The alley behind the brick-walled delicatessen was dank, muddy, and reeked like an old milk carton.

The black-and-white suburban jounced over the washboard road, finally pulling to a halt before a small, dilapidated house. Under the late afternoon sunlight, the building looked seedy, under-maintained and disreputable -- just about normal, really, for this part of town.

Things always looked normal, on calls like these.

Sam Winston climbed out, nodding to the other officers present.

"Hey, Sam," called Marla Henrick. The sandy-haired patrolwoman gestured to the silent house. "It's down in the basement. Quiet for now, but who knows how long that'll last. Soon as we saw it, we cleared out and called it in."

Sam nodded. He glanced around cautiously. "We secure here?"

Marla nodded. "We got Dierdra and Carlos watching the ends of the street."

Next to her was tubby Len Kincaid. He crossed his arms and snorted in amusement. "Nobody's looking, Sam... you can bring out your little menagerie now."

Frowning, Sam clicked open the rear door of the van, the one marked "K-9", which opened onto the honeycomb-grilled rear compartment.

And, from the shadowy interior, a unicorn stepped out.

But this was no sweet, mincing, ivory-white, storybook unicorn. It was the one Sam privately thought of as the Beast. Tall, arrogant, and dressed head-to-hoof in brutal, black body-armor, the maroon unicorn had a blood-red, plume-like mane and tail, and a jagged scar crossing one eyelid. The horn jutting from her forehead was barely more than a jagged stump. And the look in her large, sharply-lashed eyes, as her gaze flicked around, taking in her surroundings, was one of cold, barely contained rage.

The officers knew well enough to stay out of the Beast's way. One time, when something had displeased her -- Sam still wasn't quite sure what -- she had simply fixed him with a steady, unblinking gaze. And then casually slammed an armored rear hoof into the patrol car behind her, bucking it over onto its roof without the slightest hint of effort.

That could have been you, her look had said. Remember it.

Apparently satisfied that all was well, the Beast turned and nodded to the car's other occupant. And another unicorn, the one Sam thought of as the Princess, stepped out. She wrinkled her snout and tried to avoid putting a hoof in the ranker-looking puddles, as she stared around with interest. She was smaller, her coat a warm lavender in color. She had a dark blue, red-striped mane and tail. And she had wings -- large, pegasus-like wings, which occasionally rustled in an unsettled fashion as she looked around.

Her eyes, when she looked up at Sam, were large, liquid, and fiercely intelligent. She was no shrinking violet, no petting-zoo pony. And it was always clear, between the two unicorns, which of them was in charge here. The Beast deferred to her unquestioningly, obediently, like a bodyguard or old retainer.

Sam himself rarely needed to try to explain anything to the Princess: she seemed to grasp just about anything swiftly, simply by observation. "This way," he said, with a nod towards the house. He set off towards the porch, and heard over his shoulder the clip-clopping of hooves as the two unicorns followed him.

Stepping up onto the porch, Sam carefully leaned to look in through the open door. Seeing nothing dangerous, he turned, and found that the Beast had automatically taken up station on the other side of the door, looking in as well. Behind her, the Princess peered round, eyes wide and anxious.

Looking across at Sam, the Beast cocked a razor-like eyelash. Your move, her look seemed to say.

Resting a hand on his service pistol, Sam advanced inside.

The house was small, little more than a front room with a kitchen and pantry in the back. But there were stairs leading up to a second story, and beyond them, a second flight leading downward.

Moving to the downward staircase, Sam tried the light switch. It did nothing. The power was clearly off. About to pull out his flashlight, he stopped when he heard a gentle fizzing, crackling sound beside him. The Beast's fractured horn had lit up, sparking like a loose electric cable. Yet it was just enough to provide a fitful blue electric glare. Behind her, the Princess had lit up her own horn as well, casting a brighter, steadier magenta glow. Nodding thankfully, Sam led the way down the stairs, into the darkened cellar.

It was long, stretching back further than the size of the house would have suggested, into the hillside behind it. Perhaps an old bomb shelter,, Sam thought. A relic of 80's paranoia. There was makeshift shelving running the length of it, piled high with old piping, car parts, and other mechanical flotsam.

And through gaps in the shelving and its contents, he could see a chill, wispy were-light, which roiled and seethed incessantly. There was a faint thrum coming from that direction as well, and a whiff of ozone in the air.

Yep, he thought. Just like last time.

Sam cautiously made his way along the shelving, and came out into a small workroom area on the far side. And before him, he saw the gate. It was a tall, watery disc of rippling, ethereal glow. He couldn't see through it: it was like a ragged-edged doorway opening onto a blank wall of smoky, iridescent fog.

The Beast moved to stand beside him. She sniffed the air cautiously, then snorted, a disgusted look on her face. Sam could smell it as well: a hot, humid, musty aroma. Like a jungle...

... or a hive.

Sam drew and unsafed his pistol, held it at the ready, nodded to her.

The Beast cautiously stepped closer to the gate. Glacing around, she located a length of muffler pipe. Grabbing it with a hoof, she hefted it into her forehooves as easily as if it had been a broomstick. Gingerly, she swept it forward, poking the end through the gate then swinging it back and forth, probing around.

She drew it back, found it was unharmed. Gently setting it down, she gritted her teeth and stepped forward, to poke her head cautiously through the gate itself.

She drew back sharply, grunting in annoyance. She turned to look, not at Sam but at the Princess, who peered up at her anxiously.

And shook her head in regret.

The Princess's shoulders fell, heartbroken. She nodded and then, with the Beast shadowing her closely, keeping watch, she stepped forward, set her hooves on the rough, hardpacked dirt floor, and charged up her horn.

And Sam could almost feel the wash of ethereal energy, drawn from the very air around him and channeled through the small pony before him. Like a lens focusing sunlight, her horn converted it into a brilliant beam of magenta radiance that enveloped the shimmering portal in a blazing, sparkling shroud, which gradually... gradually... forced it closed.

With her eyes shut and her jaw set, the Princess strained hard, totally focused on sealing the rift. Finally she sighed in relief, her horn falling silent. Of the gate there was nothing left, no sign it had even been there to begin with. She looked up at the Beast, who nodded back at her, proudly and reassuringly...

... then abruptly turned, her head snapping round, her gaze darting back and forth around the space behind them.

Sam had heard it as well: a rustling, chittering, chitinous sound. Something had come through the gate already.

And it was between them and the door.

Sam looked around, trying to see into the shadows skittering over the old parts and equipment, as the unicorns' heads swung this way and that, looking for the source of the sound.

Then one of those shadows suddenly got up and skittered the wrong way. It tensed itself... then sprang.

Wide-eyed, Sam had a brief glimpse of something large and black with far too many legs, leaping toward his face... then an armored forehoof swatted it neatly out of the air like an errant fly. It hit the floor with a wet, meaty thud.

Sam swung his pistol down to cover it, but the Beast snorted warningly at him. The Princess was edging cautiously towards the many-legged creature, eyeing it closely, almost as if she was trying to identify it. The Beast looked on, anxious and tense, but patiently awaiting her judgment.

The Princess reached out a hoof to gently prod the creature.

It opened beady red eyes, and hissed at her. She drew back in shock, as it tried to get its legs under itself to leap at her.

Then an armored hoof slammed down on it like a pile-driver, crushing it, and dispassionately grinding the remains into pulp and ichor.

In response, other hissing sounds came from the shelving before them.

The unicorns' horns blazed more fiercely, illuminating more of the room... and revealing several of the things, crouched amongst the assorted fenders and spare parts on the shelves.

Sam's skin crawled. They'd passed within inches of the horrors on the way in. He grimly prepared to help fight their way out, aiming his pistol at the nearest, largest target he could see, even as he glanced around looking for a handy pipe or board to fall back on if necessary.

He looked at the unicorns. And saw something amazing.

The Princess was focusing her magic, not on the crawling horrors in front of them, but on the larger unicorn, specifically on her broken horn. She was casting a cone of magenta force around it, almost like a prosthetic horn, made out of sheer magic itself.

The larger unicorn chuckled evilly. She sounded as if she'd just been let off the chain.

With a flash of light from her ruined horn, suddenly there was a large, shimmering, crackling bubble of energy around all three of them. Sam cautiously reached a hand towards it, then hurriedly jerked it back. His entire arm was tingling, nearly spasming with electric shock.

And if that was merely the result of glancing contact...

Several of the creatures leapt towards them. And sizzled like flies, when they hit the field, charring to ash almost instantly. The Beast gazed round, as if counting those remaining.

And then grinned.

In an instant, the electric field had dropped. The armored pony lowered her head. She sent out four sharp, precision bolts of blue electric fire, neatly catching each of the remaining creatures, searing them to a crisp. Residual blue static charge briefly played over the metal parts on the shelves in the silence that followed, then winked out.

With a sigh of relief, the Princess ceased casting her spell. She smiled up at her larger friend. The Beast returned the smile, a proud, almost smug look on her face. And Sam quietly safed and holstered his pistol, feeling thoroughly superfluous to requirements, yet grateful all the same.

He assisted the two unicorns in a thorough search of the room, making sure all of the bizarre horrors were accounted for. And then they made their way back up the stairs, with Sam in front, the Beast in the rear. The Princess was in the middle, looking somber and dispirited as she trudged up the steps.

Outside, as they emerged blinking into daylight, Marla whistled. "Sounds like you had a live one this time," she said. "You all right?"

"Me? I'm fine," Sam replied. "Thanks to our friends here. They knew just what to do. That gate, or whatever it was, is closed up. And there's a bunch of fried crawdads down there that'll need clearing up. I'm just glad that's not my job."

"We'll take care of it," Marla said. "You take care of our guests."

"Thanks, Marla."

"Better watch out, Sam," Len sneered. "Those ponies do your job too well, the Cap'n may decide to replace you with 'em!"

Sam shook his head, wearily. There was one like Len in every crowd: loud-mouthed, tactless, thoroughly unhelpful. "The only thing I worry about," Sam said, as he opened the van's rear door to let the unicorns climb back in, "is how the hell I'm going to write all this crap up. I feel like I need to binge Lord of the Rings again, just for imagery."

"Ain't that the truth," Marla said in sympathy.

Len just rolled his eyes.

"Pony whisperer," he muttered.

Sam ignored him. People like Len always had to have the last word. And usually got it -- because everyone else simply gave up even trying to talk to them.

Getting behind the wheel of the van, Sam put it in gear, then carefully began backing out of the alley. As he did so, he checked through the rear-view mirror. The unicorns had belted themselves in back there, using the restraints he'd jury-rigged for them in the rear compartment. The lavender unicorn was huddled against the larger unicorn, her head down, looking utterly depressed. The Beast had a hoof around her, apparently trying to comfort her.

Sam was worried. The Princess had been like that a lot lately: morose, depressed, almost like she was giving up hope. Seeing her like that broke Sam's heart. He wished there was something, anything he could do about it. He owed the unicorns that. The whole town did.

Because if they hadn't shown up, he thought, God only knows what might have happened...

It had started a couple months back, with a bunch of kids saying they'd found some kind of dimensional gate up in the town forest, on Smoke Hill. The Captain had initially put it down to a little too much Stranger Things, but had sent an officer up there to check it out.

That had been Carlos. And he'd called for backup immediately.

They'd kept the strange, shimmering portal under close watch for several hours. Thankfully, nothing eventful happened. Then it suddenly collapsed and disappeared without trace, all on its own.

A few days later, another one opened, over on Parson's Peak -- a silly name, really, for what was basically a rocky outcrop only marginally taller than the three other rises nearby, but it had stuck. The gate had exuded a blast of chill wind, and even some drifting snow for a while. Then once again it had sealed itself on its own, with little else to show for it.

Over the following weeks, more of the weird gates appeared, in random locations, at odd hours of the day and night.

And at the same time, animals started going missing.

Jed Parsons reported five of his sheep had simply vanished. And a sixth had been devoured on the spot, rather messily. Carl Beckridge, the town's oldest living veteran, reported his Pomeranian had gone out to relieve herself one evening and never came back. Burla Butrick called in that her heifers were afraid to leave their barn, and what was the county going to do about it, she'd like to know?

They'd debated trying to call in an expert. Yet the Mayor and the Chief of Police hadn't the foggiest notion of who to bring in. And no one was wild about having Federal investigators nosing around, turning the place upside down, telling everyone what to do. Even in the face of the strange invasion, the missing livestock and pets, there remained a resentful, self-sufficient streak in the townsfolk.

We can handle this on our own, was the general opinion.

After that, the officers standing watch on the gates tried cautiously leaning through them while they were still open, to find out what was on the other side. They'd reported an encyclopedia of strange, alien landscapes. Some were mere empty, barren rock, chokingly lacking in breathable air. Some were wildly fantastic, with plants and structures straight out of a child's storybook. And some... well, just by looking at those places, you could tell it was better not to be neighbors with them.

And it all seemed totally random. There seemed no reason for it. And careful questioning of residents in neighboring towns suggested it was local as well. There was no indication why this town was the epicenter of the phenomenon, it simply was.

And so things had stood, right up until a couple weeks ago, when one of the strange gates had materialized smack in the front room of Emil Baker's farmhouse, in the dead of night.

And all hell broke loose.

Whatever it was that crawled through the gate had rampaged through the house by the time Marla and Len arrived. They found grisly evidence that most of the family had been taken unawares. There was no sign of the youngest child, Toby.

Sam had responded to the call with Butler, the tough, tan-coated Belgian K9. The two of them had immediately gone in search of the boy, following a promising scent out the back door and into the woods back of the house.

Not far into the woods, in a clearing near the old ruined millhouse, they'd come across yet another of the gates. It was the first time Sam was aware of that there'd been two of the things manifesting at once.

And through this gate had leapt a creature that Sam could only describe as the delusional offspring of a dire wolf and a compost heap. The thing seemed to be formed from sticks and moss, held together by nothing more than a sickly green glow. Snarling, the creature launched itself at Sam.

Butler, tearing his leash free of Sam's grasp, launched forward to intercept it. But it hadn't even been a contest. The hound was smashed aside with one easy swipe of the horror's fore-claw. Striking a tree-trunk bodily, Butler thudded to the ground, clearly already dead.

The monstrosity had swung to face Sam then, its jaws bared and drooling. Sam had stared back, afraid to move a muscle. There was no way to fight it, no way to stop it falling on him, tearing him limb from limb...

Suddenly, from behind the thing, a blast of magenta light engulfed it. Before Sam's shocked eyes, the monster simply fell apart, crumbling and disintegrating, into a heap of matchwood, kindling, and lichen. The greenish glow that held it together dissipated into the air, like swamp gas.

Beyond, standing in front of the gate, Sam saw a lavender, winged unicorn. It was the Princess. She stood there, staring back at him in wide-eyed shock, her horn still gleaming with warm magenta fire.

Right behind her was the black-armored Beast, her horn crackling and fizzing, her gaze leveled at Sam as if down a gun-sight.

Just give me a reason, whatever you are, her look seemed to say.

Unsure what to do about them, Sam turned to Butler, and numbly checked him over. His eyes filled with tears. There was nothing to be done. His friend... his loyal, selfless friend, of so many years... was just... gone...

After a few moments, Sam felt a light touch at his shoulder. It was the Princess. She gently rested a hoof on his arm, staring up at him with those wide, purple-irised, intelligent eyes. There was a look of wordless sympathy on her face, of understanding and commisseration.

"Thanks..." Sam had choked out, unable to say more.

The Princess had simply nodded, smiling comfortingly. There was nothing more to say, nothing more that needed to be said. Sam somehow knew he could trust the odd creature completely. She sat with him quietly, as he grieved for Butler. And behind them, the Beast kept watch, her head swinging back and forth, looking out for trouble.

And then, when Sam finally felt able to call the whole event in, the two unicorns set about closing the gate. Sam watched in awe, the mike forgotten in his hand, as the weird, shimmering rift steadily dwindled and vanished right before his very eyes, under the Princess's determined, concentrated blaze of magenta energy.

Sam numbly finished his report, clicked off the mike.

And then had to figure out what to do next.

Even given the heartbreaking circumstances Sam still needed to search for Toby, no question. But maybe, just possibly... there was something else that might be done first.

It hadn't taken much coaxing. The two unicorns were already looking around, evidently lost and unsure what to do themselves. Encouraging them to follow him, Sam headed back up through the woods towards the farmhouse... towards the other gate.

And there, they'd run straight into the thing that had eaten the Bakers.

The black-armored unicorn didn't even hesitate. She'd charged straight at the worm-like monster, horn sparking and blazing. And she'd given it nine kinds of holy hell, before kicking it bodily back through the gate it had come through. Which the Princess then sealed behind it, her teeth gritted, her horn blazing.

Afterward, the lavender unicorn looked weary and drained. She sat beside her larger friend, recovering, as Sam tried to explain everything to an amazed Marla and Len. The other officers had been rightly skeptical, but couldn't deny the creature they'd seen, or the two unicorns sitting right in front of them.

Eventually the Chief arrived. Under the circumstances, she'd assigned Dierdra and Carlos to search for Toby, then gently ordered Sam to head home for the night. She promised they'd see to Butler properly. And Sam, broken-hearted and guilty, had impulsively volunteered to bring the unicorns along with him, and give them a place to stay overnight.

That had proven a challenge, in more ways than one.

It had taken more than a little coaxing to get the creatures to climb into the van, with its cage-like rear holding compartment. Sam did his best, demonstrating that the doors were not locked, rolling down the windows, even climbing in himself and closing and re-opening the door, hoping they'd get the idea.

Thankfully the Princess figured it out, and she willingly climbed inside. The Beast, after experimentally thumping the cage walls with a hoof, reluctantly followed her. The maroon pony sat down next to her smaller companion, watchful and suspicious, and steadied her with a forehoof as Sam put the van into gear and drove off.

The Beast didn't take her eyes off Sam, not for a moment, all the way back to the small split-level he called home. Every time he'd looked in the mirror, he saw her, glaring back at him.

Just give me a reason, her look said.

But Sam could also see that it wasn't simple aggression. She was worried. She felt out of her depth here. And so she was responding in the only way she knew how: by falling back on the job, on her role as guardian for her friend.

Sam could understood that perfectly.

He pulled the van into the garage, and then gently led the way from the garage into the house. On the way, they passed through the small utility room which had been Butler's space. It still held the thick mattress the hound had used as a bed, and a few of his favorite chew-toys. Sam avoided looking at it. He headed onward, into the kitchen. There, he paused. He was torn between being a good host, offering the unicorns his own room, or alternatively figuring out how to open out the sofa bed in the living room for them.

Then he realized they hadn't followed him. He returned to the utility room and found that the Princess had quietly resolved the issue by simply throwing herself down on Butler's old mattress, oblivious to the large-dog aroma. She was already asleep, sprawled on her back, eyes shut and wings splayed, snoring quietly.

The Beast was hauling a quilt out of the laundry basket with her teeth, and she spread it over her friend, tucking it in around her with an almost maternal care. And then she sat down beside the mattress herself, glaring around, apparently determined to remain there, on watch, all night if she had to.

Not wanting to argue, Sam retreated to the kitchen and hunted around for something he might offer them, reasoning his guests were probably hungry as well as tired. Uncertain what unicorns normally ate, he came back with a tray, carrying a pitcher of water plus some mugs, and bread and crackers and cheese, plus some leftover greens from the fridge.

And found the Beast reared up at the utility sink, experimenting with the cold water tap. Her armored hoof inexpertly thumped and batted at the lever until she finally worked out to turn it on. Bending her head to sip from the flow, she drew back and made a face, probably because of the strong mineral content of the town supply.

Then she reached up her forehooves and wearily pulled off her helmet, setting it onto the countertop next to the sink. Shaking her forehooves free of their armored shoes, she arranged the shoes carefully beside the helmet. Then she proceeded to splash her face with water from the sink, and even managed to use the cracked, yellowed bar of soap to lather up her forehooves, washing off the dust and caked-on grime.

And she projected such a familiar air, of weary, end-of-the-day exhaustion, that Sam couldn't help but smile. It was like when he came home at the end of his own shift and put Butler to bed, then went through the ritual of taking off the uniform, washing up, hanging things up, arranging his gear in order so it'd be ready for the next day -- or the next on-call, whichever came first.

He knew exactly how she felt right now.

The Beast turned her head, eyeing him warily.

Something you want, mister?

In reply Sam held up the tray, then set it on the table near the kitchen door.

The maroon unicorn finished rinsing her hooves, grabbed a dishtowel with her teeth to dry them off, then trotted over to sniff cautiously at the offered meal.

She nodded curtly, apparently appeased by the simple fare.

Then she turned to sit down beside the mattress again. She glanced idly back and forth, almost as if she was expecting that someone else would be there with her...

... and then suddenly, her eyes teared up. She sighed crossly.

Twisting around, she grabbed vicously at a strap on her body armor with her teeth. Getting hold, she tugged at it, inexpertly and in mounting agitation, trying to unbuckle her armor. She was clearly unused to having to do it herself, and it wasn't helping her mood any.

Sam watched, worried, as she grew increasingly angry and frustrated. Finally, he cautiously approached, kneeling down beside her, and reaching out to lend a hand.

Her head jerked up, and she snarled at him, enraged.

He drew back quickly, holding up his hands placatingly, worried she might actually attack him. Then he pointed to the buckle she was struggling with.

For a moment longer, she continued glaring at him, untrustingly.

And then, something in her just gave out. Her shoulders sagged, her head drooped. She relented helplessly, allowing him to help unstrap and remove the heavy plate. And it was heavy. Sam was surprised. It felt like she was wearing a car chassis on her back. She was a lot stronger than she looked.

He carefully set the armor on the counter next to the helmet, along with the other pair of armored shoes. And then came back to help her extricate herself from the black cloth garment she wore underneath it all. It was a bit like skinning a bear, holding onto the tough fabric with all his strength while she dragged herself out of it.

Nodding thankfully, she took the garment from him, then moved to the sink to efficiently rinse it out and hang it up to dry. Sam considered offering to run it through the washer and dryer, but decided it was best not to push his luck. Her armor was likely personal, and he didn't want her suspecting him of trying to take it away from her.

Then the Beast came back and sat herself down on the edge of the mattress again. Even stripped of her armor she was still formidable. She still kept glaring about, wary and watchful, unable to properly relax. Clearly she still felt on-call, still had a duty of care for the winged unicorn slumbering behind her.

Nodding in understanding, Sam settled himself on the floor, and leaned against the wall beside the kitchen door. He patted his service pistol, and motioned from his eyes to the doors and windows. And then leaned back, making it clear he was prepared to stay there, on watch.

The maroon unicorn eyed him for a while longer, apparently still deciding whether to trust him or not. Then she shrugged and lay down, resting her head on her forehooves.

She stared straight ahead at the wall in front of her, aggressively, as if daring it to offend her in some way. And finally, after several minutes, she let her eyes slide closed and drifted off to sleep. Yet even so, her ears twitched and rotated at the slightest sound. She grumbled in her sleep, softly and uneasily. Apparently she slept on a hair-trigger, and Sam knew it would not be a good idea to rouse her unexpectedly.

Sam put his hands behind his head, tried to make himself comfortable. It was going to be a long night, and he'd probably pay for it in the morning. But it wasn't the first time he'd sat up with a colleague or a friend.

And these creatures had just saved his life... twice.

He owed it to them.

The next morning Sam drowsily opened his eyes. And jolted in shock.

The Beast, re-clad in her armor, was standing right in front of him, practically nose-to-nose, with a look of cynical amusement on her face. This is what you call keeping watch? her accusing look seemed to say.

Sheepishly Sam rubbed his face, then painfully got to his feet. He hobbled into the kitchen, feeling every step. And stopped, staring.

The Princess was there, reared up on the step-stool at the island, with mixing bowls, measuring cups, and packages of ingredients spread all around her. Her hooves and snout were caked with flour and powdered sugar. She'd apparently been trying to make pancakes from scratch, inexpertly.

She stared up at Sam, a woeful, apologetic look on her face.

And then sneezed.

Sam laughed, unable to contain himself. The look on her face was just too priceless. The Princess herself looked wryly abashed for a moment. Then she suddenly started laughing as well, willingly and enthusiastically, as if realizing how ridiculous she looked.

Appreciating the gesture, Sam moved to lend a hand, pulling down the electric griddle from the cabinet, while the Princess went on mixing the batter with a spatula held in the magic field projected by her horn.

And when they'd finally sat down to eat, Sam was amazed. They were the best home-cooked griddle-cakes he'd ever tasted. He toasted the Princess's accomplishment with his orange juice, and willingly held out his plate for more. The Beast, for her part, tore her way through about half a loaf of buttered toast, with a whole pot of black coffee to wash it down. Apparently she liked a meal she could sink her teeth into.

Afterward while Sam washed the dishes, the Princess and the Beast sat together at the table, a writing tablet before them and a ballpoint pen darting about in the Princess's magic field, rapidly scribbling notes and sketches on the paper. And the two of them were talking with each other, in quiet urgent tones, as if batting ideas back and forth.

Given everything else, Sam wasn't too surprised to learn the ponies could speak, though he was surprised that they hadn't even tried talking to him yet. Then, as he listened more carefully, he understood why: he couldn't make out what they were saying. Not that it wasn't clearly audible or understandable, quite the contrary. It almost sounded like grammatically correct English. But almost was the operative word. It was as if he could only just grasp the meaning of the words as they went by him, with nothing really sticking afterwards.

He walked over, drying his hands on a towel, to look with curiosity at the scribbled sheets scattered across the table. There was the same sense of almost-comprehension there as well: the writing on the pages was nearly standard Latin alphabetic characters, but not quite. The lettering was blurred, chunky, incomplete. It suggested familiar words and phrases, yet never quite admitted to being them.

Sam found it mildly troubling. It was as if the creatures didn't properly belong in this world, as if they were just a little too fantastic to exist here. Reality itself was rejecting their existence, isolating them in a private bubble of mutual comprehension, to which he wasn't privy.

Or, Sam admitted to himself honestly, maybe it's because I'm a little too old, a little too cynical. He wasn't young-at-heart enough anymore, to understand the speech of unicorns...

The Princess suddenly looked up at Sam with an eager smile, like a trusting child. Okay, what now? her look seemed to say.

Sam realized he wasn't really sure. Nevertheless, he nodded reassuringly.

We'll figure something out.

Loading them back in the van, Sam drove down to the precinct. And spent close to half an hour closeted with the Captain and the Chief of Police, making his report, while trying to make it clear that he was not, in fact, losing his marbles. That he had been saved from being eaten by something from another dimension by two honest-to-God unicorns. And that, in his opinion, the creatures were the town's best defense against whatever might come out of the gates next.

But the Chief, despite the evidence, wasn't having it. "Patrolman, for the last time," she said, as they walked back out into the common room, "We have no time for fairy tales. And this isn't a petting zoo. These... gate things are our top priority. We need to figure out where they're coming from, and how to stop them."

"But the Princess, and her friend," Sam pointed out, "they both seem to know about these gates and how to deal with them. Don't you think --"

"Hey, Sam!" Len called over. "You wanna tell your pet ponies to quit mucking around with the situation board?"

Sam looked up. Across the room was the corkboard on which they'd put up a map of the county. There were stickpins and scribbled dates for when and where the gates had been appearing, in an attempt to find a pattern in it. So far, they hadn't had any luck.

The Princess was currently reared up with her forehooves against the map, her gaze darting about it intently. A ruler and pencil drifted about in her magic, sketching lines and angles and scribbling small calculations on the paper.

Len was seated comfortably at his desk, his feet up, his arms crossed, grinning like a cat, deliberately not getting involved. It wasn't his problem, but he was more than happy to watch Sam try to deal with it.

Sam hustled over to the board, trying to figure on the way there out how to gently dissuade the lavender pony from her mathematical doodlings.

As he reached her, the pencil and ruler swept aside. Her hooftip pointed to a small criss-cross of tickmarks on the map. She stared up at him, urgently.

"What? What is it?"

She rolled her eyes, amazed he could be so dense, and tapped the map, more forcefully.

"Officer Winston," the Chief called over, sounding dangerously cross, "will you kindly get your colorful little friend in hand, please?"

Then the Chief suddenly shrieked.

Sam turned to look. And was horrified, as was everyone else in the room.

The Beast, not trifling with attempts at explanation, had simply trotted around behind the Chief, bit down upon her collar... and was frog-marching the Chief across the room on tiptoe, forcibly and implacably, to stand facing the board. And the Princess, too -- who was still insistently tapping her hoof on the mark on the map.

Before the Chief could recover enough to erupt in anger, Marla's desk phone rang. She picked it up, listened, then looked up in shock. "That was Carlos. There's another of the gates, he says. Down back of the school... on the playground."

Everyone stared at the map. The pony's star-like triangulation mark was dead center of the school's playground.

Abandoning questions for later, they swung into action. Sam loaded the ponies back in his van, then broke several traffic laws and more than a few safety guidelines getting over to the school.

They found the gate as predicted, standing at an angle on the sandy play surface between the slides and the roundabout. As the other officers fanned out to cordon it off, Sam followed his unicorn companions over to it.

He wondered why they didn't simply close it off, like they'd done with the others. They were standing there, staring at it, looking at each other anxiously.

Then Sam realized. They came through a gate like this... so for them, it might be the way home.

The Beast suddenly came to a decision. She pointed a hoof imperiously, ordering her friend to stay put next to Sam. Then she turned and advanced cautiously on the gate.

Coming up to it, she cautiously bent her head through, into the shimmering fog, looking around. And then she drew back...

... and there was what looked like a fat, blue smiley-face with insect wings sitting on her nose.

She stared at it, cross-eyed, in shock. Then with cobra-like speed she whipped her head back from it, clamped her teeth down hard on one of its wings and flung it back through the gate as hard as she could. And stood back at a safe distance while the Princess lost no time in sealing the portal behind it. Clearly, the ponies knew something about the harmless-looking insects that made it a very good idea to be rid of them -- and fast.

After all that, there was no further questioning of Sam's report. Or of the ponies' value to the force in current circumstances.

Things moved pretty quickly from that point on. Sam found himself appointed the unicorns' unofficial keeper and ambassador. And the force quickly got used to the sound of hooves clip-clopping around the common room. Not to mention the seemingly endless scritchings of the Princess's pen, as she filled page after page of notepaper with arcane diagrams and calculations.

Sam had tried to be helpful at one point, offering the use of his desk calculator. She'd simply eyed it dismissively, as if she didn't think it had nearly enough buttons.

And when the Princess's incomprehensible figuring finally did allow her to point to a spot on the map with authority, they lost no time mobilizing to get there. Because there would always be a gate, right where she pointed. It was risking the wrath of the Beast, in fact, to not pay attention to her. No one, not even the Chief -- who normally could stare down both the Mayor and the Superintendent with stolid impunity -- wanted to risk facing the maroon pony's stern, narrow-eyed, snorting gaze.

For his part, Sam didn't mind the arrangement. He'd quickly gotten to like the ponies' company. It was hard not to like them in fact. He appreciated their patient, practical, and self-reliant approach to just about everything. As well as the occasional comical misunderstanding. Like the time they'd stopped off at Sal's Salad Garden for dinner as a treat. He'd left to wash his hands in the restroom and had come back to find the Princess attempting to eat one of the fake flowers from the table's small vase. She'd apparently been under the mistaken assumption they were intended as appetizers, and she spat out the half-chewed fabric with distaste. And then they'd all had a companionable laugh about it.

That in itself, the pleasant company, as wordless as it was, made it all worthwhile keeping an eye on the two of them.

It also helped, in a small way, to fill the aching gap left behind by Butler.

The ponies themselves seemed okay with the arrangement. Clearly they wanted to find a gate that would get them home, as much as the town wanted to be rid of the things. So there was a mutual interest here. But the ponies also seemed to have been on the run for a while, and were relieved to have finally found a place to stay that was, if unfamiliar to them, at least friendly and reasonably safe.

But as days, and then weeks passed, Sam could tell something was wrong. The Princess's calculations were becoming increasingly intricate and difficult, with an air of desperate frustration. It was as if she was reaching the limits of what even she knew to throw at the problem, and still coming up short.

And there were times when it all seemed to become too much for her.

The Beast could sit patiently on a cushion in a corner, eyeing the room with stern dispassion, seemingly forever if needed. But the Princess... Sam could sense a brittleness to her optimism, an unsettled drive to succeed, a need to feel she was in control of the situation, knew just what to do. And, every now and then, she would reach a point at which her ability to cope just... snapped.

One afternoon in particular, when she'd seemed particularly frustrated, Sam had coaxed the two ponies into taking a walk with him around town, in hopes the change in scenery might help them. It was a quiet afternoon, so he wasn't too worried about them calling attention to themselves.

And at first, it had seemed to help. They'd crossed the town square with its small trickling fountain, then window-shopped along what passed for the town's main street, although the highlight of the entire row, apparently, was a new display of hacksaws in the hardware store.

And they spent several minutes standing under the huge old oak tree by the supermarket. The Princess stared up at the tree's lofty, leafy branches with a wistful, reminiscent look on her face. Sam didn't understand why -- it was just a tree, after all. But he wasn't about to hurry her. The Princess looked honestly happier than he'd seen her in a long while. Almost as if she had somehow finally come home.

And then they made the mistake of walking past the town's Library.

Like a bloodhound catching a scent, the Princess had turned to stare at the building. Then she'd charged up the front steps, darting inside and leaving Sam and the Beast to both belatedly follow after her.

They found her standing on the front carpet by the checkout desk, staring around at the shelves full of books. Her eyes were wide and joyful, like a child faced with a candy store for the first time. She ran over to a shelf, her magic yanking out a book and flipping it open. She stared at it. Her smile faded. Dropping it, she grabbed another one. And then another. She raced over to a different shelf, frantically, and grabbed out a book at random. It was just the same.

She hurried from shelf to shelf, hauling books out, flipping briefly through them and dropping them. By this point she was in tears, sobbing as she darted this way and that, heedless of the mess she was making.

In the end, she wound up sitting in the middle of a heap of discarded books, none of which she could read. The strange distancing, that made her speech and writing incomprehensible to Sam... it apparently worked the other way as well.

And it was more than she could take.

The Beast approached her, gently putting out a forehoof to comfort her. And the Princess turned and clung to her, desperately, wailing in helpless agony, utterly overwhelmed and inconsolable.

The Beast simply held her close, apparently not knowing what else do.

And then she'd looked up at Sam, murder in her eyes. You had to bring her here, the look said. You had to remind her.

Gritting his teeth, Sam turned away. He felt utterly ashamed. Even if it wasn't his fault, he felt responsible. The Princess was so kind and selfless... to him, to the town, to everyone she met, without question or exception. She was such a positive influence on everyone and everything around her.

Seeing her in tears like this... it was a knife to the heart.

Sam understood why the Beast was so determinedly protective of the lavender pony. He felt the same way -- like he would do anything to keep the Princess from harm, keep her from feeling sad or disappointed. And he would do anything she needed done, because it would be the right thing to do.

And -- Sam promised himself then and there -- if there was a way to get the two of them home, he'd make sure it happened.

The Princess... well, she deserved that.

The morning after the battle with the spider-like creatures, Sam was sitting at his kitchen table, slowly sipping the one cup of coffee he allowed himself before work.

The Beast was outside, exercising herself by the simple expedient of galloping around the house at breakneck speed. Again and again, with clock-like regularity, her hooves thundered past the kitchen windows.

And to Sam's right, the Princess had shoved aside her breakfast dishes and was already hard at work. Her hooves sifted through sheets of paper covered with notes, her magic sorted through a set of notecards she kept in a small plastic card file.

Sam had to admit that the lavender pony was organized -- almost maniacally so. She'd created one card for each appearance of a gate, with pertinent information jotted down on it in her opaque almost-writing. The edges were carefully color-coded according to some system she'd devised. She shuffled and dealt the cards in tableaus, like a Solitaire devotee, endlessly arranging and rearranging them, looking for patterns.

And she seemed to have whittled them down to a cluster of eight or nine cards of interest. Grabbing a fresh sheet of paper with her magic, she copied down the unique symbol from each card and created a small graph, with the incidents connected by lines according to some criteria only she understood.

And then she sat back, biting her lip, apparently uncertain what to do next. Glancing at her for permission, Sam reached out and drew the sheet over to have a look. As he did, the Beast trotted into the kitchen, a towel thrown around her neck. Grabbing up a mug of coffee for herself, she sat down opposite Sam, glancing at the Princess concernedly.

Sam turned the Princess's chart this way and that, but could make little of it. There was one symbol at the top, a number of other symbols spread out below it, in a branching pattern.

"Wish I could help you, Princess. It doesn't mean much to me." He slid it back towards her.

By chance, he'd returned it upside down, with the lone symbol at the bottom. And the Princess's eyes went wide. She stared at it for a moment longer, and then her magic grabbed up her pen and drew an additional node below the lone symbol, then jotted a few figures beside it.

Sam grinned. "That's a pretty good picture of a tree, Princess," he joked, looking at the result.

But the lavender pony wasn't listening. With her magic she had grabbed up her collection of cards, and was sifting through them furiously. She went through the entire deck so fast that several cards flew into the air, landing some distance away. She didn't even seem to notice.

She reached the end of the deck, dropped the cards in a disorganized heap on the table. There was a broad, eager smile on her face.

She abruptly jumped up, threw her forehooves around Sam, and kissed him, loudly and wetly, on the ear. Then she jumped down from her chair and barreled out of the room at top speed, yelling with sheer delight.

Sam stared after her in surprise, wondering what had gotten into her.

Then he realized the Beast was eyeing him, an amused smirk on her face. "Don't look at me like that," Sam said. He shrugged and returned to his coffee cup. "As long as she's happy, that's what matters, right?"

When they arrived at the station, the Princess set right to work again, measuring distances on the situation map and jotting down notes and figures. But this time, there was clear purpose to her calculations, an effortlessness and certainty Sam hadn't seen from her in some time. She hummed to herself happily as she worked.

"Er... Sam? Can I have a word?"

It was the Chief. Sam was amazed. He couldn't even remember the last time she'd addressed him by his first name.

Leaving the Beast to watch over her busy friend, Sam followed the Chief into the office. And knew right away that something was up. The Chief had the you're not gonna like this, but I'm sayin' it anyway look on her face.

"I've been chatting with the Mayor, about our current situation," she said. "And about our guests." She glanced out through the partition window at the two ponies. And realized that the Beast was looking straight back at her, watchfully. The Chief hastily turned her gaze toward the exterior window of her office. "With the increase in number of these... gates," she went on, "And the unpredictable things that we've seen wandering through them... well, the Mayor says -- and I agree -- until we get a handle on things, we don't want to lose the one ace we have in dealing with them."

Sam carefully kept his expression neutral. But inwardly he winced. Yep. I don't like where this is going.

"Sam, you get along well with these... ponies. I need you to persuade them to stick around, at least until we get these gate things sorted out. Last thing we need right now is them suddenly vanishing off to woo-woo land --" She waved her hands vaguely. "And leaving us with no way to defend ourselves."

"Even if that 'woo-woo' land," Sam asked, cautiously, "happens to be the place they came from?"

She stared at him flatly. "I know how much you care about these creatures," she said. "And I don't like asking it, but I need you to remember your duty to the people in this town -- who we're sworn to protect? They need to come first. It's our job. Just... don't let our friends run off, all right? Not until we know how to stop these gates from popping up on us."

Sam scratched his head, uneasily. "If only we could talk to them, explain things. It'd be so much simpler..."

"Well, we can't." She replied flatly. "So we have to do what we can, with what we have, where we are. And right now, that means them." She pointed through the window at the two ponies, standing by the map. "Huh," she added. "Looks like they might have another lead for us already."

Sam looked, saw the Princess waving a hoof at him.

"I'll go see to it," Sam said, getting up to leave.

"You do that, Sam," the Chief replied. "You just do that."

Crossing the main room to reach the map, Sam found Marla and Len standing close by. "Is it another bingo, Sam?" Marla asked. "I'll summon the troops."

"I'm not sure." Sam looked the Princess in the eye. She wasn't anxious, eager, in a hurry to save the day like usual. She almost looked... embarrassed, ashamed. Like she needed to ask a favor, and even without the language barrier, she lacked the words. She glanced at the mark she'd added to the map. No numbers, no figures this time. None of the usual arcane geometric scribblings. Just an 'X', in a particular spot.

"Tell you what," Sam said quietly. "We'll go check it out. And if we need help, we'll call it in."

"You got it," Marla replied.

"Don't get eaten out there, Sam," Len sneered. Then, more quietly: "Not sure I wanna have to take over your job..."

The place the Princess had marked was in the woods near the Baker farmhouse. It wasn't the exact same spot. The clearing near the old millhouse was across a creek and up the trail a ways. But it was close enough that it didn't seem to be an accident.

The Princess stared up at Sam, sadly. Then she turned, fired up her horn, and cast. And before Sam's eyes, a portal spun open. It was different from the others: sharp-edged and solid as a rock. And through it, he could see a sunny expanse of meadow, with a few trees in the distance.

The two unicorns stared at the view, tensely eager. Even the Beast looked like she wanted to charge right through the portal. But the Princess held back, shaking her head, not certain.

Then she looked up at Sam again.

And put up a hoof to gently grasp his hand.

Sam nodded. "You calling for backup, Princess? At least, until you're sure it's the right place?" He smiled. "That's what I'm here for."

Together, the three of them approached the portal, and stepped through.

And for Sam, it was almost indescribable. It was like... stepping into a summer's day. And not just any summer's day. That very first day, with school just let out and the entire three months of summer vacation lying ahead: no worries, no cares. In the sky overhead a warm sun, almost tangibly gentle and caring, shone down on them, amid banks of clouds that looked sculpted and artistically arranged.

And in the distance there were houses: a small village of thatched-roof, Tudor-style houses, complete with a windmill, standing beside a sparkling stream. And standing high above the small town, there was a tall, tree-like castle, which appeared to be made of glittering crystal.

The two unicorns looked at each other, cautiously smiling. And then set out toward a nearby path, which itself led to the town, passing over a small footbridge.

Sam followed them. As they entered the village and walked along its paths, he saw dozens of other ponies. Some were unicorns, like the Princess and her guardian. But several simply had wings, not horns, flitting about through the air like four-hooved birds. And the great majority were simply down-to-earth ponies, solid and ruggedly built. Apart from the intelligent looks in their eyes, and the day-glow coloration, they would not have looked much out of place on a farmstead back home.

They were all gazing at Sam in some puzzlement and concern -- though not fear, he noticed. And at the sight of the Princess, they became wildly excited. A large crowd of them gathered and followed along, as the Princess trotted confidently up to the door of the crystal castle.

And knocked. And waited, trading a mischievously gleeful look with both Sam and the Beast.

The door opened, and a small purple dragon looked out.

And nearly lost his mind. He flung himself on the Princess, hugging her tightly, yelling his head off.

Behind him came another unicorn, lavender like the Princess, but with a different, fuller mane-style. And the expression on her face was equal parts relief and shame. She hugged the Princess as well, and the two of them chattered at each other at length, excited and embarrassed by turns, while the small dragon turned handsprings of joy around them.

The Beast gave Sam a wry, knowing glance. And Sam nodded in return. "Yeah, I know," he said. "They also serve who only stand and wait. Let her have this. She'll remember us, once she's calmed down a little."

It took a while but eventually the Princess remembered. Turning to the crowd of curious ponies, she gestured at Sam, and spoke proudly and at length. Sam still had little idea what she was saying, but judging by the crowd's reaction, it was probably epic.

Then, with a singing flare of her horn, the Princess disappeared in a burst of light. And with another, she was suddenly back again, carrying a small crystal block and a bundle of scrolls. She unrolled one, and showed it to Sam. It took a lot of gesturing and charades, but eventually he understood to some extent. It was a diagram of a web of nodes of some kind, in the center of which was the crystal castle. The Princess held up the crystal block, and Sam didn't have to be an expert in unicorn magic to understand the large, heavily-burnt crack in it.

Holding it up, the Princess cast a spell on it. The flickering blue, mist-like glow inside it flicked out, leaving it cold and dead. She nodded. That'll do it, her look said. Then she looked up at Sam, deeply regretful.

He nodded, understanding. "Yeah, these things happen," he said. "You didn't mean for it to break down, get out of control, start spitting out these gates everywhere. And at least you tried your best to fix it, to get it back under control. Then you got lost yourselves, and you were trying like hell to get back here. And then... you found us, luckily enough."

The Princess put a hoof on Sam's knee, a truly repentant, beseeching look on her face. Wordlessly, silently, she begged forgiveness. And Sam nodded, agreeing with her.

It wouldn't bring the Baker family back. Or the animals that had been lost. Or Butler...

... but, Sam firmly reminded himself, it's not a zero-sum game, is it? It never is. These things do happen. And any other creature would have just gotten back here by any means necessary, and then swept it all under the rug, hoping that anyone involved forgot about it.

But not the Princess. That wasn't how she operated. She stared up at Sam, visibly seeking his pardon, on behalf of herself and her friends, for the injury they'd caused.

Sam got down on one knee, took hold of her hoof. And then, feeling a little ridiculous, gently rested his forehead on it for a moment -- just to do the thing properly.

The crowd of ponies shouted and stamped happily. The Princess herself beamed, overjoyed. And even the Beast regarded Sam with an approving smirk.

Then they all escorted him back to the portal, which was still standing in the meadow outside the village. And the Princess waited, a little bemused, while Sam pulled out his phone and grabbed a quick selfie with her and an entire village of sentient ponies. "Just because no one will believe me otherwise," he said.

Then he stepped through the portal, into the forest on his side. He looked back, and saw her staring through at him, smiling that warm, friendly, trusting smile -- so childlike, and at the same time, so intelligent and authoritative.

He raised a hand, waving in response, as she fired up her horn, and closed the portal behind him.

Then Sam turned and headed back through the woods to his van, already rehearsing what he was going to say to the Chief and the Mayor.

And already missing the gentle clip-clip of hooves trotting along beside him.

"I am so glad you worked out the temporal sequence of the failure cascade," said Starlight Glimmer, as they headed back towards the Friendship Castle to clean up the workroom. "And realized you could simply create a link-point yourself, at the right spot, to get back here. When you were blown through the collapsing portal, and Tempest dove in after you, I..." She gritted her teeth. "I didn't know what to do!"

"Well... I didn't figure it out all by myself," Twilight replied, grinning. "I had some help!"

"Who was that guy, anyway?" Starlight asked, "He looked a lot like the people from Sunset's world, from Canterlot High. But I couldn't understand a word he was saying."

Twilight smiled, and exchanged a look with black-armored Tempest Shadow, who was trotting along beside her as always. "I'm not sure," she said. "I wasn't able to ask. But whoever he was, I think their world could do with a lot more people like him."

Tempest nodded. "A lot more..." she agreed.

Author's Notes:

This is offered purely as entertainment; I'm not taking a position on current events here. I will say though, that like Twilight I think the world would be a nicer place with just a few more folks who understand what the words "to serve and protect" should mean.