On the observation of evil and the escapism of oneiromancy

I am born five minutes before the world begins,

I'm dying five minutes before the end of the world.

But in these five minutes, the world is praying for me!

R. Neumoev. Album «Mortal»

Light Sand didn't think she was the stupidest pony. In principle, she was right. But when Sandy took the train back from Baltimare to Dodge City (a long way, through Canterlot, but no other way), she had reason to doubt her own mind. It started out pretty good. Almost good. Not quite bad. The rest of the money was used to buy a place on a river steamer that was the size of some sort of, Sisters witness, steam boat. The mild winter kept most of the rivers from freezing, and navigation continued year-round, competing not only with the pegasi winged carriages, but also with the railroads. Yes, that very navigation was not going full steam, but it was going on. And when one ship was pulled ashore, another, already patched up and painted, was plunged into the dark ice water. And so on until spring, when all this started in other volumes. In some places the banks were yellow with dry grass. In some places there was snow, cut by the almost black ribbon of the river. Docks where you could run to the toilet, or at least behind a snow-covered bush. The crew of an earth pony captain, a silent diamond dog, who almost never left the hold where the furnace hummed and the machine puffed with steam, and a pegasus with an unhealed wing injury sometimes cooked some kind of mess, taking advantage of the wood left by someone in advance on the shoals. A couple of times there were rotten fishing nets on slings sagging under the snow. Sandy scooped up the «stew» with a spoon, trying not to think what layers of sediment and fossils might be found on the walls of the saucepan used as a pot. Two bricks were added to the saucepan to put the container on the fire. On the water, red-hot parts of a steam engine were used instead of a fire. Some other earth pony took almost no part in the dinner. Mannerly, she gnawed on her spice crackers, but she did not refuse the «tea». The tea was hot, which was the undoubted and only advantage of the drink. And then there was the river again. The canopy did something to keep out the snow and pretend to keep warm. Sandy was a pony with high social responsibility, she offered a blanket taken out of her saddlebags to the second passenger to keep warm together, but she pretended not to notice. So much for your friendship magic... Out into Horseshoe Bay. Sandy, crouched on her ass, pulled her coat tighter, buttoning the floor to cover her belly. Raised the collar. A mild winter meant fierce chilly winds at sea. The spray came off the rowing wheels, the pipe-smoking stallion earth pony like its own steamboat, trying to make a quick trip from the mouth of the river to the wharves of Baltimair. The bags were packed; the plaid, which Sandy had left for the other pony as she stepped out on deck from under the canopy, hoping that reason would triumph over unknown prejudices, had to be packed too. And as a matter of fact, they were on deck all the way, to be honest; the hold was busy with machinery, coal and cargo, the passengers themselves lying or sitting on parts of the bales that didn't fit below. The city glowed with lights toward evening. By the time they moored at the most inconvenient spot, the tube was out. A pegasque of a crew carried a rope through the air to the harbor earth ponies. Sandy paid the second installment and said goodbye. Staggered. The pony moved the river normally, but began to get seasick in the bay. Should we get a pony cab? Nah, not so good with bats. And she needs to walk. The city was alive with the remnants of Hearth Day, some places still festooned with small crystal lights. Signs glowed with magic and electricity. In a distant park, a band played a false tune. The wet, fine snow drifting in the salty breeze promised to make the swollen or rusted instruments play more interestingly, but few would appreciate it. The Baltimair Archaeological Society was unavailable until tomorrow. She had to spend the night somewhere. Sandy saw a booth. Another bit? There weren't many left. Yes, Belkin, yes! You must give me all the money! I am such a creature, according to your words and actions, who does not put the needs of others at all! — Two-three, one hundred and fifteen, please, — Sandy said into the heavy bronze handset, swallowing back tears. — District two, zone three, caller one hundred and fifteen? Putting you through. Sandy waited. Sandy was ready to cry again. Once again the unknowing telephone pony cut in: — This caller is not answering. Try again later. Yeah, throw away another bit. Was there a backup? There was. But it meant inconvenience and expense. At Baltimair, it wasn't customary to let strange ponies stay overnight. There are too many things and money. Only Mainhattan was worse. The windows in the high-rises continued to glow. From the first floor all the way up to the twentieth floor. Wagons rumbled, a steam tractor whistled, pulling something. Okay, what's going on outside now? Gotta find a lodging house. The audience there was something else. Strange stallions with heavy suspicious looks, mothers with foals, whose house was taken away for debts, drunks... So much for caring for every pony. No, they would not let them die, there was a place to put a foal for half a day, while you work on shift and, most likely, dirty and hard work. Part of the earnings immediately went to pay for the night's lodging. And the rest was enough only for food and various trifles. Then the trifles had to be abandoned, and the purchase of medicines began. A state-run kindergarten with a dozen broken toys for everyone and sticky, unpalatable porridge? You know, that's a blessing from the Sisters. Seriously. At least you know the foal is supervised and almost fed. But the feeling of overwhelming hopelessness in those dens... Sandy didn't like lodgings. In Mainhattan, she had a room with a kitchen and almost a toilet. There it was the same situation as Sandy's own in Dodge City: temporary rent until the owners showed up. Previously, Sandy had received letters or telegrams that her housing was occupied for another week. Sometimes a little money came in, if the tenants managed not to burn more electricity and natural gas than usual. The rent actually consisted of paying for land owned by the city, paying for the maintenance of the entire income house, paying for water, gas, sewer, electricity, the wires themselves, the radio tax, the mandatory Guard bypass fee, the «place» fee, the possession fee (a «stretched» form of tax), and a few other things. All this stuff was still cheaper for unknown guests than just renting the right rooms, because Sandy didn't want to pay the rent tax or the unused housing tax. The way out was simple: let the guests in for a price equal to all expenses and ten percent more, and Celestia will pretend to believed in your honesty. And instead of expenses, you'd get a small profit. You bet! The same griffins didn't understand such a system, when instead of a tax assessed by some principality for a year, one had to give a little for every sneeze. But, if Sandy guessed correctly, with so many of these «stretched» taxes, the need for declarations was lost. However, the big companies filled something like this out every few years, making frantic leaps and flights down the corridors of various ponies with briefcases and piles of constantly flying papers. With these thoughts, Sandy got to the place. She sighed. There was that smell of urine, toilet antiseptic, low-quality food and unwashed socks under heavy boots for hind hoofs again. Crying, swearing from behind the cardboard walls... The sound of rolling bottles. Some pony sure to piss on the stairs. The door rang with an ugly bell made from a piece of water pipe. Apparently, so as not to be stolen. The stench hit Sandy's nose so hard that she sat on her hind legs at first. The bags moved out. — What do you want, miss? — The old fading she-griffin picked at her beak with a claw. Find anything? — Any rooms? For a day or two, I'll find out more tomorrow. — You have to pay at once, — The feathered hag glared at the arrived pony. — Otherwise we know you... «I'm still in a day», then «well, I'm as usual», and then settle you in debt! Or you can leave tomorrow without paying for the day. — No, not at all! — Sandy shook her head. She counted out the money. Putting her glasses on her beak, the she-griffin, whose natural farsightedness was turning into a telescope by the time she was old and everything was blurry up close, counted the coins, raked them into the locked drawer of the desk-bureau behind her partition, and, shaking her head, went into a greasy notebook. — Now let's see where it's nicer... Oh, there is a cot in the room. There's a pony with a foal. — Um... I might seem tactless... But I'd like to rest after the trip... — She's probably not that tired, since the foal is bothering her! Okay, — The bird-cat turned the page, all in some marks on top of the notes, — There's a room. But there's a toilet across the wall, and it's a corner room, so it's a little cold. — That's okay, — Sandy decided after a moment's thought. A corner room meant that the noise would come from one wall, not from all sides. Is the restroom next door? Does anyone go in there? Judging by the smell, the archway and the corner of the courtyard where the coal pile is, it's more popular than some kind of restroom. — As you wish. Don't touch the tap on the pipe, it won't make it any warmer, and it will break easily! Don't bring in stallions! Don't even think about lighting the fireplace, it's just there, and the pipe has been blocked for a long time. I'll give you the bed now... Before going to get the blanket, pillow, and sheet, the she-griffin locked her kennel, bolted the front door, and only then went to the storeroom, jingling a huge ring of various keys. — What if someone comes? — Well, too bad! They'll wait! — The she-griffin ruffled the feathers on its neck and tucked its hind paw under. It dropped a small feather from its wing. The linen was clean and smelled of some kind of alchemy, evoking thoughts of paint thinner and other things derived from petroleum. The unnatural fruity-lavender scent only reinforced the impression. The sheets were frayed at the edges, the towel had been washed as if someone had wiped their ass with it, and it needed to be cleaned at all costs. The pillow in the room smelled like poison. If you ripped open this lumpy fabric bag, dead bedbugs would surely spill out. But it would be good if they weren't alive. Sandy shuddered. As a result, the bed was moved away from the wall, the legs were smeared with slippery hygienic ointment (she rubbed off almost all of it) in the hope that the creatures would slip, and instead of pillows, she used travel bags. A local towel was thrown on top. The toilet was empty and clean with a cleanliness that promised lifelessness rather than the absence of dirt. «Well, it could be worse», — Thought the pony. The tap only had cold water, and the room had only one lonely switch that powered a dim hybrid of a lamp and a nightlight. «Good night, Sandy», — The mare said to herself.

***

Sandy couldn't say exactly when everything went from being troubles to some kind of irrational horror. But with her naive eyes, she continued to get herself into deeper and deeper trouble. The morning started badly. Some little kid didn't want to go to kindergarten and was screaming, some pony, losing her patience and explaining with tears in her voice that her mother had to go to work. Sandy didn't want to listen to the rest, she quickly washed her face, first freezing her warm ass on the icy rim of the toilet seat (fuck your princesses, there was steam coming from the urine!), combed her hair roughly, and started getting ready. She took her money, pulled a flimsy sweater out of her bag, threw on her coat, and tied a scarf around her neck. She put on something resembling wool socks with rough rubber soles. She put something similar on her front legs, but with a «toe» at the back and a leather patch instead of rubber. These mittens didn't close at the front, so she could stick her hoof in and grab something. She went out into the corridor, almost jumping out of her skin at the sound of the toilet cistern filling up. The blanket and bags with her belongings remained locked in the «room». — Um... I'll probably be gone for the whole day... Should I pay later or now? — Of course now! — The dazed griffin fluffed out her feather collar again. — Look for you later! Either pay, or the room is considered free! — Oh, my things are in there! Here, — The she-pony counted out the bits. — Isn't it very cold outside? — You won't freeze!

***

It was quite a long way to walk. Sandy crossed the railroad tracks via a delicate bridge, just as a train passed by, filling the air with acrid coal smoke. She coughed, began to descend, and saw a familiar pony examining a lamppost. — Flores? — Oh! It's our «Sand»! I was just walking by and thinking, where has our Sandy been lately? — Um... Well, — Sandy wanted to say that Flores wasn't going anywhere, but was staring at the pillar, but she gave the usual excuse, — Business. I came to find out what's going on with my article, otherwise with all this back and forth correspondence, it'll be another year before I see it. How are you? — Everything's fine! Everything's just great! You have no idea... — Flo, I tried to call you late last night... — Oh, well, there's this thing... — Flores, if you've got a new guy, just say so! Is he handsome? — It's a little more complicated than that... But everything's fine! Come with me, let's talk. I know a place where we can get a good bite to eat, and it's free! Sandy looked at Flores. She turned her head, but her friend's eyes couldn't keep up. Flores had never before considered going out without some beads on her clothes, a colorful hair clip, or something else. And now.. Faded. Worn out. And unnaturally cheerful. — Flo, I really need to go to the Archaeological Society. Can we agree on where to meet in the evening? — Yes, yes, of course! «Changeling!» — The terrible thought sent her into a panic. This was the moment when the empathic changeling should have run away to get lost among the ponies arriving on the streets, but Flores was walking beside her. Why? Did they want to know the fate of those two? But how did they find her? Why didn't they come to Dodge City? — You won't believe it, but I'm coming from a lecture! «You listened at night? Sorry, but I remember you from college. You slept on the go even during the day», — Sandy doubted and looked at her friend in surprise. Or not a friend. — It's so interesting! We listen to the teacher, then we sing, then we chat... They even bring us food and drink! The teacher is, of course, unmatched in his wisdom! He's a unicorn, but not a snob, like you! — What's his name? Maybe I've heard of him? — Well, we just call him Teacher. He's very smart! Just like the Princesses! — What are the lectures about? — Oh! You have to hear it for yourself! He tells us how to achieve complete happiness in nine steps! I'm already on the third! — In a nutshell? — No! What are you talking about? You have to listen to the lectures yourself and in full! Who needs it? The husky voice of the squirrel dog inside Sandy's head broke the spell for a moment. There was a pause as one pony waited for questions and the other didn't ask any. That was enough for the Baltimare Archaeological Society building to appear ahead. — Flo, they're already open, and I don't want ponyone to slip away for brunch, to the bank, or to the mares and stallions before I shake the bits out of them for the article. Well, tell me where we're meeting tonight, and I'll run! — Yes! We definitely have to meet up, go listen to the lecture... — So where? — Well, you know the former market? Come there, everyone will be there! — Okay, I'm off, — Sandy quickly kissed Flores on the cheek and rushed up the granite steps. Standing on her hind legs, she pulled the heavy door open. Belkin would have said she was like a cat deciding to raid the refrigerator. But Belkin wasn't there. «Should I go? I'll take a look and listen to what this teacher is feeding them. The Guards won't notice me, will they? And which ones of ours was she talking about? I need to check», — Decided Sandy, finally saying her name for the third time to the distrustful earth pony guard of some strange breed that she couldn't even name. — There is one, — The pony pushed off his cap and chewed with wrinkled lips, squinting with one eye at the book, and with the other at the named «Light Adu Sand». — Come in! «You'll get stuck like that someday!» — a bad thought flashed through Sandy's mind. The pony quickly climbed the stairs, twitching her ear at the clatter of the typewriter. Somewhere, a telephone rang obnoxiously. The brown carpet muffled her footsteps, and the silly bronze pins holding it down jingled in their loops. After two flights, Sandy approached the windows, climbed up, and rested her feet on the windowsill, peering out from behind the camouflage of somewhat shabby potted plants. The angry winter wind changed direction according to a schedule devised by Discord himself and rustled with fine snow. In front of the steps, the earth pony Color Flores stood and smiled in her poncho and a knitted hat in the form of a famously curved cap. She was saying something to herself. About the nine steps? Sandy shook her head. A pale emerald pony with a white speckled mane and a matching tail just stood outside, not noticing anyone and not feeling the cold. «What's wrong with her? — Sandy thought. — Some kind of evil magic? And what can I do about it?» — Miss, what do you want? — A brown pegasus with a thick mane tied in a tight bun and a smooth tail tied with a black ribbon held a stack of typewritten documents on its back with its wings. The mark depicted either a typewriter keyboard or a piece of an accordion framed by wings. — I'm Light Sand. I sent an article on archaeology, but I received a letter saying that... — What? That the article isn't good enough for us? Sweetheart, take it back... — That there are some questions, — Sandy finished. — And you need to sort them out with Mr. Far Search. — Mr. Search will be here later, — The disheartened pegasus said dryly and hurried into the depths of the building on the first floor, dashing down the stairs. Sandy looked out the window. Flo was standing. Some earth pony shied away. After walking a bit along the corridor, she managed to find an unlocked door. The phone rang several times, but no one answered. Sandy was, in principle, a kind pony. Not evil. And smart enough. The receiver emitted a coal-like crackling sound. It was incredibly lucky that the telephone connected to the outside rather than the internal switchboard, otherwise they would have rushed in already... Of course, they went bankrupt from one call! — Am I listening to you? — Put me through to the Guard squad, please. — Is it something serious? — I hope not. — I'm connecting you, — The phone pony said indifferently, and the phone buzzed strangely in her ear. Sandy froze when she heard footsteps in the hallway, but the unknown ponies entered an unknown door and got stuck there, moving chairs, opening cupboards, and rustling papers. — Guard, second Baltimare. — Hello. Here's the situation... The guard on duty probably thought again about the cat stuck in the tree... — What's going on there? — Colt Avenue, Historic Square. Some kind of earth pony is standing near the Archaeological Society building and hardly moving. I'm scared! What if something bad has happened to her? What if it's some kind of evil magic? — Description? — Pale green coat, white mane and tail with speckles. No mark visible under clothing. Young. — Okay, — The fatigue in the unicorn's voice (it's a white unicorn, as it should be?) pours straight out of the receiver. — What's your name? — Color Flores, — Sandy said and hung up the phone. She carefully stepped out into the hallway. She didn't hear anything about «what have we got there, another psycho?» Or do ponies «knock» on representatives of other races out of love for the cause? For the soul, so to speak? «I'm sorry, Flo, but something's clearly wrong with you. I just want to help», — Sandy looked around for a chair and decided to go to the recreation room. Her legs wouldn't hold her up.

***

— Dear Miss Sand, — Sighed the plump unicorn Far Search, — I have no doubt that your classification of the similarity between traditional moose and vitran patterns is valid. You also do not make hasty conclusions in your article, which does you, such a young researcher, credit. The illustrative material, however, needs some refinement, but I am willing to accept that as well... — Then what is wrong? — Sandy said colorlessly. She was very upset. The phone rang. — Yes? Search is listening. No, let's do it later. We'll call you back! — The unicorn, which was a rich yellow color (except for its dark purple eyes), and not just one color, but with large spots, hung up the phone and turned to Sandy. — Why did you bring up the migration of yaks in pre-Celestial times? — But how! Judging by the location of the samples... They sent me shards from Galloping Gorge, I didn't make it all up myself... And photos of soil sections... — Dear Miss Sand! Understand, you were supposed to write a popular science article, explaining in simple language to important ponies why they should allocate funds to us! But you concocted a scientific paper. Yes, one that raises a lot of questions, but at least it's not complete nonsense. But that's for specialists who have at least some idea of the true history of Equestria. And for the important rich ponies, there was nothing before the Sisters, not even Equus itself. — Excuse me, but the Princesses also had a mom and dad, well, before they became alicorns... And Platinum's family, according to legend, numbered many generations... — Miss Sand, these ponies live own perceptions of reality. And if these perceptions have somehow allowed them to accumulate such capitals, then I believe even archaeology should listen to their opinion! — And... And what should I do? — Sandy was completely upset. — Let's do it this way: you'll prepare a normal article, — The unicorn Search said it as if everything Sandy had learned was in vain. — And your work... I don't even know. Basically, there is one pony who is very good at finding different deposits, but his theory... And the Society requires that a pony of his level have some weight in the scientific community. So we'll give him your article, and maybe it will get published. — I should at least be listed as a co-author. I understand everything, but this is my work and my name. Let it be in small print among the list of various students and assistants involved. — No problem! — Far Search agreed suspiciously quickly. — So will there be any money? — I don't even know... If you, Miss Sand, could help me figure something out... — What? — They'll take you to the vault, — The unicorn picked up the phone. — Otom Stream to me... No, let her come herself! Yeah, and here was his switchboard with some kind of pony. Yeah, a pony with an eternally tired and contemptuous scowl on its face. A few minutes later, when Search had read the article again, the she-pegasus she had seen in the corridor came in. — Stream, take this pony to the storage area for unclassified samples. Yes, let her examine that nonsense. — I will need access to the library, — Said Sandy. — Oh, even the restricted section is acceptable, as long as it is not the magic section. She didn't really want to. Earth pony Light Sand couldn't cast spells by definition.

***

— Ah, you're that, what's his name... — Silk Wing, doctor, — The coffee-and-milk-colored pegasus fluttered his wings, folding them. — Something wrong again? — The winter day was coming to an end, as dull and orange as Chip Resepi himself. — I... do you have anything sedative? — Why do you need it? Consequences? — It's a long story. — Come into my office, — The unicorn sighed. — I hope I won't have to call the nurse. — Doc, here's the thing... I work for the railroad, — The pegasus began, following the doctor. The winged pony was shaking thoroughly. — Well, good job. So what? — One engineer, Charming Coal, you don't know him... — Maybe I do? — Dr. Chip snorted and reached into the cabinet for a sedative. Something about this Silk Wing is quite nervous. — He drives trains. To Applusa, to Canterlot... Back and forth, basically. — Well? And why are you so nervous, sir? — Hunters. — Excuse me? — His friends recently drove a train to Irvind. The carriages were full of the Guard. Then back. And... They claim that the town of Hunters no longer exists. It's just gone. Everything is cordoned off and some kind of construction is going on. Not a single house left, everything dug up. — No, why are you jumping to conclusions? Maybe they found something interesting or dangerous, relocated the residents... Could that be it? — I don't know. And I haven't received any news from Irvind yet. Well, our pegasus mail... — Don't be so nervous. Let me brew you a calming potion. And one for myself too. I'm sure the Princesses have everything under control... — Doc, when I was suffocating, was that under the Princesses' control too? — The pegasus's voice changed. The doctor didn't answer. He had tried to write an appeal at one point... He scribbled a note to Celestia herself, saying that the patient was alive, which was the most important thing, and that the methods of treatment were not so important... Celestia read it favorably and left the decision to the conscience of that commission, a bunch of hay in their asses! Ah, misuse of narcotics! Oh, some kind of witch doctor's recipes! Oh dear, an unapproved method! Chip Resepi sighed and went to get more alcohol.

***

— Are you suggesting that the Princesses decided to hide some terrible event? — I'm not suggesting anything, doc. It's just that when you've been told «oh, the Princesses!» since childhood, and then the Princesses' chain dogs basically kill you in a nasty way... And don't try to tell me it was a mistake. It was done on purpose. I'll kill that bastard. Silk Wing came to his senses, even emboldened a little, which could be attributed to the teaspoon of alcohol in his glass of tea. Chip Resepi watched the pegasus somewhat condescendingly, but he had had a few drinks himself. Something was going on in Equestria. Something incomprehensible. And then there were those disturbing letters. It was as if your relatives were trying to convince you that everything in Canterlot was fine. Chip Resepi regretted not subscribing to some kind of «Psychiatry Gazette». That's where strange things would come out. As for this Wing, he clearly wants to do something evil. But what can be opposed to the Keepers? Hmm, actually, it is possible. Strong Cloud has plenty of such things. But then the alicorns will deal with you.

***

— And who's arrived there? — The squirrel dog stared out the window and winced as if he had a toothache. — Fancy Pants. The official voice of Canterlot's wealthy and the unofficial emissary of the Princesses, — Chrysalis winced as well. — Now he'll be shaking his jingling bits. He'll hire all the airships for a flight to Canterlot while the Six are sorting things out here... — Will the Guard units fly back? — Hmm... Easily. And that’s it, Klugetown was a free city, and that’s enough. — Are you sure everyone will agree to the flight? — There is such a contingent here... Show me a large enough amount, and that's it. If only Wittgoff Morgenstern would strike a pose... But he's somewhere in Columbac, if not in the Catskills at all. He carries spices from Abyssinia. And coffee. — Listen, Chris... How many of these airship specialists are there? — Why? I don't think there are very many. — Put some of them on any trough, some on a sandbar. Take them to Southstock. And then on to your Columbac. Or even to Stalliongrad. — They won't agree, — Chrysalis smiled thoughtfully, — My cunning rebel Belkin. And we don't need these specialists, except for a couple. But I'll keep it in mind. — It's a shame about the base. — Hmm... I think we'll settle here again later. It's a lousy place, ordinary ponies won't live here. And the runway... Go on, guess what it's for. — Then it remains to neutralize the Six. Chris, tell me, can we get gunpowder, silk dye, and black sand here? — Sand is no problem, gunpowder too. What kind of dye do you need? — Yellow crystals. With a little greenish tint. — I think I can get some. What else? Dynamite? — I'm not going to kill them, although I should. — Could you? — Lure them into a trap, blow up a couple of bags of black crystal dust, then a homemade bomb with nuts, and then just go out and shoot the rest? — Belkin... Perhaps I'll make a similar request to you sometime. It's not like killing them one by one, which mine can handle, no, it's, — Chrysalis thought for a moment, — It's like there aren't any Elements. And their dung magic doesn't mean anything! Come on, Valentin! Specialist, get on it! What else do you need? — Wires, switches, a few of those lamps with filaments inside. Tools. Insulating tape. Do you have a voltage meter? — I'll find one. Is it the kind with a arrow? — Yep. With a arrow. And I'll need a battery or a connection to the city grid. And most importantly... — What? — A cluttered room with a passageway and the possibility of surveillance. — There are plenty of those here. Anything else? — Um... Some high-quality flour and fine metal filings. — Okay. When should I get it? — Right now. And the changelings should be clearly visible from that room after I get everything ready. Have you finished overhauling the engine? — Everything will be ready by nightfall. — Chris, maybe we should just leave in the dark? Without touching anyone? — No. I'd love to, but we have to rule out pursuit and the use of the Elements. Those lunatics mustn't find out about the sandcar. By the way, do you need help? — Yes. A couple of your guys. — Then Silent Spark, Spirit, and Scope.

***

— Mr. Pants? — Festral who had arrived with Six stared with piercing yellow eyes. A magical eye twitched on his chest. It resembled the eyes of batpony himself. — Yes? — What the Discord did Her Highness Twilight Sparkle send the airship for? — What? When? — Half a day ago! With an urgent package! — She's in the local hospital! After their whole gang blew up in some warehouse! What package? Both fell silent. It was clear. Changelings. Not otherwise. — When will the airships I hired arrive? Two or three days? More? — Fancy Pants was calculating something. — Well, no less than that. First there, to serve there and take passengers from the Guards and Guardians, then back... — They outplayed us. Crudely, brazenly, and with minimal preparation. But what were these unknown ponies, or even changelings, trying to achieve? — Time? And we don't have the strength to stop even one remaining ship now. — Apply the Elements? — Fancy Pants grimaced. — In this state of the Keepers? What if these Elements of yours disfigure everything here? Neither Celestia nor even my Mistress will force the ponies here to build airships later. But somewhere in Casaflanca, Colombac, or Griffonstone... — You can force these ponies! — Yeah. Celestia hasn't been able to force us to serve her in a thousand years. Now we're going to try the same failed trick on ordinary ponies? — Festral said this with hidden anger. — What if it works? Money, my dear Fancy Pants, isn't everything. And, even more so, threats. Especially when the relatives of these very necessary ponies have been harmed. But a specialist's desire for revenge is often subtle, with long-lasting consequences. How many armored trains do we have? One? And the griffins? Only five known ones? And that's with their completely undeveloped railway network! — Well, an armored train made of mining trolleys... — It doesn't matter! As long as it carries howitzers from one side of the mountain to the other! And here's something else for you to understand! — Batpony pulled a rusty tin can from under his wing, probably from canned beans or tomato paste. It was impossible to tell. — What is it, my dear? — A bomb. We found it in that room. Don't be afraid, it's not real, just a toy. Instead of dynamite, there are paper bags filled with sand. But the fuse is real. And the nuts. Just like the real thing. Rusty, medium-sized nuts. — But why? — Ready-made striking elements. Ask someone from the Legion when you get a chance, — Festral grinned. — But what's the point of preparing something that's just an imitation? Especially when you're declaring your readiness to do such evil? — Warning. I suppose it's just a warning.

***

They were rocks. Greenish, with unpleasant red streaks. The test crystal did not react to the stones the first time, but it worked poorly on the second and all subsequent ones. All the stones, if mentally remove the chips, had the shape of curved stars with different numbers of curved rays. There were also some spiral structures, like the shell impressions of prehistoric mollusks. «Fake?» — Thought Sandy. Reminiscent of the hieroglyphic instinctive writing of ancient dragonicuses icons within the cells of ancient cephalopods? From where? But it is clear that a layer of sedimentary rocks has been removed, and the writings were already inside. It was shot sloppily, but it doesn't look like an imitation. Something ancient. Look for a transcript at the library? Well, Sandy's already taken the directory from there, promising to return it. It was unreadable. Completely. The dragonicuses inscriptions had to be translated, wading through layers of meaning and guessing at the emotions of long-dead and not entirely rational creatures who thought not even with magic, but with magic itself. Worse than the most stubborn unicorns Sandy had ever encountered. For some reason, she remembered the new princess. But after giggling and returning to the deciphering, our pony became serious again. It couldn't be deciphered. Just random formations? Traces of parasites? But it looks so similar... And it's unreadable. It was possible to make out some meaning, to replace the obviously damaged symbols with similar ones, but then it was even worse. It was nonsense. The Dead-Sleeping Kutulu awakens (decays) near the city (tomb) of R'lyeh. Pray to the Ancient Gods for a quick death. Kutulu awakens when R'lyeh sees (they see?) the stars. It's complete nonsense, even the dates don't match up. And no one has ever had gods like that. Kutulu fhtagn. Sandy shook her head. She's already working hard. I think that's enough for today. And let them give the remaining money. Near Mercury Lakes. Ugh, it must be some kind of mistake. And sacrificing pregnant women is clearly a mistranslation that she foolishly made up herself. No one would seriously come up with such an abomination. Gain the power of the Corpse, which exists outside of space. So that the fruit may fall from the womb. And they will find his bones, and split them open, extracting the cylinders. For only the Corpse is eternal, and the living are cattle for its nourishment. And he killed his daughter, and fed her blood to the one who gives answers from the Corpse. Light Sand was a smart enough pony to realize that she was working hard. A little more, and she would be so tired that she wouldn't be able to sleep. Even if you summon Luna. She closed the reference book on the letters of the dragonics with a piece of paper, gathered the samples in boxes, and headed for the exit. She left the notes and drafts on the spot, as agreed. The half-basement room was pressing down on her. And it was already dark outside. Soon Celestia would bring the sun closer, and it would get lighter... Yes, Sandy knew about Equus' elliptical orbit, but thousand-year-old fairy tales still gave her a feeling of magic in her soul. But just not now. It was some kind of evil magic not of this world. Something that corroded the very past of the world, its very history. Like a photograph thrown into the fire, something erased memories and the very soul. Incorrect translations seemed to break reality. The obvious nonsense of symbols, accidentally resembling the writings of the draconicus, the ancestors of both ponies and griffins, was deciphered by a tired and inflamed mind into unimaginable stupidity and abomination. It simply couldn't be. Actually, that's what Mr. Search needs to be told. They found some manure, and Sandy is digging through it like a complete fool. Sandy threw on her coat but didn't button it. — Well, that's it? — The elderly earth pony took the reference book and threw it onto the cart. — That's all for today. Don't put the book away, okay? — We have our own rules, you know! What a bitch! Wait until tomorrow, when she's exhausted! Sandy made a pleading face: — And... — Here, — Bitch slammed the envelope down on the counter. Slammed it down, because the envelope contained coins. Well, Sandy had expected more, actually. Are you sure there are no banknotes? Those greedy bitches! The corridors were empty, the lights were turned off almost everywhere. «Light Ada Sand», — Sandy said to the janitor. He had already closed the door, your princesses' mother! Does he have a date with that librarian or something? While he was looking for the key, Sandy buttoned up her coat. — Goodbye! In response, they grumbled: — Yeah, go ahead. They hang around here until nightfall... The door closed and the key clicked. Baltimare was making noise, catching Sandy's eye as she stood on the stone steps. She shuffled around, adjusting the mittens on her front hoofs. It's almost night, bits that have been chewed out with such difficulty are clinking in pockets (part of the amount will be paid only tomorrow), the bank where the funds were deposited for all sorts of oddities is closed. It would be possible to sit in a cafe, but it's expensive. Baltimare, yes... but have to eat something. Sandy thought of the dockside diner. It was both satisfying and relatively inexpensive. They didn't keep the drunks either, but sent them out. They could have surrendered to the Guards if they were violent. Or they just beat their face on the spot. Yes, it's settled! Sandy will go there, and then to her flophouse. The thought of Flores' fate was scratching at his head. Maybe she shouldn't have done that to her ex-friend. Yes, already an ex! Well done, Sandy! You have friends like dirt, you don't have to protect them! Sandy sighed. It was quite a distance to the port, but the bits she had received would definitely not be enough for a restaurant, and the cafes in the center were not known for their low prices either. And coffee and pastries were not what she needed right now. «But they will help her, won't they? Should they help?» — Was pounding in head. What if it was a shifter? Sandy didn't notice that she was crying. — Hey, chick, are you lost? — Someone whistled from the darkness. — No. I'm going to the port, there's a very cheap diner there. So there's no point in robbing me, you understand, I don't have much money. — No, we're just minding our own business, — Said a pegasus in a scratched flight jacket, pretending to be embarrassed. — Hurry up, or madame Fork will close by haytime, and you'll be left whining at the door. Sandy hurried. — Hey, chick! Can you grab a couple of sandwiches? No, what are you going to do? They'll rob you anyway. Even with sandwiches! But these are definitely not robbers, more likely they are meeting an illegal shipment. There weren't many crimes against individuals in Equestria. Most of them were committed by unicorns. The most heinous crimes, as Sandy now suspected, were committed by alicorns. Thanks, Belkin, for teaching her! She's good herself, to be honest. Sandy caught herself having another seditious thought that, while she agreed with the need for authority, she felt a mixture of fear and deep-seated hatred toward the Princesses themselves. It must be the influence of that squirrel dog. He taught her well. The diner was filled with the hubbub of stallions and stallion-like mares who smelled of the sea and sweat. Sandy was honored with a momentary pause, and then the hubbub resumed. The waitress did not approach; instead, the hastily prepared menu was simply passed around the tables. — Well? — Asked the pink unicorn from behind the counter, drowning out the noise. Madame Fork herself? — Chowder, herbal tea, carrot salad... Another piece of hay bread... — It's included in the price of the rest, — Fork said contemptuously. A basket of bread rolls, tea with bits of herbs and even wood floating in it, and a rough napkin were placed in front of Sandy. Sandy took off her coat, leaving her in a thin but warm sweater with irregular snowflakes. It was blowing hard from the sea, and pony didn't regret taking extra clothes. The diner was warm, but Sandy was still shivering. — Okay, take one from the table! — Ordered madame Fork, turning to Sandy and explaining, — Except you. This pair of bits meant a tiny cup, where something dark was sloshing around, about the size of a teaspoon. — In one gulp and without inhaling! — Fork ordered. Sandy's eyes widened. Sandy coughed. Sandy thought she was going to suffocate and die on the spot. The nasty mixture made her stomach burn and her head spin. She had to wash it down with tea and eat some bread. A hissing cast-iron bowl landed in front of her on a board with hot soup, a quarter of an egg, something fishy, and vegetables piled up along the wide edge of the board, meant to resemble carrot salad. The vegetables were so-so, but couldn't find anything better in winter. Sandy scooped up the mess with a spoon, blew on it so as not to burn herself, crunched on vegetables and bread, and listened lazily to the conversations. They complained about Harmony's music. — Damn it, these newbies are all high again! — Come on, you just have to use your bad impulse at the right time! — I didn't even make it to the office before they threw all the soft and light stuff into the hold and started piling heavy boxes and barrels on top of it! And, you whore of a mother, no one thought about the center of gravity! No one at all! It's like they didn't explain anything to them before the shift! — Mother fuck, the princesses and everyone else! — Fuck you, princesses and everyone else, mother! — Well, that's what I said! And when it comes to rearranging everything according to the rules, those whore's children have already lost their minds, they can't do it, they're fucking tired! I did it myself... And I still have to pay those bastards... — Yeah, I got into the same situation myself. Remember when we «repaired» the fifth pier? I'd like to punch whoever came up with this harmonica-playing nonsense! — You can't punch alicorns... Eh, we should make them command these idiots first, and then redo half of it! — Oh, don't tell me! Look, Stamping Stone ran into quite a spectacle... They almost threw the cargo into the sea. At first they were singing something, then they started chanting «u-lu-lu», and then everyone's eyes were rolling around and they started yelling something like «klu-tu-lu into the fountain». Some of them even had to be doused with water. Naturally, she sent everyone to dry off and recover. And the loading and unloading was ruined! Kutulu fhtagn. Sandy shuddered slightly. «No, we definitely need to write a general letter to Celestia, otherwise we'll jump in with her fucking Harmony», Came from the far table. «No work at all, and then there won't be a life, you'll dance everything and sing Discord in the ass!» There will be no life. A corpse, existing outside of spaces. — Well? Five bits from you. Or do you want something else? — Madame Fork said suspiciously when Sandy approached the counter. — Give me a couple of sandwiches to go, — Sandy counted out six bits. — Only with fish! — Madame Fork said discontentedly, but she made such terrible sandwiches. Warm, huge, with onions, cheap fried cod mince, and old, dried-out grated cheese, they looked so filling that Sandy felt a pang of greed, even though she was already full. Fork clinked the cash register, hiding the coins. At the exit, the wind blew strongly from the sea. Something dark was sticking out on the horizon beyond Horseshoe Bay. Clouds? Is there something else projected from behind all the spaces? «I have to give them the sandwiches», Sandy told herself, trying to keep her legs from buckling with fear. She ran to the stacks of boxes at the very beginning of the private pier, where small boats bobbed and creaked in unison, and the ice crust on their sides crunched. — Hey, are you still here? What about the sandwiches? — Sandy barely managed to squeak. It was empty, dark, and scary. — Oh, chick! — Came a surprised voice from the other side. — You brought them?! You're my darling! Hook, hold it! With fish, just like you like it! Oh, chick, I could marry you! — You'd marry a sea pony and then run away! — Grumbled a stocky earth pony of indeterminate color in a canvas storm jacket. — Don't listen to him, miss. Can I help you? — If you take me to a place with light... — Winged one, fly over there. And come back, understand? I can't explain myself to the supplier alone! And you, miss, don't think anything illegal. Quite the opposite. It's just that the duties on something have been... — Good luck, — Sandy wished sincerely. Pegasus led her to the chain of gas horns and disappeared into the darkness. What, Sandy, would you take him down for the night? Changeling. That's right, she wouldn't take it off. Any stallion can be a shifter. He will bewitch, rape, get drunk on emotions and kill. And he'll watch you agonize. Bitch. Filthy thing. May you all die! Every single one of them! Into the pit you! And pour kerosene! Burn! Sandy stopped. She was shaking. Yes, of course, it was from the cold... «Belkin could do it», Thought the pony. Yes, he could. Just like he did with those two.

***

At night, almost at dawn, Sandy woke up in tears. It was cold, someone was walking on the floor below. She thought she heard Flo's voice. Something about nine steps to happiness, fuck your princesses! In Equestria, all sorts of incomprehensible nonsense often happened, but here it was as if everything had fallen into a huge pit. In the morning, she couldn't withdraw any money. Damn hundred bits. Like, you have to prepare the amount. There was nothing in the other bank, and Sandy put those twenty-five in her pocket. She didn't go to the Archaeological Society. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. Disgusting phrases from incorrect translations kept spinning around in her head. She made up all kinds of nonsense, and then this happened. And those conversations in the diner. And... No, home to Dodge City. She'll buy a cheaper ticket with a transfer in Ponyville and take the first train! Princesses don't need these archaeological jokes! Especially if it's something the Sisters wouldn't want to show all the ponies. Sandy had no experience with a crowned beast crawling into her dreams, but she knew how some teenage foals woke up in horror and ran to vomit from the feeling of someone else in their head. Or they wet their beds. That's right, they won't leave anything, they'll take everything away, even dreams. Light Sand was a smart pony and realized that this was beyond normal, but she couldn't be around ponies and not suspect the changeling. She couldn't look at the Princesses with delight, and not try to run away in horror and disgust. The portraits in the newspapers made sick and blurred in eyes. She couldn't talk to the griffins, she imagined traces of the spell that had caused Godric Pfeil to smash his own head. «Belkin, you bastard, what have you done to me?» — Whispered Sandy. What, what... Saved her from death. By noon, the earth pony Light Sand was boarding the train. After all, winter break was coming to an end, and it was time to earn some extra money at school. An archaeology elective for upperclassmen, modeling for the younger ones (they would get dirty with clay again, and she would have to get wax), when the crooked cups were sent to the kiln in the school workshops, and the stallion with a cap, invited from the depot, hastily replacing indecent words on the go, talked about firing and conjured with the kiln. A miracle without magic. Sandy nodded to herself. Yes. Home. At worst, she would move to Manehattan, notifying her tenants by magic telegram or express letter via pegasus so that they would have time to find new accommodation. She remembered her relatives from Vanhoover and Toll Tail. They had somehow made it clear that they weren't interested in Sandy with her excavation problems. A cut piece of bread, as they say in Applusa and Dodge City. An apple from a separate basket. Sandy, who had sent away both the family business and her family, now found herself alone. Who would have thought that archaeology, even if not entirely legal, would lead to this? Everything was fine. The earth pony Light Sand was looking for something of purely scientific interest and getting her pennies. She wrote articles. She got paid again. She found things from the time of the confrontation with Sombra and the establishment of Stalliongrad. She got paid more. The first alarm bell rang when something unusual was found in the materials found in the Crystal Empire. Cadenza personally banned everything, and Sandy got on the train and rolled back. Like she'd been spat on. In Baltimare, they also hinted to her that it wasn't worth digging into the dark past of the villain Sombra. So as not to dig up the grave of her career. And now it's the same thing again. Something was happening, and Sandy was running away in fear. Without even finding out anything. The locomotive whistled, and clouds of steam outside the windows hid the escorting. It seemed that Flo's silly hat flashed somewhere out there. Sandy felt disgusting. The train jerked and rolled away.

***

Approaching Poniville, Sandy saw the Castle of Friendship in the form of a tree through the window. She bit her hoof to keep from screaming in horror. The contours of the «tree» repeated the curlicues of the draconicus. From the days when there were no draconicus yet.

***

They were sitting on the deck again. Morning was coming. Golden light was breaking through the clouds at the edge of the Evil Woods. They walked along the very edge, pushing aside sparse shrubs. Frost glistened on the patchy, sparse, almost black grass. To the left was desert, to the right were bushes and the occasional thick tree trunk. Further to the right was an invisible evil. The sand walker rocked, the kerosene-oil flame hummed in the furnaces. Interesting, the Six found the strip and the black rubber tracks scratched on it? Will they guess? No. And empty barrels from petroleum products won't tell them anything. They live by magic, see only magic, magic has clouded their brains, they won't guess. — Enjoy it while you can, because you can't go out at night, — Chrysalis smiled grimly. — Is something going on here? — Belkin glanced at the alicorn changeling. — No one knows exactly what. But something is happening. Something disgusting. — Chris... — Yes? — Why are you clinging to me like that? I'm just a random alien. — You're our chance. Yes, not the only one, but another good chance, — Chris said without even turning her head. She looked ahead. — For what? — For the survival of my people. — Changelins? — Changelings. And ponies. And kirins. And even griffins. We don't have many zebras, though. Belkin remained silent. Behind him, a glow flared up. The squirrel dog looked back in surprise. A thought flashed through his mind that he should grab Chris in his arms, fall onto the deck behind the pipe, and wait for the shock wave. But the glow was iridescent and not blinding. The thin hair on his face and hands did not smoke. And in general, it didn't look like an atomic explosion. Then what? The thin fur on his face and hands did not smoke. And in general, it did not look like an atomic explosion. Then what? — Fuel storage? — Belkin was pondering if oil could blaze like that. No, there would be black smoke reaching the skies. — Oh, come on! It's the Elements. Good thing we're far away. — What do these Elements even do? — They alter the probabilities of phenomena. In other words, they irreversibly distort reality for the conditional benefit of whoever applies this crap. — And how about the living beings? — They disappear or change and receive their own disconnected line of the past. If it hit us, we'd end up here as hybrids of dragonflies, cats, and who knows what else, amid mysteriously appeared dried remains of a whale with square wheels attached to it and an antique stove inside the skeleton. — Can the Elements even do that? — And more than that. This crap mangles fates in an instant, worse than war. — Chrysalis extended her wing again and pulled the squirrel dog toward her. — Sit closer, I need emotions. And don't be afraid of anything. It's good for both of us. — How did you figure that out? — Belkin nodded toward the glow. — Observation. Surveys. Some of the changelings also fell under the Elements' effect. Then they were found. Barely recognized. — Has all this been systematized somehow? — Weakly. We've mostly been accumulating information so far. We had our own issues with the war. — Where did this crap even come from? I mean, the Elements? Celestia didn't mold them from manure, did she? — No. They just appeared in ancient times. Like, they were found. They require a certain level of mental activity to use. — One alicorn equals five psychopaths and an under-alicorn? — Ha... Maybe it's not about that, but about the mental stability of the user? — Split the negative effect among six? — Who knows... Belkin, it's not about these Elements of Distortion, somehow called the Elements of Harmony. It's about the fact that someone gave foolish foals a smart and cunning weapon. A weapon that looks harmless but is deadly dangerous. And your talent... With you, we don't just have a chance to neutralize the Elements, even if those six idiots show up in Graymorn with their baubles already on, no. We gain confidence. Belkin, if everyone in Stalliongrad knew about your talents... They'd pray for you. Especially in times like these. — What times? — What times, what times... You need to spend less time lying around with burns! But honestly, all these arimaspi, strange cults in coastal cities, magical upheaval in the Badlands... It's one hour to midnight for the world. All these phenomena, as it seems to me, have the same origin. And it will keep pressing and pressing, and the Sisters have only one answer. — Blast with the Elements? — Yes. Now, if I've guessed correctly, Celestia will start replacing the Keepers who dropped out due to insanity with others and fix the situation with the Elements everywhere. And she'll destroy the very reality in Equestria. — Won't it spill over to other lands? — I don't know. It might stay within their locus. But we must have a way to protect ourselves. — How? — The jumpsuit was a bit chilly, and Valentin cautiously leaned against Chrysalis. She didn't object and pressed back in response. — I'll find a suicide volunteer ready to become an alicorn. Plus myself. We'll hold back the magic of this otherworldly crap until technology develops enough. — How much is enough? — Enough for an exodus from the planet. There aren't a billion of us; we can build ships for everyone. — Slow, huge tubs? — Any kind, as long as we can slowly leave the planet if needed. — A hundred years to acquire all the necessary technologies. Economic overstrain. — We'll hold out. We have to. Belkin fell silent. Well, maybe Chris won't repeat Vissarionovich's mistakes in the pursuit of development. And we can't be friends with the Equestrians. Neither with ordinary ponies nor with alicorns. They'll deceive you and ruin your life. Or just kill you. For your own good, in their understanding. No thanks. Your state house is in Nuremberg. Your future is on a rope. — I heard there are some problems with magic at high altitudes. — Then I'll stay, — Chrysalis shivered. — What can you do? — Chris... I don't know if I'll have a chance to return, but while I'm here, I'll be with you all. Chrysalis nodded. The glow behind the puffing engine and crunching wheels of the sand truck was fading. Somewhere out there, in Klugetown, something irreparable happened. Once again.

***

— Fuel storage? — Belkin was pondering if oil could blaze like that. No, there would be black smoke reaching the skies. — Oh, come on! It's the Elements. Good thing we're far away. — What do these Elements even do? — They alter the probabilities of phenomena. In other words, they irreversibly distort reality for the conditional benefit of whoever applies this crap. — And how about the living beings? — They disappear or change and receive their own disconnected line of the past. If it hit us, we'd end up here as hybrids of dragonflies, cats, and who knows what else, amid mysteriously appeared dried remains of a whale with square wheels attached to it and an antique stove inside the skeleton. — Can the Elements even do that? — And more than that. This crap mangles fates in an instant, worse than war. — Chrysalis extended her wing again and pulled the squirrel dog toward her. — Sit closer, I need emotions. And don't be afraid of anything. It's good for both of us. — How did you figure that out? — Belkin nodded toward the glow. — Observation. Surveys. Some of the changelings also fell under the Elements' effect. Then they were found. Barely recognized. — Has all this been systematized somehow? — Weakly. We've mostly been accumulating information so far. We had our own issues with the war. — Where did this crap even come from? I mean, the Elements? Celestia didn't mold them from manure, did she? — No. They just appeared in ancient times. Like, they were found. They require a certain level of mental activity to use. — One alicorn equals five psychopaths and an under-alicorn? — Ha... Maybe it's not about that, but about the mental stability of the user? — Split the negative effect among six? — Who knows... Belkin, it's not about these Elements of Distortion, somehow called the Elements of Harmony. It's about the fact that someone gave foolish foals a smart and cunning weapon. A weapon that looks harmless but is deadly dangerous. And your talent... With you, we don't just have a chance to neutralize the Elements, even if those six idiots show up in Graymorn with their baubles already on, no. We gain confidence. Belkin, if everyone in Stalliongrad knew about your talents... They'd pray for you. Especially in times like these. — What times? — What times, what times... You need to spend less time lying around with burns! But honestly, all these arimaspi, strange cults in coastal cities, magical upheaval in the Badlands... It's one hour to midnight for the world. All these phenomena, as it seems to me, have the same origin. And it will keep pressing and pressing, and the Sisters have only one answer. — Blast with the Elements? — Yes. Now, if I've guessed correctly, Celestia will start replacing the Keepers who dropped out due to insanity with others and fix the situation with the Elements everywhere. And she'll destroy the very reality in Equestria. — Won't it spill over to other lands? — I don't know. It might stay within their locus. But we must have a way to protect ourselves. — How? — The jumpsuit was a bit chilly, and Valentin cautiously leaned against Chrysalis. She didn't object and pressed back in response. — I'll find a suicide volunteer ready to become an alicorn. Plus myself. We'll hold back the magic of this otherworldly crap until technology develops enough. — How much is enough? — Enough for an exodus from the planet. There aren't a billion of us; we can build ships for everyone. — Slow, huge tubs? — Any kind, as long as we can slowly leave the planet if needed. — A hundred years to acquire all the necessary technologies. Economic overstrain. — We'll hold out. We have to. Belkin fell silent. Well, maybe Chris won't repeat Vissarionovich's mistakes in the pursuit of development. And we can't be friends with the Equestrians. Neither with ordinary ponies nor with alicorns. They'll deceive you and ruin your life. Or just kill you. For your own good, in their understanding. No thanks. Your state house is in Nuremberg. Your future is on a rope. — I heard there are some problems with magic at high altitudes. — Then I'll stay, — Chrysalis shivered. — What can you do? — Chris... I don't know if I'll have a chance to return, but while I'm here, I'll be with you all. Chrysalis nodded. The glow behind the puffing engine and crunching wheels of the sand rover was fading. Somewhere out there, in Klugetown, something irreparable happened. Once again.