapping him out of his stupor. “You kind of zoned out.”

He sighed. Well, might as well elucidate one mystery. “Alright, ‘Morning’. Although I couldn’t care less, as a Royal Guard, if you’re a Changeling who’s got a history with one of the Royal Family, better inform me now. It’ll avoid… friction.”

“Hey, hey,” the Changeling said, quickly, wrapping a hoof around Winter’s shoulder. “Nothing too serious. Just had a run-in with him a couple days ago!”

“Days ago…” he repeated. “Right.”

She stuck a tongue out. “Bleh, go ask Ana, then. She knows where I went, and who else to run into but the new guy here, eh?”

“Maybe I will,” he said. “Harwood told me Bjorgman’s being discharged from hospital tonight. What do you propose about Blueblood, then? I don’t suppose you’re here for no reason?”

“Nope!” the Changeling said, and he had to blink when the green fire flashed her back into ‘Morning Glory’. “Actually, that’s why I came here and told you I was a Changeling, not like you bothered to remember everyone’s names here, is it? Mother wouldn’t approve. But know how Jaka and Harwood say we’ll be getting to the tough part of training? I’d figured, our new guy’s in so late, he’ll need a crash course in toughness. Who better than a Changeling?”

Even from a pony’s mouth, it was rattling to hear anyone call Queen Chrysalis ‘Mother’. Winter tried to surmise her expression, but realized he’d be better off scrutinizing anyone other than the capable liar before him.

“Ah,” Winter said stiffly. “So you are prepared to confess your infractions at the Wedding. And against the person of a Prince of the Realm, no less.”

“We-e-ell, sorta,” Morning said slyly. “If you want someone with a first-hoof account of what a pansy you’ve got on your hooves, you can take it from little ole Morning, Lieutenant. How ‘bout I tell you the story of where gallant Blueblood was at during the Wedding.”

Right then, he knew she had him. Which Royal Guard wouldn’t want to know just what the Prince, a Duke of Canterlot to boot, had been doing while they were out there, laying down their lives against the horde?

“Permission to speak,” Winter told her cautiously. “Though I remind you, no diffamation of a royal person may be tolerated by an officer of the Guard.”

“Heh-heh,” Morning chuckled. “First, heard that he weren’t royalty no more, and second, ain’t no diffamation if it’s true, hm? Anyways, if you’re worried I’m gonna say he was hiding in the cupboard away from the commotion, no fear. I can assure you, when it rained on Canterlot, Bluey was busy shaking off a large swarth of Changelings, including yours truly.”

“Is that so?” Winter said, surprised. “Wouldn’t have thought it.”

“Oh, sorry.” Morning checked herself. “Got my phrasing a bit mixed up. What I meant was, Bluey was busy shaking water off his back. Dunno what he was doing away from his cousin’s wedding in the first place, but he looked mighty upset when we dragged him kicking and hollering outta that shower, the crybaby. If anything I’d say he got more soaked than before.”

Winter gave her a long, hard stare.

“And what am I supposed to make of that, Private?” he said at last, coolly. “This sounds more like a reason why I shouldn’t trust any of you Changelings near the other recruits. The Trainers want us working as a team, but I don’t see much team spirit coming off you.”

Morning grinned again. “Au contraire, sir… with due respect,” she amended, slipping the letter back into his book. “If ya bothered keeping your ear to the ground, you’d know Morning here’s the very spirit of this team. Except maybe Ana, of course. Why’d you think you hear so much ‘bout Changeling me?”

“Aye, except for Bjorgman,” Winter replied. And realized he had just agreed with her. “You’ve made your point well enough, Morning. If me agreeing with you is what you want…” He took a breath. “Fine, I’ll concede Blueblood is, in fact, lagging behind the standards of this Company. Not entirely to blame, though, if the stories about him being a statue are true.”

“And wouldn’t Mother have loved that as a garden ornament,” Morning smiled. “But, well, he’s up and about now, and as Harwood always says, we’ve all got to stay on our hooves… I think. I promise you, Lieutenant, gimme your permission to handle Bluey, and I’ll get the team to pony him up in no time.”

‘Pony up, as in whip into shape, or pay a debt?’ Winter wondered. Yet he had to admit, either option had its appeal.

“Alright. Private,” he said, slowly. “Get him up to speed, but get Miss Bjorgman to help as well.”

“Oh, don’t you worry there,” Morning replied happily. “I’ll get her on board, sir.”

As the chirpy recruit trotted off, Winter silently returned to his book, wondering how Icewind might be up to, right now.

“Still no word?”

His cheek rested upon one forehoof, Icewind shook his head, watching as the catseye marble, suspended from its lanyard on the tip of his outstretched right wing, bobbed to and fro. Swallowing, he felt his other forehoof dig into the soft fabric of the couch.

“Icewind.”

Catseye’s voice, though whispered, jolted him somewhat. Blinking twice, he looked her way long enough to follow her gaze, and see what she was rebuking him for.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling his hoof up. “Didn’t mean to damage your property. I’m nervous, too, Miss Cat. And this, well, whole new thing we’re trying out here,” he added, patting the couch, “It’s kind of new for me as well. But I’m glad you agreed to it.”

She might have nodded, but all he noticed her do was push back her glasses.

“It’s nothing, really,” Catseye said gently. “To tell you the truth, I’m… not entirely sure what we’re doing. This’d be a first for me. Um, would you mind turning over?”

Having delicately placed his inactive secret-keeper on the coffee table, next to her cup of tea, Icewind quickened to follow her instructions, rolling himself onto his back. He found himself, of course, staring at the painted ceiling.

He coughed once. “Excuse me,” he said, drawing her attention by pointing up. “I’m not sure I ever asked you what that was about.”

Catseye glanced at where he was pointing. “That?” She chuckled, a bit forcedly, he thought. “That was there when I first moved into Bockscar.Avenue. Used to be a right snazzy location, this place, a few score years ago, but…” She sighed. “Well, it’s not so bad now, just not what it used to be. Not so many unicorns in Baltimare these days, ever since more griffons and other flyboys began taking up roost–” Her words caught in her throat as she realized. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Icewind said distractedly, budging up to properly fold his wings. “So, does every house in Bockscar have one of those?”

“I guess?” Catseye hazarded, wriggling a forehoof. “At any rate, all four apartments the realtor showed me did. I’ve never got around to whitewashing it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

It was a nice mural, Icewind thought. And Miss Cat must have a soft spot for the thing, if she’d chosen the house with it over the others. Surprising, though, that the quality of its craft should eclipse what was, at heart, somewhat ominous imagery. On a forlorn grey beach under a cloud-stricken sky, one lone unicorn, whiter than snow, reared up defiantly as she was driven into the sea by a great bull, its eyes pale as moonlight and its coat a blaze of unholy red flame. Perhaps it was the lost unicorn’s countenance which helped turn a nightmare scene into a vision of beauty. Beneath her sadness and regret, there lay more; not hope, no, but something like a quiet gratitude. Yet for what?

“... Are you into art?” Catseye asked him, causing him to tear his gaze away. “Ahem, forgive me for saying so, I wouldn’t have thought you the type.”

“Nah, it’s perfectly alright,” said Icewind, with a crooked smile. “You thought right, Miss Cat, this guy here’s just another brash tinhead-steed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve read your books cover-to-cover, but I’ve got a friend who’d look down on anything not based on those big, dusty eggheaded tomes. I like… pretty stuff, is all.”

Now it was her turn to cough, awkwardly.

“Okay, look,” Catseye said, levitating forth a pencil and notepad, “let’s see how we do, alright?”

“Yeah...” Icewind agreed.

Yet something about her posture seemed odd to him, and he wasn’t meant to be the analyst in this room. Then it struck him; the way she was carrying her tail. He remembered what Chamomile had once taught. When mares sat down, like Catseye currently was on her little wooden stool, the placement of their tails spoke volumes. If they let it hang over the side, they were at ease, had nothing to hide. But Catseye’s auburn strands were wrapped tightly around her thighs, covering her amber eye-shaped cutie mark.

He glanced elsewhere before she could spot him staring.

“Now, the thing is, Icewind,” said Catseye, hastily scribbling something on her notepad, “I’m a hippologist, not a motivational speaker like that money-grubbing bull-goat monster. Though on the plus side, it means I’m not gonna get you all riled up–”

“Dunno about that,” Icewind cut in, with a nod towards his secret-keeper. “If memory serves, you’ve got a skill for it… I mean,” he pulled at a tuft of his black mane, grinning faintly, “those tavern meetings can get pretty heady.”

She smiled shyly. “No, what I’m saying is that I’m not used to working directly with flesh-and-blood subjects. It’s all… picked up from books.”

“Ah, right. Well,” he said, “Hope you don’t find me a too disappointing specimen.”

As banter went, he knew it was somewhat forced, and so must she. But with them now down to four days before the next tavern meeting, their worries growing just a little bigger each passing day, they were no closer to deciding, how could they break the news that a third of the Loyalists had been captured in Ponyville? At least Catseye had some work she could leave for in the mornings. He was cooped up. And while he was glad to help her keep house, if he didn’t find any more to offer, she’d soon think him a squatter.

“Not at all,” she replied, eyeing her notepad. “So, where do you want to begin?”

He kept his gaze on the mural, thinking back to his conversation with Chamomile. Where did he want to begin? Discord’s day of rampage? The Wedding? If only they’d done this sooner…

“I’m sorry,” he said, glumly. “I find it hard not to keep thinking about… Ponyville.”

“Yeah...” Catseye sighed, setting the pad down. “She… loved her child, didn’t she?” she said, pausing a moment. “I still can’t believe we won’t be seeing her, next time. But we… we’ve got to keep going. That what you told me they taught you in the Guard. Keep going,” she finished limply, reaching for her tea.

This time, he scowled. “Oh, fine words, yet see how, the minute they’re hit with a sob story, most line themselves to fight alongside the monsters we were trained to fight against! Alright, the griffons I get, and the reindeer, but how could they forget the blasted Changelings attacked us just a few months before? It’s absurd! Is it really so silly to expect they’re just lying in wait, waiting until they can lower their glamour–”

Something splashed his coat, and he yelped. It felt like warm water. Then, straightening himself up, he understood. Catseye had dropped the cup, spraying her notepad, half the coffee table, and some of himself.

“Oh, oh, m-my bad!” Catseye spluttered, clasping her mouth. Red-faced, she hurriedly picked up a napkin to mop the mess. Alas, her attempt at mopping paper with paper had quickly turned into a pile of mush. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what… What?” she asked, aware of the look he was giving her.

“You know,” he grinned. “Your cheeks match the color of your hair, when they flush like that.”

Just as he’d hoped, this deepened the shade of her complexion.

“Do they? Huh,” she replied hesitantly, brushing back a lock. “I’m… surprised you noticed.”

Icewind got up from the couch. “Oh, plenty of burning faces up North, Miss Cat. You’re far from the first I’ve seen. But as for hair and fur…” He paused, patting his grey, tea-stained coat. “Mostly it’s this. Nothing like those crystalponies we’ve been hearing of. Just lots of grey and blue and white, some yellow or purple if you’re lucky, a bit of green… and hardly any red.”

She peered at him from above her glasses, which also had got a few splotches. “Really? Sounds like… like you’re missing something.”

He shrugged, gingerly picking a fresh napkin to rub his stains. “Just means it’s something to look out for, Miss. What if I told you that in the North, they’ve got a special name for red hair?”

“Why, what do they call it?”

“Something from an old reindeer legend, I think... Kissed by fire.”

He didn’t see her reaction, focused as he was, vainly, on wiping off the stains. In a moment, though, he heard it.

“That’s…” she breathed, “... a nice name.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Resignedly, Icewind gave up the napkin as a bad job. “Blasted, I’m afraid this isn’t working. If I could borrow the bathroom, Miss?”

“What? Sure, help yourself,” Catseye said vaguely, sounding as if she were elsewhere. “Ah, you may use the en-suite for this, it’s got the proper detergents.”

Icewind raised a forehoof. “I hope I’ve not offended you.”

“No, no,” she said, still distant. “But it’s... funny you should mention the color of my hair… People used to say it’s the only thing I got off my mother.”

Icewind thought she stiffened then, which was odd, since he’d seen a few pictures of her mother around the house, and it was true, they did share a mane. Perhaps it reminded her too much of Miss Berry just then. He felt his stomach tighten. He’d meant to make her smile with this corny talk of ‘kissed by fire’, but apparently he’d only got her further down in the doldrums.

Whatever it was, he mused as he entered the en-suite, it was too late to reverse now.

This was the first time he’d been in here, rather than the guest bathroom. Unsure of where the right stuff might be, he fumbled around a stack of bottles by the sink, until one got knocked over. Huffing, he went to righten it, before the label caught his eye. Curiously, he picked it up.

Aloe’s Albedo Alteration, he read. He raised an eyebrow. ‘White coat dye? What would Miss Catseye need that for?’

He jumped upon hearing the mare’s voice from behind the door. “Icewind? Forgot to tell you, the detergent’s located in the top shelf.”

“Thank you,” he called back, putting down the bottle.

An idea occurred to him. At first, he tried shaking it off. It was pure vanity, he chided himself, to think that way, pure fantasy. But the more he mulled it over, the more it felt like a plausible, if rather staggering explanation.

‘Just lots of grey and blue and… white.’

Maybe he wasn’t one-sided in his taste for the exotic. Could it be that, since they’d got to know each other, Catseye was seeking to reinvent herself? After all, he knew well, from how she conducted her speech at meetings, that she had much passion boiling beneath the surface.

Kissed by fire, indeed.

Trixie’s forehead was burning. They’d done what they could to stem the fever, but she’s been out of it for more than four days now, and it would make a resurgence every so often. Was it any surprise, given what mysterious hell she must be living within her mind at this moment?

“I’m sorry I can’t do more,” Luna told Stephan quietly. “Whoever did this to her placed a very powerful spell. As I said before, when I entered her mind with Cadance and Chrysalis to help, it was quick to violently expel us, like antibodies rejecting a foreign cell.”

“How can that be…” Stephan said in a whisper, holding on to the reassuringly familiar texture of his beloved’s forehoof. “You’re the Princess of Dreams. You’re more powerful than that mare in a cloak could ever hope...”

Luna sighed sadly. “Whatever she lacks for in power, she’s made up in cunning. She’s turned something that was already inside Trixie against us. Her ego, so powerful that it can contain the phantom echoes of a Changeling Queen’s connection to her Hive–”

“And I’m pretty sure of it,” Chrysalis added with a yawn, lounging on her couch. “If the other me didn’t warn you about the side-effects of eating royal jelly, she was either supremely overconfident or supremely foolish. Nothing like me, really. But I expect going to seed will do things to one’s judgment.”

Neither Stephan nor Luna paid her any attention. “As soon as her subconscious became aware of our presence due to a… discord between my companions,” the Lunar Regent continued, virtually hissing the last word, “the dreamscape turned into a nightmare. Not just a bad dream, a place that actively didn’t want us there. Combined with Trixie’s inherent willpower, her training is a phenomenal factor I’ve yet to unravel. And that’s the thing, Major,” she concluded balefully. “Like I said, that dreamweaver seized upon something already there. The other Trixie, my world’s Trixie in a prison cell, she has her faults, but it’d never cross her mind to murder a whole town for a mission.”

Stephan cast his eyes down, never looking away from his Trixie. “Princess. I’ve explained it to you. I don’t have to like something to accept it as necessary, or think that something’s necessary to like it. This is why I let Holmes, and Her Majesty,” he nodded over his shoulder at Chrysalis, “talk me into this fucking cruel plan of theirs, at first. But this isn’t going to protect Trixie, not at all. It’ll just kill her spirit once she learns what we did.”

“Then I imagine that’s why she shouldn’t,” Chrysalis said simply.

Stephan’s gaze darkened. “Perhaps you could live with that, Your Majesty. I can’t spend the rest of my life with her living a lie.”

“How sweet,” Chrysalis muttered. “First rule of a happy marriage, Major. Never be completely honest with your other half. There’s always that one fatal secret which’ll bring down your idyll.”

Luna chuckled sinisterly. “I’m pretty sure that’s what the knucklehead whose kidnapping of the Major provoked this whole mess must have thought. From what I’ve heard, his wife was livid when she found out he’d called in his old gang.”

“Ah, it’ll take more than that for those two,” Chrysalis said dismissively. “I’ve met those crazy adventurer types, you know. What’s a little mistrust next to the excitement of not knowing what your partner’ll come up with next?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Stephan growled. “It’s about more than that. Even if it weren’t her, do you think Trixie would forgive us using the enemy’s methods?”

“‘Using the enemy’s methods’?” Chrysalis mimicked, voice tinged with mockery. “Major. You humans pride yourselves on your martial prowess, but you still act willfully naive about certain things. This is a war. You kill. You burn. You destroy. Aren’t those the same methods used by the enemy?”

“We kill those who are trying to kill us,” Stephan scowled. “This war is in self-defense. We’re fighting to preserve our culture, not destroy the other Equestria’s.”

“Ah, so it’s your intentions that you think matter,” Chrysalis said, mock-thoughtfully. “Well, then, why would telling Trixie matter? Surely your intentions were good enough that the act itself is not so horrific?”

For that, Stephan had no answer.

“I’ll stay here awhile,” Luna said gently. “But I’ll have to make my night rounds. Trixie’s isn’t the only mind in need of comfort, Stephan. Two months on, and I’ve yet to meet everyone in your barracks…”

“I understand, Princess,” he replied, eyes closed. “They appreciate your help. Corporal Harwood’s shift begins in an hour, he’ll be around to watch over Trixie while I try and sleep.”

Chrysalis stood up. “My work here is done, too.”

“My work here is done, too.”

Sighing with relief and contentment, Chrysalis allowed herself to slide deeper into the bubbles, her forelegs spread left and right on either side of the lip of the baptismal pool. Unbidden yet not unasked for, two drones trotted over, carrying a jug of warm water between their auras. They poured its contents into the pool, causing the steam to rise and humidity to thicken upon the arched stone walls.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” she told Cutter. “Told you I could do it. Canterlot’s a hundred miles away as a crow flies by night, and still Cerci speaks in my voice, just as I see through her eyes.”

“Yes, impressive,” Cutter acquiesced. And she even sounded almost impressed, for a wonder. “Although your decoy must also be pretty good if she can pretend to be you when you’re not in her head.”

“She’s been well trained,” Chrysalis explained. “And her loyalty is absolute. It’s not easy for a drone to both empty their heads enough to let me in, and be on the ball enough to pull off such a convincing act, but she’s got the works. Remember to thank the dear thing, Miss Cutter, for helping us to speak in private like this.”

She trailed her forehoof in a circle, and Cutter, indulging her, followed her hoof. Much of the church in which the Hive had made their home was now covered from floor to ceiling in green wax, with alcoves carved out for drones to sleep in, but there remained a few clear patches, such as the stained-glass windows. Apparently, a devil like Chrysalis could still have a fine taste in holy artwork.

Cutter smiled. “Maybe I will.”

Raising herself somewhat from her bubble bath in the baptismal pool, the Queen clucked her tongue twice, summoning another pair of drones. Cutter knew this was done for her convenience, since a Changeling Queen wouldn’t need to command verbally, as she’d just demonstrated.

Chrysalis chuckled. “Cerci did her job well in delivering that line about a ‘hypothetical someone else’ to Bauer the other day, while I had to take a nap. Now, this is nice,” she commented on the bath, “but it isn’t doing much for the intolerable itch in my back.”

“Your Majesty,” said Cutter. “I’ll begin by thanking you for what you’ve shown me. What I need to know is whether I can show you anything that’ll interest you in helping me.”

Nodding distractedly, Chrysalis beckoned her attendants over to her.

“That depends,” she said. “I’ve got a pretty good thing going here, you know. And, let’s not mince words, I intend to live a long and fulfilling life. Sneaking off from the Alliance isn’t exactly going to help me towards that goal.”

“This Alliance is of convenience,” Cutter said. “And a political shadow-show. I have been to a world where the merchants and money-lenders have more power than kingdoms, Your Majesty. Siding with Armacham will benefit you in the long run.”

The attendants were carrying something long and wooden, the crucifix which until recently had adorned the church’s altar, minus the effigy of the Christ. While one tipped it over and held it steady, the other drone gingerly helped their Queen ease her shoulder-blades into the left crux adjoining post and crosspiece.

“Mh-hm,” Chrysalis said, as the attendants bobbed the smooth wooden object to-and-fro, scratching her back. “But you don’t actually represent Armacham, now, do you? You speak for a third party operating within Armacham.”

“True.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you fascinate me,” said Chrysalis. “However, you are a middlemare nonetheless. I should like to meet this Doctor Salonen before I give up such a precious trade secret.”

She playfully splashed one of the attendants.

Mind in turmoil, Blueblood was wondering what just he was doing here, with these people. Barely a week in, the reality of it still did not seem to want to wash over him. Even as the water sprayed from the faucet overhead, and soaked him through, and washed down the drain beneath his hooves. And it was lukewarm. Just one more example of how life was different here from in the Palace.

Sighing, he reached for the last of the coarse, gritty soap, to finish scrubbing himself down. The water was never warm enough by the time he took his turn in the Vanhoover barracks’ showers, after most everyone else had used it up. His ears perked up as they caught the screech of a door opening, and he felt the furs raise on his neck. Despite the late hour, some other recruit would be coming in here for a wash. Lips tight, Blueblood quickened his scrubbing, not daring himself to look around. The contraction in his chest did ease, somewhat, when out the corner of his eye, he recognized who it was that lumbered in; a griffon, by far the largest he’d ever seen, and one of the most jovial.

Still, as the big griffon turned on the taps a few stalls away, Blueblood avoided eye contact. It would be so much easier if only he had his old mane, golden locks to hide behind, dripping with hot water. But one of the very first things they’d done to him here was to give him a haircut, so that now, even wet, his mane was never going to cover his eyes. And the water was lukewarm.

That last one was his own fault, he silently cursed himself, shutting the taps. Not caring that he’d barely rinsed the last of the soap off, Blueblood swiftly grabbed his towel from the overhang, wrapping it around his torso. It was no dinner jacket or dress uniform, yet better than nothing. All his life, he’d had something to show for during the day that he was kin to Celestia, she of the royal holster. Although he wasn’t seeking to be so ostentatious now, when his aunt and he had shared their goodbyes, he had promised he’d live up to their family image.

… At least, that was what he told himself. The truth was, a small voice whispered in his head, after so much else had been taken from him, if he did not even have this to set him apart, however indistinctly, he just felt so… exposed.

For the fourth night in a row, he was left staring at the words ‘A. Blueblood’ engraved into the foot of a bunkbed, with a small, austere compartment beneath for him to fit his few private belongings into. And on the bunkbed, one of dozens of the dull, identical rows aligning the surface of the bedroom, folded neatly upon the sheets, were a grey nightshirt and shorts. He touched them. Once more, the fabric felt all too real against his fur.

‘I’m not putting on those vulgar slops anymore,’ Blueblood screamed to himself, mortified. ‘You can’t make me do it! No, I won’t let you!’

Reining in dismay, he tried to keep himself from wobbling as he turned to look at his bunkmate, a turquoise pegasus called, if the name on the bedstead was anything to go by, ‘Dendrite’. The fellow was busy changing for the night, so when Blueblood coughed to get his attention, his head snapped up in surprise. Other than mumbled ‘mornings’ and ‘evenings’ at the canteen, this was the first time Blueblood had really addressed him.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, mate?” Dendrite replied curiously, looking down from atop the upper bunk. “Something the matter?”

“The nightwear is compulsory?” Blueblood asked, feeling faint. “I… I mean, I get the uniforms out on the field and all, but… off-duty, I mean, in bed, don’t see why we can’t simply go au naturel...” he murmured, self-consciously tugging at his towel.

Dendrite shook his head patiently. “Sorry, mate. You step in here, once you’re inside, ain’t no real off-duty. Regulations, they’re here to keep your mind sharp, even when you’re dozing off. Best bite the bullet and get changed. Don’t want a black bar right in your first week, else the Sarge, or Corporal Harwood, they’d have you doing push-ups from the eve to the morn’.”

“Yeah, that’s just it,” someone else complained from two beds away. A tan griffon, identified as ‘Renner’ by the plaque on his bunk. “When’re we gonna get goin’ with that again? I mean, at first I was all for the long weekend, Major and the Winter Soldier just makin’ us go through the motions until the Trainers return properly, but now I’m beginnin’ to think we won’t never be seein’ proper trainin’ no more.”

The words “proper training” made Blueblood’s heart beat faster. Keeping up with the other recruits, who had two months’ advance, had been enough of a chore with him lagging behind, or standing at the back during exercises. What would it be like, once things got serious? As Dendrite, Renner and the others bickered, he felt relieved they weren’t paying attention to him, and crushed.

He stared back at the custom-made nightgear in his forehoof. It was like everything else here. Technically new, but looking faded. Rooms were faded, beds were faded, clothes were faded. Even the food, made from stuff found here on Equestria and prepared with some care, tasted more faded than he’d known. Yet it was the sweet release from his statue which had faded most.

“Look,” Renner told Dendrite, “All I’m saying is, think that out in a combat zone, the Sarge or Harwood’s gonna be holding your hoof to pop you a sweetie for a good performance? Ain’t back in school, ponyboy!”

Dazed, Blueblood let the nightgear fall onto his bed, unused. He wandered out the dormitory.

Nobody tried to stop him. Or rather, nobody deliberately stopped him in his tracks. After an eternity of wandering aimlessly down the harshly-lit hallway, he felt something tall crash into him, sending him tumbling to the floor.

“Aaaargh!”

“Sorry! Oh my, I’m sorry!” the other person exclaimed. She – Blueblood was sure it was a she – had an odd accent to her voice, one that oddly reminded Blueblood of these Vanhooverite ponies from further North, or of the reindeer. “Goodness, are you, are you alright?”

“Whuh... I don’t...” Blueblood slurred, rubbing his head.

He felt the touch upon his forehoof of what felt like claws, yet far too soft to be a griffon’s. Which was when he realized the person sitting opposite him was neither pony, nor Changeling, nor even a griffon.

She was a human.

But nothing like the last one he’d met, not in looks, at any rate. Whereas Marcus Renee’s head had been almost completely shaven of hair, her brown, almost-reddish mane was long enough to be tied back in a bun.

“You’re… you’re… I mean you’re...” Blueblood stuttered. “You’re one of them, a hu-OW!” Pain coursed from behind him, up his hind legs and to his chest. Cursing under his breath, he rubbed his sore backside. “That’s the second time in less than a year… all starting with a crazy mare at the Gala… ow, that hurts...”

The purple-maned mare’s ribbing came back to mind, and he tried not to scowl.

“Sir?” asked the human female, concerned. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look like you’re in more pain than you oughta be, for such a small tumble. N-not that I’m not sorry for bumping into you like that, just didn’t think it’d be so bad.”

She proffered her claws, or hand, he corrected himself. Choking back a grunt, Blueblood accepted to let her help him get back on his hooves. Thank goodness for life’s mercies, his towel didn’t catch on anything, which would have been a right kicker to this embarrassment cavalcade. To encounter a stranger while wearing less than a bathrobe felt like small potatoes, given the circumstances.

“Don’t blame yourself too much, Miss,” Blueblood told the young human female. “Just grown more sensitive in that area, after it got knocked into a marble pillar a few months ago.”

“Oh, been in the wars, have we?” the human female asked, attempting jocularity.

“Not really…” Blueblood admitted. “But a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from...”

“Bad dreams, huh?” she inquired, but quite unlike Marcus Renee’s tone, sneering and still vivid in his mind, she sounded almost sympathetic. “My friend Harwood has them as well. D’you wanna talk about it?”

“Why?” Blueblood retorted. He was still exhausted from the day, and so he found himself leaning back, upon the nearest wall.

“Well,” the female said. “I mean, I haven’t seen you around here or, anything. There are a couple of people I know who deal with dark thoughts, like Moondancer! If it’s not too much, well, you could ask her instead?”

“Moondancer?” repeated Blueblood. “Don’t know about her, she was always so aloof and reserved. Besides, if I’m here, it’s because a wise person told me that, if I didn’t want to let the dark thoughts run amok, I should go and do something about it myself.”

“And fighting a war’s your way of doing so, huh?”

“Not really… I don’t know,” Blueblood said wearily. He slumped against the wall. “It’s like, in a mad peak, I’d got this crazy idea in my head I could make up for years of stupid all in one go. Made me feel a bit better about myself, owning up that my life wasn’t going anywhere fast. But now I’m here and I’ve no idea what I’m doing.”

The human female peered at him curiously. It was then that Blueblood noticed her eyes; a particularly striking shade of turquoise and green, they were.

“Life not going anywhere?” she repeated in turn. “What was your work before signing up, then?”

Blueblood readied to tell her, and then his voice caught in his throat. How could he honestly put it? Even his political career had been an honorary heirloom from his father. His distant, domineering father.

“Bum,” he let drop morosely, holding his head. “That’s… pretty much it.”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” she said, holding a hand against his shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with me, you can bet on it, Prince Blueblood.”

The female saw through his lie so fast that, for a moment, Blueblood felt his throat clench, the hallway growing colder, despite the warm summer evening.

“How did you–”

“I noticed there was a statue in your likeness, back in Canterlot,” she replied, twiddling her fingers. “Was that you? Very, um, interesting statue, very nice contours and all.”

Blueblood shivered, remembering a time when it had, indeed, got very cold. Genuinely snowy, in fact, at the height of the warmest season, and he had been left outside to feel it.

“Yeah, well,” he snorted, “maybe I was more use to anyone as a statue.”

“Don’t you say that,” the female whispered, her voice just a little edgier. “I don’t know how, or what that was all about, but I remember thinking, ‘here’s a face which looks too sad for a proper statue’. That really was you, wasn’t it? Amethyst told me how they’d kept Discord imprisoned for so long.”

When he said nothing, she continued.

“Sorry you had to go through that,” she said. And to his surprise, there was no mockery in it. “Dunno what could possibly lead you to become, y’know, trapped in stone and whatnot. Hardly a fate I’d wish on anyone, if what Amethyst said is true, a punishment they inflicted on Discord himself is not to be taken lightly.”

“Well,” Blueblood tentatively began. “I suppose I was the pompous twit who deserved it, then.”

“Really?” the female inquired. “I’m not seeing a pompous twit here, and whatever pompous twit you were back then, he’s not here right now.”

She reached out, a comforting touch upon his shoulders. Weirdly, the warmth emanating from her felt, to him, almost like actual, tangible warmth...

“I see someone who’s all alone in this big, scary place, and I can’t allow for that,” the female said, with a forlorn little smile. “So, whatever worries you’ve got, you can tell me here. I, uh, may’ve just been discharged from... from hospital, yeah, but I’m here, and you can tell me.”

“And how would you know?”

“Because I was that lonely girl,” she replied sweetly. “Alone in a vessel at sea, with no-one except a pegasus she hardly knew and a soldier out to kill her just a few weeks prior.”

Hearing those words, Blueblood found himself looking at her in a new light.

“Vessel lost at sea?” he murmured in awe. “Was that on Earth?”

“That’s right,” the human replied, with a wink. “D’you fancy yourself a ship enthusiast? That’s quite the mark you’ve got on your flank.”

“Yes…” Blueblood replied wistfully. “I… used to have dreams of being, well, a pirate. Guess that must sound pretty silly, right.”

“Huh,” the human said. “It sounds fantastic.”

“You really think so, Miss?”

She let out a short, delicate laugh. “Back home, there isn’t much opportunity to dream like that anymore, considering things…” she said, trailing off with a wandering look in those eyes of hers, almost longing.

“I… I’m sorry,” Blueblood stammered. “I’ve been places before, of course, but… this is pretty much my first time away from home… alone.”

“Don’t you worry about that, I’ve been there myself,” she said kindly, patting him on the back. She stood up, and Blueblood realized how tall humans really were. “Listen, nobody here’s noble-born, except perhaps Moondancer, but we’re all in the same boat.”

“The same boat?” he asked, suspecting she’d used the analogy to please him.

“Yes,” the female explained, sounding a little somber all of a sudden, “everyone’s going a long way away from home, to fight out somewhere they’re not sure they’ll return from. Times like these, it’s when it’s most important to know who your friends are.”

“Friends?” Blueblood repeated, feeling, somehow, even smaller next to her, and he wasn’t a short stallion. “The last real friend I had was Cadance, my cousin. She’s more like proper royalty than I am. I’m starting from scratch.”

“Then what you need is to stop, really stop, thinking you’ve come down from a high place,” she told him sagely. “Stop looking up, and start looking forward. A Changeling friend of mine, Morning Glory, she’s always wanted to be like her Hive Queen. That’s not gonna happen, of course, but you’ll find she’s a lot like a queen around here. Then there’s the big griffon we call ‘Wolff’, he’s got ambitions to fight in that crazy Tournament of theirs, yet personally, we think he’ll make a better singer than a fighter, someday.”

“And?”

“And,” the female explained, breathing in a little, “it means that for most people, time spent in the military is like a… a stepping-stone. I never planned to be a career sniper, I was quite happy teaching chemistry, but, well… before the Tyrant had declared war, I’d already made a poor choice in friends, who’d promised an exciting new world with all Equestria had to offer.”

“Wait, what…”

“Not PER, don’t worry,” she said, still somewhat somber. “Just a bunch of shady human smugglers. Opportunists. Hey, whaddya know, that’s pirates for you.”

And this set Blueblood’s mind afire more than anything. He wasn’t so sheltered from reality to assume that real piracy was all jolly old fellows and adventure on high seas, but this human, so unthreatening he had trouble believing she and Renee were the same species, also looked utterly unlike the kind to fall in with ruffians and rogues.

Somehow, here in this place amongst this rough-and-ready lot, that helped put his heart at ease. Even his current attire seemed a little less ridiculous, and made him feel a little more like those princes from Eastern tales who’d sworn off material goods to live as prophets wearing drapes. He’d scoffed at them then. Now, perhaps he could follow their lead.

“So…” he said slowly. “You’re saying, uh, I should go and... talk around more?”

“Something like that,” she said. “Look, here’s a tip. Ask for Snow Mist, or Wolfsschanze. Either’ll be willing to take you under their wing… heh. Neither’ll care where you’re from or who you were, so long as you do okay now.”

“But I’m doing things all day with them, and no-one talks to me.”

“Oh?” the human said. “Well, have you ever tried asking if you could sit next to them at mealtimes in the mess hall?”

He began to open his mouth, but nothing came out. She’d sussed it out. Big mess hall they had, enough for a couple spare tables to be left over, and in all four days, he’d spent each of his meals, beginning, middle and end, at his own, empty table.

“See?” she said kindly. “It’s not hard, well, not hard when you’re not, not thinking too much about it! I mean, people try to be polite, and chances are they’ll at least let you sit with them, right? Just take the first step yourself. Don’t wait for things to happen to you, Princeling.”

“I suppose I can try.”

She smiled at him. “Great! Cheers, love.”

His ears perked up, this time, because the human was looking him over encouragingly.

“Oh, just an expression,” she said, before he could even begin to reply. “Picked it up from Harwood. Right, I’ll see you around. Still got a few errands to do!”

And she went on her way past him, as suddenly as she’d appeared. Blueblood remained leaning at the wall, safely wrapped in his towel, pondering her words. It was only then he realized he’d forgotten to ask her name.

Princess Luna hadn’t been too surprised that Trixie Lulamoon should remind her of her royal nephew. Both of them stuck-up and vain. Both of them putting on airs to hide their insecurities. But she’d dug deeper, to uncover more than the surface detail. Unbalanced relationships with family. Difficulties fulfilling the promises of their marks. The key difference, it seemed, was that the illusionist had a knack for making people like her, maybe admire her, which Astron Blueblood lacked.

That, and the nightmare inside which the Prince had been locked was initiated by Discord, a not wholly unwarranted, yet overly harsh punishment for his foolishness. Trixie Lulamoon’s ordeal was the work of their enemy.

… Or that’s what may have been true of one Trixie.

Luna stayed out of sight, invisible, as she watched a baby-blue filly choose a random Tarot card from a set laid out by the hearthfire. The elderly white-maned stallion before her, his coat a twin blue to hers, smiling, picked it up to show where her choice had landed.

Number XVI. The Tower.

A card of change, of conflict, of lost control. Inside the tower they helped build, the fool finds arrogant peers residing, convinced of their righteousness. The tower is built from lies upon the foundations of truth. In the end, however, comes liberation...

The Princess felt a lump in her throat. Why was she doing this? This Trixie didn’t need her in here. For now, the frightened mare had found happy memories to retreat in on her own. Anything Luna might attempt could only make things worse. Did she hope to make up for the ways of late she hadn’t met her duties as Princess of Dreams? Forgetting that Blueblood could suffer nightmares in his petrified state, just because she hadn’t cared enough for this unknown nephew whom she’d been quick to judge after returning from her own exile... And beyond that, her complicity in forcing an innocent through a new nightmare?

In the vision of the past, Trixie giggled in delight at her grandfather’s game of futures, unaware of what lay ahead in her life, how one version of her would become a weapon, and another would become a pawn in a game of chess, of how in either case she would become, by accident or design, little more than a tool for various individuals who each claimed they sought to build a better tomorrow… while today lay in ash.

The hour was nearing eleven, and here in New New York, a drinking den was open, no less than an old-fashioned, pseudo-English pub, complete with the charming old aesthetic of faux-leather seats and sofas and chairs, oak tables, and many quintessential British beers to go. Sat in this bar were a few soldiers, who had been rotated to this Equestria, three men and three stallions in all. All were nursing drinks. Music was playing, drifting between humans and ponies.

#And if you close your eyes,
Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?
And if you close your eyes...

“Why is it always this song?” asked one man, clad in a trenchcoat: this was John Constantine, who true to form was taking an angry puff of his cigarette. “Seriously, it’s shit.”

“It’s an okay song, to be fair.”

“Yeah, when the world isn’t ending, it is,” John grunted. “Except that my world is ending, and hearing a vaguely depressing song that’s trying hard to sound upbeat isn’t helping,” he added, turning to face the newcomer who’d spoken.

“Anything for you, sir?” Grape Shines asked nicely, putting down the glass she’d been mopping.

“Diet Coke,” Bowman replied, who was, in fact, still drinking in the song itself as he walked up to the bar. “I’m talking bottled, not that thin stuff from the tap.”

The barmare nodded. “I understand.”

Bowman leant his elbows on the varnished wood, careful of any spills of drink that might ruin his coat.

“Evening to you, lads,” he greeted John and company. “Fancy seeing you all out here on a fine night like this.”

True Grit recognized him first. “Bowman?! The hell you doing here?!”

“Could ask you the same,” Bowman said, smiling as the unicorn’s horn sparked in surprise, a forest-green that matched his fur. “Last I heard, you lot were in old New York, not this surprisingly faithful recreation.”

“Yeah, some bugger pulled us up for transfer here,” John said. Again he snorted, as was his habit. “Maybe they wanted someone to review the bars.”

“Which are, to be fair, up to snuff,” Sam grinned. “Haven’t had a complaint yet.” Which was the moment a drop of the rain from earlier that day chose to drip upon his head. He scowled, patting the mess it had made of his blonde locks. “Maybe even too accurate.”

“Ah, should just get a Discord in to fix it all,” Dave said, pointing to the roof. “Seems like he can simply make cities out of thin air.”

“Yeah, well,” John snorted, “I’ll wait until he remakes Liverpool to be fucking impressed, down to the smell and all.”

Unlike John, whose trenchcoat was a practically inseparable part of him, the other two men were wearing their white FEAR-issue D12 armor. White, a colour of purity, just deeds, honour. Ironic, that, given where John’s set of interests lay. Or maybe that was why they were friends.

“I have one complaint,” Grit said. “The bloody locals.”

“What about them?” Bowman asked, wincing at the swearing.

“They’re a bunch of overly happy pricks, that’s ‘what about them’,” Grit harrumphed. “I swear, when I was in Equestria, it was never that cheery.”

“Really?” Sam said, his discontent at the leaking roof having vanished as fast as it arose. “Ain’t that a shame. After seeing this place, I’d began thinking at least the Tyrant didn’t lie about one thing. Sounds like you lot were missing out.”

“Maybe it was and your memory’s gone sour?” Dave suggested, rubbing his perpetual stubble. “I mean, with everything that’s gone down...”

“Nah, a Crystal War never happened here,” Grit said. “This place is… I don't know, nopony ever shanked its innocence or something.”

“You say that like innocence is a bad thing,” Bowman remarked.

Errant Flight coughed, flapping a wing. “That kinda depends,” he said. “Innocence is great. But it’s like dropping a fragile vase. You can't really fix it, and damn if breaking it ain’t gonna to shock the hell out of people.”

“And your world wasn’t like that?” Bowman asked.

Errant shook his head. “Our world was chipped and cracked long before we met humans. Dropping it was the final nail.”

Bowman nodded. “I can see where you’re coming from.”

The barmare arrived with a pint-glass full of Diet Coke, and Bowman took a look before taking a swig.

“That nice?” Dave asked.

“Top notch,” Bowman replied.

“Bit soft for a night at a pub, isn't it?” John said drably.

“I wouldn’t have said so,” Bowman said. “Anyway, you okay, Dave? You haven’t touched your drink.”

It was true, the dark-haired man hadn't touched a drop in all the time since Bowman had arrived. He smiled wanly.

“I’m fine,” Dave whispered. “Had bad dreams. Same sort as I’ve had since before Fairport.”

The entire group, other than Bowman, made faces. None of them liked remembering Fairport.

“Bless Viola,” Errant said quietly, raising a glass. “Whatever happened to her.” Quickly, he downed his drink, then slammed his glass on the bar. “Hey, Miss Shines!” he yelled to the barmare. “‘Nother one of these, stat!”

“Hope you guys are enjoying your evening,” Grape Shines smiled at them.

Steady Hoof, the group’s earthstallion, said nothing, but Bowman was amused to notice his grey cheeks turn a shade of pink. It was certainly a more pleasant pink than that of the scar which ran along his throat.

“It hasn’t started properly yet,” Sam said. “But just give us six hours and see how we go. Say, do Time Lords even get drunk?”

“Probably,” Bowman shrugged. “I've been known for occasionally getting squiffy with the greats. Churchill, Boney, Bowie, Oliver Reed…”

“‘Squiffy’,” John repeated mockingly. “Believe that when I bloody see it.”

The Doctor’s face took on the expression of a man eagerly awaiting a challenge. “Fine. The mood I’m in, I could do with something stronger.” He looked at the barmare. “Could I get some vodka in the next one?”

#And if you close your eyes,
Does it almost feel like
You’ve been here before?
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

“Honestly,” said John. “That song’s too fucking upbeat for the subject matter.”

Kraber and Pinkie weren’t sure if they were laughing at the screen or Rarity’s reaction to Kill La Kill.

“Well, you… weren’t wrong,” Rarity said. She was trembling. Confused. Vaguely disgusted. But struggling to hold in her laughter. “It does… it does have… fashion, and... and...”

She couldn’t help it. She burst into most unladylike laughter.

“It’s a good show,” Aegis said, a smile on his face.

‘Not very expressive, is he?’ Rarity thought.

“It’s a kwaai fokkin’ show,” Kraber agreed. He was smiling too. Something about his face, something about his expression, made it look like he wasn’t used to doing it.

He stood up and yawned a little. “Well, been fun, but, Aegis and I have to head to our room.”

“You share a room?” Rarity asked.

“Of course we do,” Aegis said.

“Before I go, though,” Kraber said. “Shot.”

“... What?” Rarity asked.

“He means thank you,” Aegis said.

“Ja,” Kraber said. “That’s… that’s what I meant. It was a lekker fokkin’ day, Rarity, Pinkie. The best I’ve had in far too fokkin’ long.”

“It really was!” Pinkie said. “I think tomorrow, I’ll throw you a surprise–”

“NO.”

It was like watching an avalanche in slow motion. Kraber’s face didn’t merely fall. It didn’t merely collapse. It was like an explosion, pointed downward. Any warmth, any camaraderie that the room had built up simply evaporated. Somehow, Rarity couldn’t explain it, Aegis was in front of her. She had never seen a human look so angry.

Pinkie shrank back. “B-but… everyone loves parties!”

Kraber just shook his head. “Not. Me.”

“Viktor…” Aegis said, inching forward. “Whatever you do, stay still and don’t...”

“The last surprise party I had ended with my family ponified,” Kraber said. “Some fokkin’ varknaaier had potioned everyone at my kids’ birthday party. My wife, too. And I–”

“I did it, didn’t I?” Pinkie asked. Her mane went lank. “I’m… I’m the reason you’re crazy.”

For a second, a chink appeared in Kraber’s armor.

“No, not you,” he said. “Never…. Never this you… You know… a party might not be so bad. I... just… no surprises. I want to know exactly what happens.”

“It’s… not what I usually do. But, okay,” Pinkie said softly. “As long as it makes you happy.”

“It just might.”

Marching down the street, Marcus rubbed his forehead wearily. Apparently, his new magical body was still all-too-human in some respects, migraines included. Not that he could blame himself for the migraines. The weight of the decisions he had been making would be enough to crush the strongest of men. He was actually wishing for a good old-fashioned battle. On the battlefield, he knew the score. He had his troops and the enemy, concrete objectives with concrete results. Bad things happened, but they were the bad things he was made to deal with, the kind that he had trained for. His soldiers dying, or in this day and age being ponified. The battle going awry.

This…

‘This is different. I’m not sending young men and women, human or otherwise, to fight for their survival. I’m condemning a mare to a hell for something she had no part of.’

He sighed, a saying from a movie he had seen a long time ago coming to mind.

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

“Fuck that pointy eared bastard,” Marcus swore. “Easy for a movie to say when it’s just a fucking movie. This is real. This is my reality!”

He shut himself up, hoping no-one had heard his outburst. But his decision was made about one thing. Tonight, he was going to drink himself into oblivion, or as much oblivion as he could. That was the single greatest downside of his new physical biology so far; he could no longer get properly wasted.

John hiccoughed. “If your explanations weren't so wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey…”

“I haven't said that in decades,” the Doctor said scathingly, frowning half in the direction of Dave, and half in the direction of a random wall. “You don't get it. Alright, so, again. I can't change history per se, because history splits off into different timelines. Okay?”

Most of the group were passed out by this point. Steady Hoof and True Grit had both gone off into a corner to sleep, and Sam Lake was snoring his head off upon the bar.

“Yeah, we got that part,” Errant said.

“So, when I change something, a new timeline branches off, and that one becomes the most likely outcome, the ‘primary’ universe of that event track. See?”

“Ish,” Dave said, shaking his head.

“Alright, now,” the Doctor said. “What often happens is, ‘primary’ universes, or ‘Prime’ universes, can absorb the time tracks of less stable universes. This is why you have things like inconsistent memories. So when I create a new ‘Prime’ universe, the chances are it will absorb the original universe, and certain events will be cancelled out. Yes?”

“Yeah…” Dave said, frowning. The man lay his head on the table, and fell still. After a moment, faint snoring could be heard.

“He never could hold his drink,” John said knowingly, to promptly collapse off of his stool in a drunken stupor.

The Doctor snorted. “Humans.”

“Hey, if they’re so bad, why hang around them?” Errant asked blearily.

“Why do you?” the Doctor replied with a snort. “Answer being, because all races, at their heart, suck. Draconians are uptight. Draconequui are… well, the ones I’ve met aren’t exactly making a good case for themselves, the one around these parts might actually be one of the nicer ones, isn’t that sad? As for ponies…” He snorted. “Equusite ponies are too skittish, too naive, too quick to judge. Ice Warriors are too proud. Humans are just irritatingly inconstant, one minute they’re sweet and caring, the next selfish, the next heroic, the next cowardly… And don't even get me started on my lot, they're…” He trailed off. Errant Flight had passed out. “Dull as dishwater and about as colorful.”

He took another swig of his vodka and diet coke, faintly lightheaded. He hadn't drunk this much in a looooong time. In one smooth motion he downed his drink, before slamming the glass on the bar.

“Barkeep!” he yelled, probably already tipsy. “Another!”

A smiling, pleasant-looking man with thinning hair and glasses stepped up. Grape Shines was giving the man an odd look.

“Isn’t your shift over, Gar?” she asked him.

“Nah, can’t be arsed with sleep right now,” the barkeep said genially. “You go have an early night, Shines. I’ve got this covered.”

Grape Shines ruffled her eyebrows, yet she left. The barkeep looked to the Doctor.

“Are you alright?”

“Nope!” the Doctor said cheerfully. “I hear drinking is good for that.”

“I hear differently,” the barkeep said, “but I guess it isn't my business. Still, I also hear bartenders tend to be confidantes for some people.”

The Doctor snorted, placing the emptied glass in front of the man expectantly.

“You seem like a nice bloke,” he said honestly, “but I get the feeling you wouldn't understand the things I have on my mind.”

“I wouldn't be so sure, Doctor,” the barkeep said with a soft smile, glancing at his wrist-watch. “I have things to do, but I suspect I’ll be around, if you want to talk. In the meantime… will your friends be alright?”

Frowning, the Doctor glanced down at them. “They’ll be fine, yeah.”

“Alright,” the barkeep said lightly. “But will you?”

As the Doctor didn't bother answering, with a sigh, the barkeep deigned to pour him another drink prior to retreating into the backroom. Left alone, the Doctor began tapping away idly at his keytar.

“~I spy in the night sky don’t I, Phoebe, Io, Elara, Leda, Callisto, Sinope, Janus, Dione, Portia, so many moons, quiet in the sky at night, hot in the milky way…”

There came a creak to accompany the door to the bar opening, but he didn’t look up until, finally, a figure sat next to him. He turned to stare at the man who had sat next to him, and a grimace that might have been trying to pass for a smile invaded his face.

“Colonel,” the Doctor greeted Marcus Renee. “Small world.”

Author's Notes:

Howdy all. Jed R here once again, posting this fella. If some of this material seems familiar, it's because the published-then-unpublished part five of In The Pale Moonlight has been split in two with new material added to expand upon both halves. Suffice it to say, yes, there have been behind the scenes wranglings. Don't ask me, man, I only work here.

And dare I say it: this is where it gets complicated…