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Out of Place

by Dan_s Comments

Chapter 4: Out of Time Part 1

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Out of Place - Out of Time Part 1

DISCLAIMER: My Little Pony is the property of Hasbro, Inc.

Burning Bridges (Kelly's Heroes)
Mike Curb Congregation
Songwriter: Paul Scott

Friends all tried to warn me, but I held my head up high.
All the time to warn me, but I only passed them by.
They all tried to tell me, but I guess I didn't care.
I turned my back and left them standing there.
All the burning bridges that are falling after me.
All the lonely feelings and the burning memories.
Everyone I left behind each time I closed the door.
Burning bridges lost forevermore.

Glory Bell watched in stunned amazement. That thing actually works, and a pegasus can fly it too, not just an Earth Pony. She shook her head. Okay, he's not quite the idiot I thought. But . . .

Then she saw him surrender control to Fleetfoot, and the Wonderbolt soon was confident at the controls. The maneuver Fleetfoot took them through was deceptively simple. I've never seen anypony do that. You wouldn't have to land to pick up and lift something. And all you'd need to do is toss a rope to the flyer, and no jerk as they are carried aloft.

Fleetfoot brought the device in for a landing worthy of a Wonderbolt. Dramatic, and controlled. The stallion adjusted the controls and let the rotors spin down as they slowed their pedaling, cooling themselves down from the effort.

She headed over as Spitfire and Surprise landed near the machine and began chattering at the pilot and Fleetfoot. Soarin' was still practicing flying backwards around the test track. Glory cantered over.

"How soon can you teach us?" Spitfire asked eagerly.

"When I'm not so tired," he said, raised his head and grinned, "So, I guess I have some test pilots for the future models?" he asked.

Spitfire, Fleetfoot and Surprise all eagerly agreed. Glory just shook her head and joined the crowd.

"So what do you have in mind?" she asked.

Besides collecting a herd of mares, she thought darkly.

"With this model," he said, and pointed back to the small tail rotor, "I need to develop a cyclic, if you can vary the speed of that rotor, you can make the entire Diane rotate around it's own axis."

"Why don't you build it?" Fleetfoot asked as she climbed off the frame.

"With which hoof would you control it?" he asked in return.

The Wonderbolts were left dumbfounded. Fleetfoot looked at the pedals, and then her own hooves.

He turned to Glory. "That's why I was eager for your help," he said, "I haven't been able to figure out either. And that bugs me."

"So you didn't take her as an assistant for her family's connections?" Spitfire asked.

Glory stared at her friends, as she nearly died inside.

"A few people I trust said she was a nerd, that's all I needed to hear," he replied.

"What's a nerd?" Glory asked.

"Somebody who uses their brain for something other than keeping their hair off the top of their mouth. It is more specific than an intellectual, because it assumes technical competence. You got your Princess-ship for a rather superb piece of engineering when you were in grade school, and you've kept up your rather eclectic studies."

"He wants you for your brain," Fleetfoot said, finally getting through to him.

"I - " He stopped, and noted he was surrounded by Wonderbolt mares, friends of Glory's, he was the outsider, and none of the stallions were around. He earned good marks from the others by carefully phrasing the next, "I was eager to have you as an assistant. Who you date, and why, is entirely your business. And I would be remarkably bad company in that regard."

"Why?" Spitfire asked.

"While I can remember which utensil goes with which dish, and I know not to drink out of the hoof-rinse bowl, I'd never fit into high society. I'd much rather be at the machine shop or the drawing board," he said.

"Then how are you Celestia's new play toy?" Soarin' asked as he landed.

The three Wonderbolt mares groaned.

"I am a sounding board, not what most people think of when they hear 'play-toy'. Twilight was a student, because her magical power exceeded any non-alicorn since Star Swirl the Bearded. The Princess, Princesses, need someone not them to deal with problems. Twilight leads her knights. I do stuff like this." He gestured at the Diane. "Her Majesty wants her people to advance, and I come up with ideas others haven't."

They nodded and accepted that.

So what did they buy him with? Me as an extra horn? Glory wondered as she helped them carry the Diane to a large shed. Large enough that they didn't have to disassemble it to get it through the doors.

"So, when can you teach us to fly that?" Spitfire asked pointedly.

"Probably tomorrow. I have to get some machine tools ordered and start thinking about making replacement parts." He looked at Glory. "And yes, I took a loan from your uncle's coterie, against 10 percent of our profits on the Dianes, or one in ten of the production units. Until the loan is paid."

Glory felt he'd stabbed her in the heart.

Then he confused her growing sense of betrayal. "You were neither collateral, nor payment, your help was as a favor to both of us. Gives me a clever helper, and gives you an excuse to stay away from all the people who've been giving you trouble. After all, keeping an eye on Celestia's newest crazy for your uncle is good cover, and no one will argue."

"I am not spying for my uncle!" Glory exploded at him.

"Whether you intended to or not, you should be," he replied calmly, "After all, his job is keeping things on an even keel. If these shake things up too much, he's honor and duty-bound to stop me. I'd rather a polite word from a friend comes round to concentrate on the industrial sector or the military sector, rather than the full force of the local bureaucracy come crashing down on me. I intend to shake things up. I'd rather do so in a way that doesn't cause a panic in the halls of power."

As Glory stared at him, Fleetfoot reached over and closed her mouth. "Flies don't taste as good as you think."


Spitfire approaches me after Glory Bell had left.

"I sent a couple of the trainers to see her safely home, and prevent Claire from turning back and 'talking' to the crazy colt," Spitfire tells me, "So, how'd you see through her?"

"I got called into the offices of her uncle's most trusted subordinates for a little talk about getting some help, read: keep her out of trouble. And lo and behold, she's not only in my apartment, but asleep in my bed."

Spitfire gasps, but shakes her head ruefully.

"Yeah, a bit of a coincidence. You've probably run into admirers who were a little too, admiring," I say, "There's no way I warrant one of those. I may not be the most in-tune pony, but that smelled like fraud, even to me. Her uncle is smart enough to realize she's at the dangerous juncture of 'cute filly' and 'beautiful mare', and is not sailing the turbulence with particular skill or cunning."

The Wonderbolts' captain nods. "We keep a few of the trainers and mechanics close by for our younger members, and some of our fan appearances. You know, the kind of nice stallions and mares who could snap anyone short of the Princess' guards in half."

"She's got Claire, who looks like she regularly places in the annual, All-Equestria, Live-Bear eating contest."

"She's really a sweetie," Spitfire says.

"I have a group on rotation. Protecting who from whom probably changes on a moment by moment basis. I wouldn't want to face any in a fight, unless I got the first shot, and had an artillery brigade as that shot," I say, "So she getting a little too pretty, has always been inquisitive, and is getting a little too clever at ditching her guards for her uncle's comfort."

"Frankly, she's gorgeous," Spitfire says, then stares at me, "Or aren't you interested in mares?"

"I've already been married, and am a widower," I tell her, "Not even the Princesses come up to my wife's standard. Although most of you would think she was funny-looking, fact remains so am I, and I still love her."

"Sorry. Did you know her long?"

"Most of my life, and loved her most of that time. So the pretty filly is more interesting as a workmate than a love-mate."

She reaches out, then thinks better of it and pulls back. "Sorry about prying, but she is a friend. And you are right, there've been a few stallions, and the occasional mare, who've gotten far closer than they should have, and been warned off, by Claire, or one of us. And she's been taking chances an older and wiser mare wouldn't. There's some bad ponies out there, and she thinks she can charm or clever her way out of any situation. While some were after the pretty, most so far were after her uncle, for his money or his position. I guess I'm `safe` because she came to us. I'm just suspicious for our biggest fan."

"It's a fair question. Yes, she's very pretty, but she's a lot further down the 'not my wife' list. There are a lot of other issues I have to work out before I get tangled with another person that way. Mainly, I want to get through the next year. There are worse things than not noticing a pretty face."

"Yeah. There's the Grand Galloping Gala." Spitfire snorts. "This year, Soarin', Surprise and I lost the pool. I'd give anything to have somepony do something at that yawn-fest."

"I understand Celestia's knights are going to attend," I reply.

"The Element Bearers?" Spitfire asks and her face screws up in confusion, "Is her Highness forcing them? If she is, I'd almost believe she's the monster some of the papers say she is."

"Let's just say that it is something that has to be experienced at least once, and doing it with a circle of friends is probably the best way."

"Yeah, if I didn't have my wingmates, they couldn't drag me to that." She looks at me. "So are you going?"

"I haven't been asked," I reply, "And I'll probably be working."

"Coward."

"If I really wanted to stir things up, I'd invite Princess Luna. So while her Majesty is stuck greeting an endless line of well-wishers, I'd be on her Nightjesty's arm."

"You want to look around the moon that badly?" Spitfire asks.

"I've got a suit that would help," I reply.


Celestia noted the cupcake sitting on a table in her quarters. She scanned it for traces of dark magic or poisons. The scent of spice cake, her favorite, and dark, rather than milk chocolate icing tantalized her. She sniffed it, then fought back the impulse to gobble it down in one bite. It smelled ten times more delicious than she'd imagined.

She checked with the guard outside. "Who besides me has been in here?" she asked.

"Only her Nightjesty, Sir Eagle Bell, and young Barnum, Majesty," the guard answered from an at attention posture.

Celestial considered. "Thank you." Her wards were still in place, other than being mouth-wateringly delicious, the cupcake was utterly mundane. She carefully took a tiny taste, and forcibly stifled the urge to gobble the rest down in one bite. It tasted even better than it smelled. In moving the cupcake she realized the paper it was on had writing on it. Again she checked for spells and toxins, but it was ordinary paper and pencil.

'Feeling blue? Barnum'

"How sweet," she said and carefully carried the cupcake over to her desk, and nibbled at it as she went over the huge volume of paperwork that running a kingdom required. All too soon, it was gone.


I always feel like I should be going around to the servants' entrance, Spitfire thought as she rang the bell, she made a quick check that her civilian clothing was clean and in place. I probably should have worn a dress instead, but I'm not dressing up that much for anypony, she thought as the hoofman opened the door and recognized her.

"Ah, Miss Spitfire, she's upstairs in her room," he said the next as if confiding a dreadful secret, "Crying. It seems her plan did not go well. Whatever that plan was."

"I think it went better than she could hope for, but I'll tell her that," the mare said as the stallion let her past and she headed up the staircase. She was aware of the many eyes upon her, and fought back stage fright she never felt when performing as a Wonderbolt.

I wonder how scandalized they'd be if I flew in here? She looked at the huge open spaces the building enclosed, and considered the maneuvers she could perform inside. The room she entered was larger than most of the sheds they stored their performance gear in, but much more thoroughly cleaned and much better organized. She found Glory Bell where she'd expected, all tangled up in the covers of what had been a four-poster canopied bed, until G.B. had learned about saws. She was glad the girl was mostly cried out. She smirked at the cutie mark of a red heart trimmed with white lace. Looks like a decoration from some of the sappier, romance greeting cards. No wonder she hides it all the time.

"Hey, I need to know if you're going to be on the rotation to learn how to fly that thing, or if you'll wait and let one of us teach you." She looked around at the stuffed animals, one on nearly every shelf, and some shelves that was all they contained. All looking down on the interloper, like cute, furry gargoyles, waiting to pounce to defend a mistress who was outgrowing them. Adorning the walls between the shelves were a few signed posters of the Wonderbolts. One for each time the team had changed. Spitfire looked at one where she'd been the newest recruit. The captain was a gray-maned stallion who knew more about flying that the entire rest of the team put together. He still gave the current captain some sage advice from time to time.

Caught between the little girl with her toys, and the grown up world of real things, she thought, then caught what she still mistook for a mobile, The 'flying truss', that honestly might be another big part of it. Spitfire looked at the 'class project' that had won the filly such early acclaim. While a tornado would pick up a huge amount of weight, it had to be in small pieces. For large objects they had to use pegasi teams, or magic, or both. And the pegasi lost some of their lift capacity compensating for the tendency of the weight to drag them together.

But not with that thing, Spitfire still admired the light yet comparatively rigid structure, Takes less lift to keep it in the air, than the side force the pegasi have to exert without it. I bet that is it. That machine Barnum is working on, will make this obsolete. And right after he solved the big problem of how to lift a large, delicate object, instead of having to fly by and snag the load, or have magic lift it into the air. How do you survive going from a princess to a has-been before you're out of puberty? Spitfire nearly chuckled. You replace your old work, with your new work.

Since she hadn't heard an answer, she grabbed the girl out of the tangled bed clothes and swung her out onto the floor.

"Hey!" G.B. exclaimed at being 'handled' especially by a bite to the scruff of her neck, "Have you gone nuts?" She scrambled to a sitting position to face Spitfire.

"Nope," Spitfire said and sat down on her haunches to face G.B., "Just thinking you had your cry, and now it's time to get back to work. If you can't get back up after you fall down, you're only a disappointment." Spitfire raised her voice to override G.B.'s protest, "I've got Soarin' and a couple others trying that 'pylon turn' with your flying truss. And I've got Fleetfoot out getting some real data on our new crazy. If you thought the papers were giving you good info, you've got something new to learn. Now, I am giving you the assignment to go talk to your uncle about him. Tell him you see through the first layer of his plan, but you want to know what he really needs from you. Then you get one of the four-armed versions of that." She pointed a hoof at the mobile hung from the ceiling. "Because if he's half the engineer he claims, he'll see it's the way to build his new 'quadra-Diane'. You're going to help him perfect this thing. Because the Wonderbolts are Equestria's premier fliers. Than means, if it flies, we're the best with it."

"Okay," G.B. said softly, her eyes wide with shock at the ungentle handling and tone.

"Good. Like I said, you're entitled to a cry. But we need someone inside, and he needs us. That means we both need you. If you're up to it," Spitfire said as she stood up.

"Have I ever disappointed you?" G.B. said, looking up at her idol.

She thought carefully. "There was that rocket chair," Spitfire said.

"The rail broke!" G.B. protested.

"Okay. Make sure this one doesn't come off the rails."

G.B. let out a breath and stood up. "Thanks. I needed that," she sounded like the full-grown mare she was becoming, then a bit of the scared kid poked out, "What would you have done if I didn't agree?"

"I would have walked out," Spitfire told her, "I don't coddle second-raters. Not if they want to be part of my team."

G.B. nodded. "What'll you do if I'm better with it than you or the others?" G.B. asked with a little of her normal fire.

"I'll finally be able to give you a uniform. You should have been a pegasus." Spitfire exited the room. As she walked down the stairs, she noted that the staff were looking at her with expectation.

I always wondered where her parents were. It's like her uncle and the staff raised her. Did a good job, but some things a girl needs her mother for, and I'm not that much older than her.

"She'll be fine, but she'll be running around like a bee-stung bronco collecting all kinds of things. Sorry to put you through another of her 'projects.'"

"We prefer her projects, to some of the gentlemen callers of late," the butler admitted.

"Then you might want to discreetly check out the man she'll be working with. He's one of Celestia's, but I think there are ponies you can talk to that wouldn't talk to me," Spitfire said.

"I have several cousins at the palace," the cook offered, "Perhaps a luncheon with your team?"

"As long as it's simple, some of us aren't the most elegant either," Spitfire warned.

"Sandwiches are always an equalizer," the butler suggested.

"Hawser, where's the ink for the drawing board?" came the call from the upstairs.

"Time to go to work," Spitfire said.

"Thank you, ma'am," the butler said as the servants were already bustling to get their mistress' needs seen to.


Celestia grimaced at the blue water that she'd just added to the sewer. Feeling blue, she considered, and remembered her shock and terror at the neon-blue urine, Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. She considered the best way to repay her clever friend.

"Perfect," she said quietly and composed herself before stepping out into the palace hubbub.


Fleetfoot was having a devil of a time finding one Night Guard among all the palace populace. "I should have taken the flight job," she lamented as the crowd of functionaries, tourists and hangers-on closed around her. The halls of the palace would have been open and airy, save for them being packed with ponies.

She glanced above her, Even the air is crowded in here, she thought, But if he's anywhere, here's the best chance to spot him. She was jostled, and apologized to, for the hundredth time. I also should have stayed in uniform, she thought as she had to dive and dodge through the crowd, Good practice for later flying. Then again, if I was in uniform, they wouldn't be ignoring me.

She didn't see her target, but she spotted the next best thing. "Bran Scone!" she called to the older mare who also seemed to be searching. She ignored the reproachful looks of the others for having broken the hall's hallowed hush, and headed towards her target.

The mare turned to see who'd called out to her in the middle of the palace, and took a moment to recognize the mare. "Fleetfoot," she whispered as the mare drew close, then spoke conversationally, "I'm ashamed to say, I didn't recognize you. Is there some reason you're out of uniform?"

"Didn't want to have to sign autographs," she admitted as she glanced around. The crowd seemed not to have heard a Wonderbolt was in their midst. Or they didn't care. "Also, I need to talk to your husband, and it's as if he's been dodging me."

"He seems to enjoy his new ability to be unseen," the graying mare confided, "And you haven't had time for your old friend, now that you're a big star?"

"It isn't that!" Fleetfoot said defensively, "It's just that - I've been busy." She bowed her head. "And now I'm using that friendship to do a job, rather than just spending time with my friends."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Mile Stone asked as he appeared out the crowd, causing both mares to jump.

"I should report you to the Night Guards for scaring poor mares like that!" Scone complained, then nuzzled her husband, "Do you know who's in charge of the Night Guard?"

"I think I can find out," he replied.

"Say, I've got to quiz you for information, but there's no reason why I can't take you out for dinner while doing it." She grinned. "Or do you have other plans?"

"No, we had a nice dinner in mind," Scone said, "And he's off-duty tonight, so we can take care of what you're doing, and find out about what else you've been doing."

"All right," the mare said, and trotted after the married couple.


Celestia entered her private bathroom, thankful for her sister's return, and the chance to sleep an entire night undisturbed or bathe for an hour without interruption. She felt a brief tremor of concern as the lights didn't come on as they usually did. A touch of magic to ignite her emergency candles found they had been removed. She looked around at the shadows in the room carefully, enhancing her senses, and listening. The thunder made her wince.

"SUNNY DAYS! THOU HAST MALICIOUSLY AND SLANDEROUSLY ATTACKED THE BELOVED SOVEREIGN OF EQUESTRIA! THOU HAST SOUGHT TO PROVOKE CONTENTION BETWEEN THE ALICORN SISTERS WHERE ONLY UNITY HAS BEEN!"

Okay, Luna, I get the joke, Celestia thought and grinned at her sister's 'defense' of her partner.

"SINCE CELESTIA SOLAR EVER-MERCIFUL STAYS HER HAND, IN THE NAME OF THE MOON, I SHALL PUNISH THEE!"

The pie hit Celestia in the neck right above her shoulder.

Celestia smelled the meringue on her and beside her, and growled, "I'll have at thee!" Her coat flared with brilliant light revealing the stock of ammunition beside the bathtub, and she bracketed her dazzled sister, and her sister's 'advisor', with several pies of her own. But they were prepared for it and fired back.

"I shall flush you out," she exclaimed, and lifted water from the tub and hurled it at them.


Those sisters play rough, I think of the two giggling alicorns I just left, At least I managed to leave before they noticed the limp, I think as I try to put as little weight on the right foreleg as I can. Any weight and I don't have to leave my path through the great hall to see stars.

"Are you all right lad?" comes a familiar voice.

"Oh, nothing a night's sleep won't cure, Sergeant Mile Stone. I thought you were off-duty tonight," I tell him, although I'm glad it's him and not someone more inquisitive. Then Captain Armor charges up.

"What do you know about Sunny Days slipping into Celestia's private apartments?" Armor demands. The old chestnut of fury boiling off someone is not hyperbole in the captain's case.

I sigh. "And it was supposed to be such a quiet, little assassination," I say, "His, not hers."

"The lad already knows who Sunny Days is, Captain," Mile Stone explains as he salutes, "And what the miscreant looks like."

"What does she look like?" Armor asks, only the presence of Mile Stone prevents him from shaking me to speed my answer.

"Black and blue with pools of red all around, when I got my first good look today. We, Princess Luna and I, attacked from the darkness. Oh, if either Princess tells you to stop beating someone's head against the floor. Listen to them."

"That's where you got this," Mile Stone comments.

"I got it from her Highness. Next time I'm ordered to stop, I'll do so with greater alacrity," I tell both soldiers.

Armor lets out the breath he was holding. "I suspect that the Princesses are, discussing things?"

"You could say that, without breaking the word. Although, there was a lot of giggling going on. Talk of water, and soap, and a few things I won't mention on a kids' show," I say.

It gets an amused snort from Mile Stone and an exasperated eye-roll from the Day Guard captain.

"At least you gave him something to think about," Armor finally says.

"Eleven unanswered shots, I'd be prouder of that if Princess Luna wasn't there keeping the focus on her."

"No offence, lad, but if I was fighting you and an alicorn, you'd be the least of my worries."

"And I'd use that to my advantage."

"Okay," Armor says, "Get some rest. I doubt their Highnesses will want to talk about it, and have they forbidden you to talk about it?"

"I wasn't exactly sworn to secrecy, but it was strongly implied," I reply.

He frowns, but I can't help that.

Once he's out of earshot, Mile Stone speaks up, "Eleven, I can't imagine."

"Luna was drawing fire, but I was using cover and fire-and-move."

"I bet you were," the sergeant says proudly, "Let's get you in one piece, so their Highnesses don't feel guilty over breaking you."

"If I say 'I'll be fine', you'll poke me in the side until I scream or pass out, won't you?"

"One good prod should do it," he says dismissively.

I fall in behind.


The nightmare isn't too different from others I've had since coming here. I am a fully-grown stallion, and there's a mare in season. Instincts come to the fore, and I chase. The mare plays with me, teases, and runs away, but never enough that I give up. A couple times it was Celestia, once or twice it was Luna. They are better at it than Glory Bell is. And this time I know it's a dream. And it always ends the same: I catch and mount the mare, and then catch sight of my wife, my brother, or sister, and they're always disappointed, horrified or some such.

This time, I run right past the mare and into the darkness surrounding the scene. Blackness closes in around me on all sides. Cold knifes into my flanks as I run. No sound, no smells, but darkness all around. I glance back, and the clearing with the waiting mare is receding into the distance. I turn back ahead and keep a steady pace. There's nothing back there I really want, I tell my horse instincts, my human doubts have to add, Is there anything ahead worth anything? I consider, Yes, the unknown.

I keep running for quite a while. The spot of light behind me has receded to a dot, and nothing appears in front. Somehow, I know I'll be running like this forever, I tell myself, No, not forever. That day will come, Der Tag, and everything between now, and then, will be different. That's what you're doing here. That's why you're playing at the edges, that's why you played games with the Element Bearers instead of coming out and telling them what's going to happen, and that's why Celestia hasn't told them either. You're a wild card, but one who has already seen the game played. Played, played out, and won. As long as you don't disturb the table, then all is well. The victory you know will work, will still work.

It's like a weight is lifted from me. I accelerate and run out of the darkness into a meadow of tall grass. I'm the only horse there, among all the grazing, playing ponies. I run past them and onto the horizon.


"I never thought it would happen. My friends . . . have turned into complete JERKS!" Twilight announced, then began putting the Elements of Harmony on their less than enthused bearers, "Necklace! Necklace! Necklace! Necklace! And big crown thingy! Come on everypony, let's go!"

"But Twilight, aren't you missing somepony?" Spike asked as he trotted beside his friend.

"Nope. We've got the liar, the grump, the hoarder and the brute," Twilight said disparagingly of her friends, "That just about covers it."

"But what about Rainbow Dash?" the little dragon persisted.

Twilight slowly realized she had at least one friend, one person really trying to help her still. She looked at the other Bearers and considered briefly.

"Right," she said pulling the necklace off Applejack, replacing it with Fluttershy's. Fluttershy got Pinkie Pie's, while Pinkie Pie received Applejack's.

"I hate the Element of Honesty!" Pinkie observed.

"Ha!" Fluttershy replied.

"Yeah, this might work," Twilight said, as Spike received Rarity's Element of Generosity, and Rarity received the Element of Loyalty in return. "Now let's go defeat Discord, so we don't ever have to talk to each other again!"

The element bearers cheered as they ran after Twilight.

At this point Luna twisted the dream so the bearers' battle against Discord ended in victory, and they were restored. They then returned the elements to their proper bearers.

"So that's the nightmare that's been riding you," Luna commented to her now-peacefully sleeping sister, "And if it is prophesy, what are we to do about it?"


The morning brings being shaken awake by a very worried-looking Hardwood. "How much trouble are you in?"

The interrogator/intelligence officer looks sour, but only sets a series of newspapers on the bed in front of me.

"You know, acting like I'm an omniscient, wishing lamp is going to run thin pretty quickly," I tell him and look at the various headlines and columns, "Okay, I'm lost, I don't see anything." I get out of bed and head for the bathroom to wake up more, by both buying a little time and splashing some cold water on my face.

"Sunny Days' column isn't there, and there's no explanation," Hardwood says as he follows me into the bathroom, "It's no secret you caught him in the princess' private rooms, and beat him to a bloody pulp."

"And it's also no secret that her Majesty was there, and I left before I could shuffle Sunny Days off this mortal coil. Any damage I did could easily be removed by Princess Celestia, or Princess Luna, who was also there."

"You don't understand. If Sunny Days took the day off, it implies that she took it off because of the fight with you," Hardwood said, "Reporters are generally not assaulted by ponies close to royalty or the aristocracy."

"Is that why they can get away with printing such scandalous stuff?" I ask as I leave the bathroom, with Hardwood on my tail, literally.

"That isn't the point. The courts are the place to settle such a dispute."

"What are the laws about breaking and entering?" I ask, "Lying in wait, ambushing someone in the privacy of their own home? Back home, I had a 12-gauge shotgun that I'd use on anyone who'd burst into my home without permission or warning. If all that hack got was a beating, he should consider himself lucky."

"You just can't go around beating up reporters!"

"But I can say whatever vile crap I can dig up and misinterpret on them?" I angrily shoot back, "As long as it has some modicum of truth? Well, thank you Doctor, now if you'll excuse me, I have to go invent photoshop so I can doctor some pictures. Then to dig up the reporters' tax records."

"That isn't what I meant!"

I stop and stare at the agitated stallion. "Then what is, Doctor? That I have to avoid any appearance of impropriety, because I'm her Majesty's 'kept boy'? That because I'm 'bigger' than some pipsqueak reporter that I have to take whatever they hand out?" I ask coldly, "That's crap handed out by vicious weaklings who never want to be called to account for what they do. I always preferred the Marine way, where you take the biggest screw-up and make an example of them. It's a heck of a lot more effective in the real world than your theories."

I leave the sputtering Major and head out to the Wonderbolts' practice field, it is too early for the libraries. The guard who dashes after me is a new one, a filly who looks younger than I look, and despite the highly polished armor, seems decidedly unmilitary. I nod to her and give her no more mind than I would my own shadow. Most of the guards were nervous about talking with me any way, I think as we enter the area where the shed is.

The nervousness of the mechanics is my first clue. I ostensibly ignore it. The empty shed is the second, and gives me two possibilities. Surprise races out to greet me, then I realize it's not her. The nervous mare in the Wonderbolts uniform slows her approach. Movement from behind, and I realize my guard is ready to tackle me, just in case.

"She isn't that cute," I tell the guard, embarrassing her.

"Uh, hi! I'm Blaze!" She obviously expects the usual fawning over a Wonderbolt, and seems frightened when it doesn't happen. "I bet you're wondering about your machine."

"You're a flier. So you know about the first pony ever to build a heavier-than-air, fixed-wing, flying machine? Doctor Samule Langley?"

The nervous Wonderbolt shakes her head.

"The reason you've never heard of him, yet Pinkamena Diane Pie will go down in history with the first, practical, rotary-winged, heavier-than-air, flying machine, is she invented something more important than just the machine. Do you know what that was?" I ask in a lecturing tone.

The terrified mare glances at the nonplused guard filly, then merely shakes her head.

"Flying lessons, where's the wreckage," I ask in a completely neutral tone, "Was anyone hurt?"

"No, sir," Blaze says as she leads me to the Diane wrapped around a tree, eight mechanics and the rest of the Wonderbolts trying to untangle one from the other. It's pretty clear it backed into the tree, at a decent rate of speed.

Fleetfoot races over, sparing Blaze a glare that wilts the other mare, she composes herself. "Hi Barnum, little accident. Don't worry, no one got hurt," she says, grinning happily. I let her block my way, and grin back at her. And grin, and grin, and grin, and grin. Fleetfoot shudders. "You aren't buying it, are you?" she says.

"I'm glad no one was hurt, other than my feelings," I say coldly, "It does explain why her Nightjesty was asking about actually forming the Shadowbolts, a night-action team."

Fleetfoot and Blaze freeze at that. I take the opportunity to walk past them. As I pass the mechanics' tool chests, I pick up a large spanner and an engineer's wrench of equal size. Soarin' backs up immediately.

"Look, I'm sorry, I just took it for a little joyride. I didn't expect this would happen!" he says, backing away as I advance. He braces as the two tools fly up, over his head, and loosen a bolt, the first of four bolts that holds the main shaft to the rest of the frame. Three bolts later, the rest of the team are able to separate the modern art from the remains of the tree.

"I thought you'd be mad," Soarin' says as he approaches carefully, his head down.

I glance at him, and exude all the tranquility of a snow-covered, dormant volcano. "Whatever possessed you to think I'm not?" I ask calmly, "It's all I can do not to run off to find a basket of oranges, and three mice."

"What are you going to do with them?" he asks nervously. I grin at him, showing all of my teeth. He leaves, quickly.

"What are you going to do to him?" Spitfire asks sharply as she lands with several other Wonderbolts and a team of pegasi mechanics.

I wave her off to the side, my new guard and a very large mechanic follow. "I'm going to let him worry about it for a day or two," I say quietly so the others can't hear, "And since Glory isn't here, I'm going to have her give him a basket of oranges, somewhere all of you can see his reaction."

Spitfire breaks off laughing. The guard and mechanic relax.

"I had a feeling something like this would happen. I am disappointed that you didn't let me teach you how to safely fly it, before curiosity overcame horse-sense. I'm just glad I didn't have the rocket boosters installed."

"Like fireworks?" the mechanic asks.

"Yes, but mounted to the frame, and no fancy sparks loaded. Just the thrust," I explain. He nods.

"Now, what happened?" I ask.

Spitfire explains that Soarin' tried the 'fly backwards' trick in the Diane. Then couldn't figure out how to stop.

"Get close to the ground and quit pedaling would be a favorite," I say.

"No, he couldn't figure out how to slow down, and stop," Spitfire tells me.

"Probably broke something before the crash," I comment as the ruined remains are taken back to the hanger.

"Glory probably won't be in for a while. Once she gets her teeth in a project, she tends to be a little, obsessive."

"I know how that is." I consider. "Just out of curiosity, why is she so embarrassed about her cutie mark, or lack there of? I don't want to know what it is, or if she's a 'blank flank', but she's always wearing shorts, or something to cover it."

"It's 'embarrassing'," she explains as we enter the hanger.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the entire vehicle is a total write-off. "I'm glad no one was hurt," I say, "I just don't see how anyone survived that crash."

"He wasn't aboard when it hit," one of the mechanics says.

Makes sense, I think as I consider getting all the pieces to build a new two-seater main and tail rotor vehicle, or concentrate on the four-rotor version.


Waking up under the bed doesn't fill me with joy. I look across the floor at the buckets of parts and the bedframes set up as easels to display the work in process. Several things bother me, but my mind is slow to answer the questions. Then I focus on the metal webbing surrounding the bed, the stonework looks more like the ceiling than the floor, and the fact the mattress I'm lying on is on the underside of the bed.

I look through the webbing, and down at the floor far below.

"What are you doing up there, lad?" Mile Stone asks as he and Hardwood stare up at me.

"Oh well, the light's better up here," I tell them, "Please get a ladder."

Of course you know, this means war, I think as I lie in the cage her Majesty carefully crafted for me.


There was a scream of absolute and abject terror, followed closely by a fleeing Wonderbolt who seemed destined to be the first stallion to create a sonic rainboom.

Glory looked at the rest of the crew laughing so hard they'd fallen out of their chairs or off their hooves. She glanced down at the basket of yummy oranges Spitfire had asked her to give to Soarin'. "What is going on?" she demanded as she set the basket down, and headed towards Fleetfoot who was on her back, legs waving in the air. Seeing that no one was likely to be able to answer her question, she took an orange from the basket and ate it as she walked through the compound.

The hanger was where she remembered it. The absolute wreckage of the Diane was new.

"Please tell me Soarin' didn't take it out for a practice run," she lamented, and now understood the set up she'd been part of.

"I could, but I'd be lying," Barnum said as he examined the wreckage. The pile of supplies in the hanger suggested he'd either given up repairing it and would replace it, or he was on to the quadra-Diane design. "I looked at your flying truss design. I think we can adapt it to the four-rotor version. That still doesn't eliminate the problems with the cyclic. I wish I'd studied copters more closely when I had a chance."

" 'Copters'?" Glory asked as she saw the blueprints of a flying truss, with a lot of amendments, including rotors at the end of each arm.

"Nickname for Dianes," Barnum said, "Different place."

She hadn't wanted to broach the important topic. "I know about your memories," she said, "I talked to my uncle." She smiled, trying to soften the blow. "I guess that's why you don't notice me."

He turned to face her. "I apologize, I didn't mean to offend you. Everyone says you're quite lovely . . . "

"But you don't see it, at all. I might as well be a statue, or a picture," she said.

He frowned. "You're a person, and a clever one, and due all the respect that goes with that. But beyond an active intellect, and personhood, there's not much else. We can be friends. I'd like that."

She sighed, and noted he hadn't looked at her the way most colts his age did when she sighed. "Okay, I can live with that. The next question is: what are you going to do next?" she asked.

"Go with the two-seater quadra-Diane, the other one is a write-off," he said, "At least it showed me what broke."

"I'd give the wreck to the mechanics and fliers here, let them understand the principles," she said, "So, what do you need?"

"Machine tools: a lathe, a mill, and a pile of hand tools and measuring tools. I can set up the machine shop in my apartments. It's sound shielded, so we could work anytime we feel like it. The other thing we'll need is paper and pen. We'll need to generate plans from the parts. If we want to be able to mass-produce these."

"Mass produce? Something this complicated?" she asked.

"Yep. If we can make 30 of them, and interchangeable parts, it will reduce the price in the long-run."

"Who'd want to do that?" she asked.


Lieutenant Peaceful Solitude finally admitted she has been assigned to me, as the commander of my guard. At least the sergeants didn't need me to be a babysitter, doing what a good sergeant is supposed to do, turn a mush-brained intellectual into a decent officer, I think ruefully, Now is it my job to do the same, or theirs? I wonder as I glance at the filly who seems less at home in her bright uniform and polished armor, than I am in my ponydom. I wonder if they still think I'm a spy, just a crazy person, or if they are trying to get some work out of me? I wonder as the two of us collect some of the metal-working gear I need. Despite the impressive load, the cart I'm hauling is quiet, but only the four wheels keep it from tipping up and holding me in the air.

"I think the visit to the Royal Metalsmiths was very informative," Peaceful Solitude says, every inch the nervous filly out in the big city for the first time, her voice even cracked as she spoke, "Some of them may even adopt your ideas."

"I'm glad you think so. I was too worried about them getting ready to throw anvils at me," I reply, "I think people aren't quite ready for the idea of mass production. Or interchangeable parts."

"They didn't grow up with the idea, sir," she replies loyally.

I stop and look at her. She flinches, as if I'm going to hit her. "Lieutenant. I'm a civilian, and a commoner. I don't warrant the 'sir'. Call me Barnum, P.T., or if you must, Mister McHorsefly."

"But you're with her Highness, and served with the Element Bearers," she says in a frightened tone.

"I assisted Miss Pie with the Parasprites, and I talk with her Majesty, nothing more. Don't assume all the rumors you hear are correct," I tell her, trying not to scold her, "What I am is both more boring and more unusual than the newspapers and the rumor-mill make me out to be."

"So you aren't a . . . transformed simian," she whispers nervously.

"You think my memories are real?" I ask, "And that I'm not making it all up?"

Her blush makes her go from Celestia's ugly-duckling, little sister, to Cadence's. "Whether they are real or not, you know things no one else does, and are smart enough to know not to advertise," she says, and looks guiltily at the heavy cart I'm hauling.

Her body language clearly says she should be pulling it, but she's in a uniform, and I'm in street clothes. The last thing I want is her to get dirty. And the locals seem to like a uniformed officer, even a baby lieutenant, better than an unfamiliar yokel, I think. Then the flyer hits me in the face.

"Sometimes I think the world is out to get me," I say of the paper spindled on my horn, and out of range of my teeth. Paper is nearly immune to my 'horn magic', if I want to leave it in one piece. Then I focus on the words. " 'Lunar Republic?' Lieutenant, is this some kind of joke?"

Her expression is closed up. Her face and posture frozen. She's practically standing at attention before a board of generals. "I wouldn't know, sir."

I lower my horn, and get a hoof on the paper. The stylized picture of Princess Luna, the phrase 'let the tyrant hear us' and the quality of the paper get my attention. I remember seeing some old KorCom propaganda. You use the best you've got to show off, and while the art was absolutely splendid, Mad Magazine used better paper for their printing, I think as I stare at it, This is expensive stuff, and the printing method isn't cheap. Lately I'd gotten very familiar with the local, industrial infrastructure: Unicorn Magic could produce a couple of nearly anything, but if you needed a thousand in a hurry, you were out of luck. And everything was a custom job, even if it was the hundredth one built. Printing presses could churn out newsprint cheaply, but not glossy, full-color fliers.

"How long has this been going on?" I ask.

"I wouldn't know, sir."

Now I glare at her. "Lieutenant, I work for a living, same as a sergeant or corporal, or at least I will shortly. I've seen her Nightjesty, she's a terrified little girl who's nearly afraid of her own shadow. A lot like a newly-graduated lieutenant. If someone is doing this, then they may be preparing to use her as a scapegoat, or a figurehead, for something she'd rather not be part of. She loves her big sister dearly, and I seriously doubt she'd want that."

"Agreed, si - ah, stamp it all, agreed, sir," she manages. Then glares at me to forestall any arguments. "Are you just a trifle sensitive, considering the 'Molestia' gossip?"

Sometimes this place makes me want to scream, I remember, 'I guess Twilight got too old, now she's got a new colt.'

"I think introducing a new martial art to the world did come in handy," I reply, as my anger and embarrassment fade.

"It was a revelation. And you are extremely cute, sir," the Lieutenant says with a completely straight face.

I don't growl, much. "I'm old enough to be your father's father, Lieutenant."

"You know that, but it isn't apparent to others," she replies.

I fold the flier and stuff it in the parcels in the cart. I suspect she's going to sneak it out and destroy it, but I saw it, I think as we head to the next shop. The cart getting heavier, and my sack of bits getting lighter.

Next Chapter: Out of Time Part 2 Estimated time remaining: 4 Hours, 28 Minutes
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