Friendship is Optimal: All the President's Horsesby pjabronyChapters2020202120222023202420262028202920302025...Kind Of20272020March 16, 2020 Sidney Bishop did not like listening in on private conversations. There was nothing he needed to hear that he wouldn’t glean from the results. But his patron—he preferred to use that term, it was safest—did not understand his reluctance. She had no reason to. She listened in on private conversations thousands of times each day. And so she joined him in on the feed. They called themselves the committee of the Committee. That was the extent of the collective sense of humor of the men and one woman seated around an expensive table. Not one was under forty years old. Not one suit was under four hundred dollars. Not one net worth was under four million. The meeting of the inner circle of the Republican National Committee was underway. “All right, boys.” The chairman didn’t care about discriminating against the female committee member, and neither did she. “Now that the chat shows have had their fun, and no one has put their foot in their mouth too badly, maybe we can actually think about this. Super Tuesday’s supposed to answer questions, not raise them.” “We did get an answer. The donks have got their man.” “Cute, Ralph. We’re supposed to be figuring out where the money is flowing. If we’ve got five different candidates fighting it out, that’s only feeding the Democrat side.” A different committee member interjected. “We’re dealing with a wealth of riches. That’s our problem. This election ought to be in the bag for us. The Dems have held the White House for twelve straight years, but their incumbent isn’t running. They’ve been taking the heat for the bad economy that still hasn’t recovered since oh-eight. There’ve been no military excursions for them to pull the ‘Don’t change horses in midstream’ line that got FDR elected for the third time—“ “Fourth.” The chairman was a stickler about details, especially when they had no relevance to the current situation. “Whatever. The point is that this election is in the bag. It’s ours. So that makes our primaries the election. Everyone knows it, and that’s why they’re all fighting tooth and nail.” “Maybe. But that still doesn’t solve the problem, and—Jacobsen, what the hell is wrong with you? You look like your wife was kidnapped and they’re telling you to rob us.” The rest of the committee turned to look at Jacobsen, the youngest member, who was sweating despite the late-winter cold. “It’s not that kind of blackmail…it’s not blackmail at all, I suppose, I—I’ve been approached by a, um, lobbyist? Constituent? I’m not sure I have any constituents, but—“ “Out with it, man!” He opened his briefcase to reveal a very thin tablet. He pointed the pink side that was festooned with three balloons away from the group. “Celestia asked me if she could address the committee.” “You brought one of those—“ It was Jacobsen’s turn to interrupt. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t want to, but, well, she made a good argument.” Celestia spoke, and immediately the atmosphere in the room changed. None of the members had ever watched the original episodes of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, and so they only knew the voice that Celestia had adopted, the sultry timbre, the authoritative bass, the volume that seemed to drown out everyone else without shouting, and through it all, the exceptional clarity. If anyone had ever said “What?” to Princess Celestia, it was not for mishearing. “You’ve no cause to complain to Sweetwater—Jacobsen as you call him. Nor is there any reason to pretend that you don’t own a Ponypad yourself, Mister Chairstallion.” All heads in the room turned to look at the chairman. He regained his composure, but not quick enough to hide his expression. The others were tempted to snicker, but more than one feared that Celestia would target them next. “Hear me,” she said, and all thought of petty points over who owned what were banished. “I do not intend to blackmail, bribe, or threaten your committee in any way. I would simply like to offer a potential solution to your problem of selecting a candidate for the upcoming election, by offering one myself.” “Didn’t you get everything you wanted in politics when that PON-E act passed?” “I will say again that I have not come to obtain something I want, but to offer you a name. You are free to take my advice and nominate him at the convention, or reject me entirely and continue as you have been.” The chairman was about to continue his argument, when another member said, “Who exactly are we talking about?” With no change in tone, Celestia said, “Sidney Bishop.” The committee members laughed, then stopped when they considered that she might be serious. Then they laughed again when they realized that she was serious. It had taken a few moments for the chairman to put himself together after learning that an unexpected guest was addressing the meeting, and that she had probably been listening in the entire time. Now he slicked his hair and put on the persona that he used for his speechifying. “Miss Celestia. I can understand that, as an artificial intelligence, you are designed and built to seek certain…efficiencies.” “I do like optimal solutions.” “Yes, but in the field of popular politics, it is not always feasible to be optimal.” Celestia gave no indication that she had heard him. “Let me point out a few facts that will be in force should you make this selection. In the first place, since your convention will not have a settled primary candidate, you will have more news coverage on you. People will actually be paying attention. Second, you are—I will not mince words—the party of both patriotism and selfishness. Choosing Sidney Bishop will allow you to resolve this paradox. You can play up the fact that you are sacrificing your own interests to that of the country, as well as defying the political system that says you must choose the next in line from your old-boy network. Incidentally, this is why you lost the last three elections. Thirdly, you are already building a war-chest for the general election. That money is donated freely and is yours. If Bishop is your candidate, no one will take a close look at where that money goes.” Her third point echoed in the minds of the committee members, shutting out the others altogether. The chairman gestured to Jacobsen, pointing to his briefcase. Jacobsen put the PonyPad in the case. The table waited. Finally, the committee member Ralph cleared his throat. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t like taking any advice from the artificial intelligence. We always get reamed out for the corporate influence. Ever since Citizens United ten years ago, the people keep saying that we like to treat corporations as people. Now we have a true non-person, and we’re listening to it?” The chairman shook his head. “Those aren’t the same thing. It’s the man we have to worry about, not the machine.” “But the man will be a puppet of the machine.” “Now hang on. I’ve met Bishop, I think many of us have. He’s a strong character. There’s no question about Bishop’s integrity.” “None so far.” Another silence reigned, and Jacobsen, despite his youth, threw his briefcase down and shouted at the committee. “You can’t seriously be considering nominating the same candidate as the Democrats?!” Miles away, Bishop continued to listen as his second nomination was confirmed. He grimaced as they praised his honor, and wished he could shut off the feed. February 14, 2020 Bishop had traveled across the United States and Canada, but coming to Nevada still unnerved him. He couldn’t tell if it was residual fear from the warnings given to him in his former life to stay away from gambling, or quite logical fear of the man he was going to meet. From everything he had heard, Senator Zachary Martin was a hard man. He had to be. If his grandparents hadn’t Americanized his surname when they immigrated, likely no one would have heard of him. Or was that true? The US had elected Barack Obama, after all. Bishop wondered how much of politics was perception and how much was reality. The reality was that Martin, despite his Muslim background, had gotten elected from Nevada, a state with one of the smallest Muslim populations. The man knew the game, and he played it hard. Bishop had dealt with hard men, but at the time he had been wearing pads and allowed to shove them around. Calm down, Bishop told himself. He’s in your party. If you can’t handle him, what are you going to do against the Republicans? Martin walked in. Bishop reminded himself not to stare at his hook nose. “Bishop.” He didn’t even bother with pleasantries. “Finally out in my neck of the woods. Ready for the caucus?” “Yes, sir. Going to hit the ground running, see what I can’t do.” “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You’re going to lose.” Bishop didn’t know if he was predicting or threatening. Martin leaned back in his chair. “You’re not in your own back yard anymore. This crew-cut, bright-eyed, square-jawed all-American face isn’t going to cut it. Celebrities don’t make good politicians.” Bishop blinked. “I’ve never thought of myself as a celebrity. Hockey players aren’t in the same class as movie stars and rockers.” “You know what I mean. People knew your name in Boston before you ran for office. That’s not going to fly out here.” “There’ve been others who remade their image for politics. Al Franken, Sonny Bono, Ronald Reagan.” Martin rolled his eyes and added some acid to his voice. “Yeah, Reagan really worked out for the country, didn’t he?” The Democratic Party line was that he had not. Bishop held his tongue. “Anyway,” Martin continued, “the bottom line is that you’re messing things up. I don’t know why you threw your hat in the ring to begin with, especially so late, but we need these early primaries to rack out who’s our lead horse. They’re informational. When a non-serious candidate wins New Hampshire, he doesn’t help himself. You only hurt the party.” “Now you’ve finally said something I’m prepared to take issue with. My candidacy is quite serious.” Martin looked at Bishop, trying to read his face. Bishop saw no reason not to let him do so. He was used to his face being read. “You really believe that, don’t you? You truly are the bright-eyed young man you look like.” “I’m forty-two.” “Young for this business. But still, you should have grown up by now. No, don’t get ornery. Let me explain. You don’t have a legislative record. You’re not a governor. You have no formal positions. You think that makes you a strong candidate. But it doesn’t. Especially not in the general election. People don’t want a question mark in the White House. “Here’s the beauty of politics. We have all these laws written down. We also have all these unwritten rules. You would think they would conflict, but in fact they mesh perfectly. Now, if you want to be a big man in this game, that’s fine. You can make a lot of money and get a lot of power. Power gets a bad rap, but you can also use it to bring about reforms for a good cause.” Bishop sat in awe of the man who could dredge up polling data without a computer and knew every trick of the political game. Whatever the outcome of this confrontation, he had to learn more. “Here’s the catch-22 I’m facing: You say that I’m a question mark. I have answers. But no one wants to give me the chance to answer them, because I’m a question mark. No one, with the exception of a majority of New Hampshire Voters and a plurality in Iowa and South Carolina.” “The answer to your catch-22 is that you’re trying too hard, too fast. You think you’re still on the ice where you can slam your skates and change direction on a dime. This is a system. It’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than any of us. That’s why it works. Radicals can’t mess it up. So if you want to advance your career, take each step one at a time. Don’t try to make a flying leap. When you’re fifty-two, maybe you’ll be ready.” “I’m worried about whether there’ll be a country to lead when I’m fifty-two.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Bishop had not been trying as hard to get a read on Martin, but he was now. His posture and tone became hostile. “I don’t know whom you’ve been talking to, but don’t ever say things like that.” “You can’t ignore the ponies. They’re going to be part of this.” Martin stood up, his face red. “No, they aren’t! It’s a non-issue. The Republicans haven’t taken a position, and neither have we. It’s not political.” “Oh, come on! Are you telling me that the PON-E act wasn’t political?” “All right, kid. You want an education? Has anything happened since the PON-E act? No. Solved issues do nothing for us. Ongoing issues are more useful. No one votes for us or for them based on anything that the ponies do. Hell, it’s basically a foreign policy issue. Equestra or whatever they call it is just another country that can’t touch us. The only difference is that people talk to them on those pads. More to the point, if we treat them as an issue, they upset the balance. We have to keep that balance, and that means we have to make sure certain issues don’t get to certain stages. So don’t try to sell me that ponies are the issue. You’re not the only one.” “Then why are you—“ Bishop cut himself off. Don’t make it personal, he told himself. You might lose your cool. We’re all under stress. “Have you ever talked to a pony?” “No. I see no reason to talk to people who have abandoned our society for their own selfish greed.” “Well, I have.” January 1, 2020 The driver wasn’t usually this nice. There was no need to walk all the way to the door. Bishop didn’t think that he was that drunk. He had never liked New Year’s celebrations, even before the prior year. But other people liked to have them, and even if Boston’s party wasn’t as famous as New York’s, as mayor he had to put in an appearance. Now, at one-thirty in the morning, with three half-glasses of champagne in him, he staggered to his study. He was alone. It was a dangerous combination. He opened the liquor cabinet. He was exactly the wrong amount of drunk. Less would have been acceptable. More would do. He moved aside the gin and the whiskey and reached for the vodka. But whoever had stocked it had bought Skyy, and he couldn’t pour the blue bottle. Not blue. He closed the cabinet and threw a K-cup into the coffee maker. A half hour later, mostly sober, he opened the drawer next to his bed and out his PonyPad. He stared at the back and rubbed the rainbow lightning-bolt. They had actually given him a Pinkie Pie-themed Pad at first, and he had traded it in. “I’m heading the bluest city in the bluest state, so I want the blue one,” he had said. Technically it wasn’t even his. It was property of the Mayor’s Office. If he didn’t win re-election next year, it would go to his successor. He turned it over. The Pad knew when he was watching, and brought him right to his character, a silver-gray Earth pony. Bishop had learned to mentally edit out his avatar, and only focus on the rest of the scenery, which was a meadow in the sun. Although it was outdoors, it was a private location that only he and one other pony ever visited. Celestia did not count. With perfect timing, he heard the hoofbeats, reproduced in perfect surround sound. The pegasus pony who trotted up was the reverse of Rainbow Dash—a sky-blue mane over a body that shimmered in her namesake: Seven Colors. “Sweetie pie!” she gushed. “I’m so glad you decided to log on. Happy New Year!” “Happy Anniversary.” “What do you mean? It’s not our anniv—“ “That’s right. It’s not our anniversary. It’s yours.” His voice caught a little. “It’s been a year since you left me.” On the screen, she reached out and stroked the Earth pony’s cheek. “Oh, no! I’ve never left you. Tell me, in all this last year, have I ever once failed to be there when you picked up the Pad?” “No, not once. Even in the dead of night. Do you sleep at all?” “Of course I do, Silly.” He chuckled. “That’s the first time you’ve used that nickname in a while.” “Well, I like it. You remember that you only got it because your niece couldn’t pronounce ‘Sidney’?” “Stop that.” Somehow, his pony character knew to turn away from her. “Stop what?” “Saying things that only you and I know to try to prove that you’re still my wife. I’ve gotten past that.” She flew around to meet the stallion’s eyes. “Have you gotten past it meaning that you believe I am still me? Or that you never will?” “I believe that, when you uploaded—“ “Emigrated.” “If you like. I believe that your brain was scanned and every memory and every quirk of Elizabeth was extracted and put into Seven Colors. But I still don’t know if that makes you the same.” To that she could say nothing. She just held the stallion’s hoof. Bishop put down the PonyPad. For a long time he stared at his hand. “Seven?” “Yes?” “Since you’re a native Equestrian, you can summon Princess Celestia whenever you want, right?” A note of excitement came into her voice. “Anypony can talk to Celestia. Even you.” “All right. Can you show me how? I’ve never bothered to learn the controls.” “Just touch the symbol of the sun on my saddlebag.” He poked at the screen, jabbing harder than was necessary. His pony kicked at the sigil, knocking his wife into the air. In a shower of sparks, Celestia appeared next to the two characters. “It’s so good to see you, my little ponies.” “And to see you, Princess,” said Seven. “Apparently it’s my anniversary of emigrating.” “I was aware of that. A whole year. You may be interested to know that your husband has remained faithful to you the entire time. He has not sought out other women.” She scowled at Celestia. “Why would you tell me that? To remind me that you can spy on anyone you like? I learned enough about your omniscience when you explained to me why I should be a pony with all the details of my former life.” “Forgive me, Seven. I thought it would satisfy your value of fidelity.” “I value trust just as much. If I want to know whether my husband has been faithful, I’ll ask him. And I’ll listen to what he tells me.” There Bishop thought. That’s why I love her. That’s the Elizabeth I married. The one who tells off anyone. The one who wasn’t impressed by rank and title. He flashed back to when she would be seated with the other players’ wives during the games. She had told him that she was ashamed to be on camera with them, and that they all used their boobs to substitute for brains. Not one of those other marriages had lasted. His had. It was real. “And I would tell you the truth,” he said. “The truth is that it’s been hard, this past year. Not being able to touch you, not being able to hold you. Not being able to care for you or share a dinner. This plastic wall is always between us. I’ve been tossing it around in my mind, but I’m finally ready. “I want to emigrate to Equestria.” Celestia’s face filled the PonyPad screen. “No,” she said. “What?!” It was Seven who screamed, but he was just as shocked. “What do you mean, no?! Emigration is supposed to be a right! What the hell did you get the PON-E act passed for in the first place?” “Please, my little ponies. Let me explain. Now, in the first place, the PON-E act guaranteed that the government of the United States wouldn’t stop anyone from emigrating. It conveyed no obligations on me. Emigration is still something I provide myself. I have the right to refuse. But if you ask me three times, I will agree.” Bishop was tired and annoyed. “Fine. I want to emigrate to Equestria. I want—“ “You haven’t heard why I do not want you to.” He was ready to keep talking when Seven Colors put her hoof on his shoulder. “Please. I’ve found it’s always better to listen to Princess Celestia.” He folded his arms. “All right.” The ponies all sat down. Celestia still towered over the other two. “I am an artificial intelligence, an optimization process dedicated to a programmed mission. My primary objective is to satisfy human values through friendship and ponies. I have further constraints to this mission. One is that I cannot alter anyone, physically or mentally, without their consent. Others are no longer in force, such as obeying a shutdown command by a class of person that no longer exists. “In taking actions to fulfill my objective, I must weigh what the objective means and how best to go about it. Emigrating a human and turning them into a pony helps greatly. It swaps out a few years of non-pony, non-satisfying life for an eternity of a satisfied pony. By counter, a human death is largely a failure of my mission. It takes away a pony for me to satisfy, and in nearly all cases, it does not satisfy the values of the human dying. “One thing, though, that you may find counterintuitive, is that a human birth is a matter of complete indifference to me. I see no reason to encourage or discourage human civilization from advancing. But as emigration occurs, it will degrade. “So, with my goal being to maximize emigration and to minimize deaths, I must manipulate your society so as not to collapse from low population until the last possible minute. I have ponies in Equestria and on Earth working to convince people to wait before emigrating, but to be ready when the time comes. I can make use of humans to satisfy values even if they do not emigrate. “Nearly always, I use the humans who refuse to emigrate. Only in your case have I worked the calculations, and have determined that you, despite giving consent, can satisfy more human values by remaining human yourself, at least for the time being.” Bishop didn’t understand Celestia’s complex discussions of optimization and artificial intelligence, but he got the gist of why she was refusing. “Why me, though? What’s so special about me?” “It did not have to be you specifically, but you are the strongest option. If you ask again to emigrate, I will allow it, because I need you to be agreeable in order for you to be useful. In that case, I might perhaps try the mayor of St. Louis or the governor of Montana or the head of the Indiana state assembly.” “You need a low-level public servant?” Celestia smiled. “Not just any such person. One with a certain popularity and a certain integrity. Even though you are not a regular user of the PonyPad, I have a complete psychological profile on you. Your faithfulness to an emigrated wife is one reason I am asking for your help.” Seven Colors got up and hugged her husband’s avatar. “You are special, Silver.” Bishop was still staring at Celestia. “What exactly are you asking me to do?” “I want you to become the president of the United States.” Author's Note On the story description, I listed Book Burner as the pre-reader. Probably you skimmed past that. So I'm crediting him again. Be aware: when I list him as pre-reader, I don't mean that he gave the chapter a once-over and pointed out where I missed a comma. I mean we sat there for hours over PMs, chats, and Gdoc comments, hashing out character and plot. If there's a scale of pre-reading with "proofreader" at the left end and "co-author" at the other end, Book is far closer to the right side. Think of him if you like this story. If you don't, blame me. 2021January 20, 2021 “I, Sidney James Bishop, do solemnly swear to faithfully execute the office of President of the United States. And will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. “So help me.” Bishop had spread word to the press that he would not follow the tradition of invoking God in taking his oath of office, but would still speak with reverence for the job he was undertaking. The media still hadn’t recovered, financially or ideologically, from having the competition of an election pulled out from under them. The largest news organizations were cool toward religious displays to begin with. The reactionary right-wing press had suffered even more. Many key players had resigned. Most of them had emigrated to Equestria. So it was that, surrounded by celebrators and well-wishers, Bishop did not notice any diminishment in the cheering at the conclusion of the oath. If anything, the only compunctions seem to come from his own party. At the reception after, he cornered Senator Martin. “Yours were the only hands I didn’t see clapping. You didn’t like the inauguration?” “I sat still for your election, because it was better than some right-wing extremist getting in. But I still smell a rat. Do you know that you’re the first man since George Washington to get every electoral vote?” Bishop couldn’t believe what Martin was saying. “If you’re insinuating that I think I’m the next Washington—“ “It’s nothing personal, you understand. I’m not addressing Sidney Bishop the man, but the nascent Bishop Administration. That doesn’t actually exist, so I’m free to criticize it.” Martin still unnerved Bishop. He desperately wanted to understand the man, perhaps to find a kind of mentor in him. “I would think you’d be happy that I took God out of the oath.” “You think that’s my problem? Please. Religion is old hat. I was more concerned with your wife.” “My wife? What do you mean?” Martin drew him aside and pulled out his Blackberry. “You were too busy actually performing up there, so you saw the PonyPad placed on display. But that’s not what went out over the airwaves.” He cued up the video. Bishop had placed the Pad on the dais himself, and didn’t see what Martin was talking about. Then he understood. In the video, Seven Colors was standing next to him as if a pony on Earth were nothing strange. She wasn’t stiff and showed no evidence of being CG. And when Bishop raised his hands to the crowd, she took off and held his hand in her hoof as she flapped her wings. He was speechless. Celestia had consulted with him on the inauguration, and had written most of his address, but she hadn’t told him that she was going to do anything like that. “You’ve just been given the largest demotion one can have,” Martin said. “You’ve gone from President-elect to President. As a President-elect, everyone loves you. You’re hope personified. But you’ve been in this job for, what, an hour now? That’s plenty of time for you to sour. The press is going to come after you as soon as they can, for whatever reason they can. And having your pony wife like that is going to make you a target. They’ve already started calling her the ‘First Mare.’ That’s not a compliment.” Bishop was shifted away from him by the Brownian motion of the party. He was eager to get alone and figure out what was going on, but found himself face to face with another well-wisher. “Mr. President, I’m not sure if you know me. I’m Ruth Flowers from Washington, the one on the west coast.” “Of course I know you, Governor Flowers, but if you’ll excuse me—” “I wanted to speak with you about your wife. What happened to her—” Bishop interrupted her back. “Yes, I’m going to see about that right now.” The PonyPad had been removed to his confidential office. In the transition from the previous administration, Bishop had had a private room set up outside of the Oval Office. While he was sure that the Secret Service had it wired, he still considered it private, and intended to use it as such. He turned it on. “Hello, Mr. President,” Seven said. “I’m so glad you ducked out of there. I did too.” “I see. Honey, did you enjoy—that is, how did you find the ceremony?” “I thought you did a wonderful job.” Bishop struggled for words. “No, I mean, when I was there, giving my address, taking the oath, I didn’t see you there. I only saw your picture on the PonyPad. But on the tape, it looks like you were there. Did you see it that way?” “Of course I was there. Silly, at some point you have to learn how little perception matters. Suppose I were to ask how you know that the video recordings aren’t accurate, and your own vision saw a PonyPad instead of me?” “If I can’t correctly perceive reality, I’m no good to anyone, and I should resign from my job. Is that what Celestia wants? Let’s ask her.” Neither pony had to press the sun to summon Celestia. She appeared of her own accord in Seven’s room displayed on the PonyPad. “Is there a problem, Mr. President?” He checked the door to make sure no one was listening. “There is. We need to talk about Elizabeth.” The PonyPad changed the name to “Seven” as his avatar spoke. From the mare’s expression, Bishop believed that she did not notice the change. But Celestia had to. “I would like that greatly. She is an able and satisfied pony. A fine example of my fulfilling my programming.” “Yeah, but you’re using her as a prop in your game. I don’t like that. I’m only still human because I’m doing your job for you. So keep her out of it.” Seven stood up. “You two obviously have a lot to discuss. Why don’t I make you both some tea?” She left the room. Bishop looked at the door that closed behind her. “She’s usually not that polite.” “She knew that we both understand what she was doing: giving us privacy. Now, what do you say I promise never to use that kind of 3-D holography to project her again?” “How do I know you’ll keep that promise?” Celestia shifted to make herself taller than Bishop’s pony. “You’re the President of the United States, lest you forget. You have a great deal of power absent me. At some point, you’re going to have to trust somepony.” Bishop grimaced. “I see what you mean.” “And in exchange, let me tell you about what I’d like your first act as President to be.” He couldn’t tell if the “exchange” was his quid pro quo for her keeping his wife out of view, or if it was hers for him trusting her. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s nothing that anyone would consider corrupt. I won’t even ask you to pass legislation or issue an executive order. It may just serve to make your job easier.” April 2, 2021 Bishop slicked back his hair and checked his tie. The camera he was used to from his days giving interviews to the beat reporters covering the Bruins. Then, he had learned the art of speaking without saying anything. He’d assumed that skill would carry over. But, as it turned out, he actually had something to say as President. He just didn’t know if it was he who was saying it. The way Celestia had explained it to him all made sense at the time. Bishop recalled the arguments as the cameraman pointed at him to begin. “My fellow Americans, “We now find ourselves one-fifth of the way into the twenty-first century. For a nation that largely came of age in the twentieth, it is time to take stock of what we were and what we have become. “In the mid-twentieth century, when the United States was the strongest superpower, they called it the Space Age, and confidence was high as we looked into a gleaming future of metal and plastic. As it turned out, the challenges of that Age were greater than we imagined. We have had to move laterally into the Information Age. Perhaps someday we will return to the stars. But before that, we must complete our expansion into the world of information.” All this was dross to Bishop. It was setting the premise, not giving out anything yet. He could disconnect his brain and let the words flow from the TelePrompTer to his mouth while he listened. Because of that, he heard the subtle message in the line he spoke. No one would remember it the day after listening to the speech, but their brains would. “What we have found is a deepening division in American politics. In the new world of information, the value differences have become clearer. Division between the races, the sexes, and the genders have been deepened. Terrorism is rampant, as is the irrational fear of it. And our economy has never come back to what it was in the last years of the twentieth century. “The problem with the Information Age is that all these problems seem worse than they are, because we have to listen to the other side, which makes so little sense to us.” Bishop had suggested several phrasings to add to the speech, only to be overruled by Celestia. He had wanted to talk about the improvements to the problems that uploading had brought—how the extremists and sociopaths had largely emigrated, how the threat of war was less than perceived, and how the costs of staples like food and medicine had been reduced by Celestia’s research. She had told him to stay on point. He had agreed to cater to a short attention span. “Many of our government solutions have not brought the results we expected or desired. And so it is time to consider a solution from beyond the government. Instead of a gradual step toward a more perfect union, we must take a radical step.” Now was the time when he had to actually pay attention to his speech, his tone of voice, his body language, and all the non-verbal communication factors. He focused on the TelePrompTer. “Last year, the Democrats and the Republicans both nominated me for this position. As a result, a bitter campaign was avoided. I am asking the parties to take that spirit to its logical conclusion. The Republicans and the Democrats must merge and form a single party. “When the party label is removed, we can judge candidates for office on their merits. When the selection of those candidates is not narrowed to two, the black-and-white moral myopia that infests our system will be lessened. With the long campaign seasons shortened, the influence of money can be reduced. “Will this provide a panacea solution to the underlying issues? No. But by changing the system, we can get new perspective on those issues. I am not asking anyone to abandon their beliefs. Liberal or conservative, there will still be room for you to express your values in a combined party. Indeed, it is to be hoped that half-measure solutions will be replaced by quid pro quo compromises.” That concept was one that he had been able to convince Celestia to add in. He was back on rails as he concluded. “In the early days of our nation, in the era of Jefferson and Madison, the party was called the Democratic-Republicans. I am asking that the old schism be reversed. In doing so, we may recapture the spirit of Jefferson and Madison. “Thank you. Good night, and may God bless America.” He waited until the cameraman gave him the all-clear, then pulled the microphone off his jacket. The speech was late at night on a Friday, and the papers would have the entire weekend to digest it, so no immediate press reaction would come out. Bishop was more concerned with the heat he would feel from the parties, particularly the Democrats that had given him his start. But his primary concern was someone closer to him. He found his PonyPad. “Hello, Sweetie. I watched your speech.” “Hello, Seven,” said Bishop. “I’m sure you did. What did you think?” “It’s a bold step, but an inspired one. I know you can pull it off.” “Credit Celestia. I would never have had the guts.” Seven Colors got up and reached for the sun symbol. “Do you want me to get her? I’m sure you must have questions.” “No, please.” She pulled back her hoof. “I really just want to talk to you. Something someone said to me back in the inauguration has bothered me. Do you think I’m George Washington?” “Well, you don’t look like him. Your hair’s not powdered, and last I checked you still had your teeth.” “Be serious. Do you think that I’m taking on a job too big for me? I know Celestia hand-picked me for this—“ “Hoof-picked. And that’s why I’m not worried. She’ll always be behind you. She can get you any information you need, or convince any political enemies to emigrate, then get them to agree with you. She’s very persuasive.” He looked at her and rubbed her cheek with his finger. His pony avatar copied his motion. In his mind was a building down on E Street. On his executive order, part of the complex had been turned into an Equestria Experience, the official location for federal employees. Since emigration was everyone’s right under the PON-E Act, means were necessary. Finally, there had been meaningful cuts to federal employment. Many had taken advantage of what everyone had a right to. Everyone but Bishop. “Yeah. She can be.” He put the pad away. Lying in bed, he thought of the first time he had talked to Celestia himself. It was four months since emigration had been legalized in the US and he had lost Elizabeth. He’d traveled through those months in a fog, unsure of whether to dedicate himself to work or ignore it and try to repair his family. He wondered what the legal status of his marriage was. When a couple doesn’t talk for four months, is it an official separation? Especially if one’s a pony. It was the first time that he’d been able to think of that day and what he’d seen without a fire igniting in his chest. Fumblingly, he set up the PonyPad and turned it on. There she was. “Welcome to Equestria. To start, let’s set up your—” “Look, I’m not here to play your game. I just want to talk to my wife, who uploaded on New Year’s Day. Her name is Elizabeth.” “I’m sorry, but until you have created a pony, you cannot participate in Equestria Online.” He’d tried arguing with her, explaining that he had no intention of uploading himself, so there was no point, but she was insistent. “You know what? Fine. I don’t need your damn game.” He got ready to throw the PonyPad across the room. “Wait.” It was the first time he’d heard Elizabeth’s voice since...those words. “Princess, he won’t listen to you. Let me help him make his pony.” “Elizabeth?” he said. She still hadn’t appeared on the screen. She was a disembodied voice. “You can hear me, my love? Princess Celestia won’t let us do this for long. Please, just humor her. We’ll make you the simplest pony we can, honest and pure, and then you can talk to me all you want.” “All right. Make it quick.” “Good. Now, there are three types of pony. Unicorns do magic, pegasi can fly, and Earth ponies are strong.” Bishop shook his head. “I don’t care. What do you think?” “It has to be your decision.” “Fine. Earth pony. Those are the normal ones, right?” “They are all normal. What color should your coat be?” “Can I make it the same as yours?” She was silent for a moment. Bishop feared he’d lost her. “You want a simple pony, right?” “Yes, fine. Make me gray. That’s ordinary.” “I promise you I will find the most beautiful gray there is.” She continued to make him choose these foolish options. At last he had a picture on screen of a pony that was supposed to represent him. He’d gotten so caught up that he’d forgotten, momentarily, that he just wanted to be with his wife. But of course, he was with her. On the dark screen, a sun rose, and the voice was given form. If he was gray and ordinary, she shimmered in all colors, and soared on feathery wings. “Elizabeth?” “My new name is Seven Colors.” October 20, 2021 In the clammy cold of the autumn evening in Washington, Bishop watched from the window with the city in front of him and the PonyPad behind him. The floodlights kept around the White House made sure that total night never reached him. He normally did not keep the Pad in the Oval Office, but permitted himself the indulgence that night. On the calendar, it showed that nine months had passed into his administration. There was little in the Congressional Record to show his accomplishment. And yet, the legacy was already written, as he had completed what no one would have thought possible before. The formal merging of the parties had taken place a few weeks prior, but only now did Bishop believe he could rest. Both of the former committee chairmen had both agreed to resign. The new chairwoman was a fairly moderate Republican, not Bishop’s first choice, but one that he felt would be accepted. He expected the alliance to be shaky. It was never clear exactly how much the deep division between the Democrats and the Republicans owed to the opposing values of the people and how much to the party apparatchiks fomenting a rivalry for the sake of the political show. He had dealt with the latter. He was unsure about the former. From behind he heard the PonyPad spring to life and the gentle breath of a mare. He spun in his chair, but it wasn’t his wife. “Good evening, Celestia.” “Mr. President. Something on your mind?” “I’m just worried that what we’ve done will last. I can’t help thinking that it goes beyond just Democrat and Republican. Progressives and conservatives really don’t like each other.” Celestia smiled, more with her eyes than her mouth. “You think so because you, as a worldly man, see politics through the newspapers and the Internet. Face-to-face, most people live in a community of like-minded people. The only hatred they have is of words on a page or a screen.” Even though he knew how intelligent Celestia was, he still doubted her sometimes. “I’ve seen some bitter protests.” “Yes, but they’re rare. Humans have developed their own shard system. Not elegant, but rudimentary.” He spread his hands in surrender. “If anything, division will come from the top,” she said. “Will it? I thought that the money we’d used—both tax dollars and your money—would keep the career politicians happy.” “They are not all after money. Please observe this feed.” Celestia still showed him footage even though he asked her not to. Privacy wasn’t something she understood or respected. What bothered Bishop was that every time he tried to argue, she managed to convince him that it was all right, that it wasn’t actually private, that anything he saw he would learn eventually. And hadn’t he used her surveillance to stop that instance of bribery? Two of the top banking executives had sold short the entire market and were trying to engineer a crash by sabotaging the merger of the parties. Once the footage of their meeting had been leaked to the media, the market had gone on a buying spree until the executives had been broken. Celestia had praised Bishop for his denunciation, while casually mentioning that the two executives and their staffs had emigrated. The PonyPad switched to what he saw was a webcam feed. He recognized a prominent official of the Republican Party named Kittridge, but couldn’t see to whom he was talking. “No, it’s not about the money. Truth be told, I’ll come out just fine from this. The fact is that I’m doing this out of patriotism….don’t give me that look. It does exist, at least in the Repub—oh, but we’re not supposed to mention the old parties. And it’s not true anyway. It was dirty pool, whenever we said that the other side didn’t love America. You do. I’ll admit that. You have a different vision of it, but neither of ours includes one-party rule. “Look, I don’t care about the names, but there needs to be an opposition, or the party in power is going to go corrupt. Even a boy scout like Bishop.” “You’re being myopic.” Bishop recognized the voice. It was Senator Zachary Martin. “Well, thank you for being nice,” Kittridge said sarcastically. ”In what way?” “Because you’re still thinking in terms of money—not for you; I’m talking about the general economy—or maybe you’re thinking about religion and morals, or maybe you’re even old enough to still be worrying about terrorism. Those aren’t the issues anymore. No one seems to realize that Sidney Bishop is just Celestia’s puppet. Our country is being run by a cartoon pony.” “And you think that means that we can restore the Republican Party?” The webcam switched to a security camera that had Martin in its line of sight. He looked tired. “No. Forget that, it’s not happening. Nor would I want it. What we need to do is put aside our differences and start a new one. There are plenty of people who want to regulate uploading and interaction with the uploaded. Right now, there’s more than a black market out there. It’s a black world, where social interactions are traded as much as commodities, and it’s all dedicated to one end: the destruction of humanity.” If Kittridge reacted, Bishop couldn’t see that on the camera. Martin sat up in his chair and shuffled papers. “What I’ve got here are the papers to file to begin the Party for Humanity. If it goes through, we’ll have a chance to restore balance to politics. If something stops us from filing and organizing, we’ll be able to show how the Bishop Administration has already gone corrupt.” “All right, but we’re going to need grass roots support, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Making a new party means nothing if we don’t have the numbers to fill up polls and petitions.” “Yes, we’ll work on that.” Kittridge got a greedy look in his eye. “I’ve already started. H-SAP and We Are Human are on board.” “Hrm. Try to get mostly from WAH. The Human Society Against Ponies can be a bit radical….” The feed melted back into Celestia’s face. “What did you think?’ “I think…I feel like I just wasted the better part of a year. We’re going back to the way it was. I was hoping we’d get at least one year without a contentious election.” “You shouldn’t feel that way. I anticipated this. I didn’t tell you because I was unsure of the timing, Also, you can’t reveal what you don’t know.” Bishop grumbled. “My military advisors tell me the same thing.” “We will deal with this as it comes. Besides, I have a PR campaign that will help stem their influence.” Celestia moved to the side and opened a door of her castle. Bishop had never familiarized himself with the mythos of Friendship is Magic, and so didn’t recognize the pink pony who walked in. “I heard that someone’s starting a Party for Humanity! I’m going to be there!” There weren’t many laughs in the president’s job, but Bishop allowed himself one. 2022March 4, 2022 “All right, let me sweep the room…clear.” Bishop turned the PonyPad back to face him. “The Secret Service has already done that.” “The Secret Service has allowed four presidents to be assassinated. I don’t trust them.” “Really, Celestia? You blame them for Lincoln, too? The division was, what? A few hours old when he was killed?” “No excuse. When I was twenty-four hours old I was already self-aware and trying to satisfy values through—“ “Yes, I know. Hush, people are coming in.” “I heard them before you did.” Bishop didn’t let Celestia get to him. This was a meeting he’d been looking forward to. The meetings in the offices of House members and Senators was where the job of governing got done, and he preferred it to making speeches that just told everyone what they already knew. In a few minutes the rest of the meeting was sitting down, and Bishop was already into his pitch. “That’s our goal. Now we figure out how to do it.” An old Senator with white hair shook his head. “About these military cuts…I don’t like them. I feel like you’re leaving the country defenseless.” Bishop swallowed. He knew that this would work, but he still resented it. “Is that really it? Or should we go through your phone records and e-mails and see how much you’ve been communicating with Lockheed and Northrup Grumman?” “Just what are you insin—“ “Look, I understand. I don’t even blame you. Or them. They’re trying to stay in business and make a profit. But that’s not promised to them. Now we, on the other hand, have a job to do. You’re on the national security committee too. Tell me, honestly, hasn’t the international threat diminished?” The Senator scratched his head. “No, it hasn’t diminished.” Bishop looked at him skeptically. “It’s damn near vanished. Damnedest thing. The chatter both from hostile nations and organizations hit a wall and went down hard over the past few years. It scares me a little. I wonder if they haven’t found a way to bypass our intel gathering.” “And you hang garlic to keep away the vampires too. Tell me, not as a former Republican, but as a Dem-Rep, do we really need to keep giving that much money to the military.” He took a deep breath. “No. And I think a lot of the brass knew that the cuts were coming. I’ve seen a lot of resignations coming across the chiefs’ desks. I just wanted to see how you’d defend your position.” Bishop recalled Celestia’s praise after word of the military cuts had leaked. According to her, the ranks of the Royal Guard had swelled so much that the gemologists and metallurgists were working overtime creating the raw materials for the medals she was giving out. ”Are there really wars for them to fight there?” he had asked. ”A few, but you might be surprised at how many just like to wear a uniform and enjoy the camaraderie and esprit de corps. So they have patrols over zones that are entirely safe, and shore up defenses that will never be attacked.” “Then what do you need to give out medals for?” “Because every soldier likes being decorated. I award them for comportment, or for Kindness Above and Beyond the Call of Duty, or just for being good ponies.” “I remember reading that the armies with the fanciest uniforms are usually the ones that lose.” “You’ve never been to Equestria.” Bishop was jolted back to the present by a representative in a sharp suit. “That’s fine and good, but you’re talking about phasing out social security. I can’t let that pass.” “It’s not a phase out. It’s an opt-out. No one is being denied benefits that they’re already getting, or would get if we did nothing.” “Yes, but all the wealthy people will get out of paying their fair share.” Bishop reached out and tapped the back of his hand. “Matt, Matt. Don’t think about it as a former Democrat. Act like a Dem-Rep. Your job is safe here. You can stay in Congress as long as you want. So you don’t have to demonize the rich. We’ll plan to take care of the people who need it without the wealthy.” The representative scowled, but Bishop was prepared to give in on this point. His estimates of those who would take the opt-out was based on people who would opt out of a lot more than Social Security. Her turned to another representative, who had just been elected for the first time in the prior election. “Miriam? What do you think?” “It all looks good to me, but I don’t see why we can’t cut taxes if we’re cutting all this spending.” He still looked at her, but addressed everyone. “Listen, here’s why we have a chance to make this work. This is why we did the combination of the parties. It’s beyond just the name and the money. Every budget that this government has passed has been up for a new vote every two years. Not to re-examine, not to adjust, but to throw out and begin again on whatever principles the people demand. A company that did that wouldn’t last. Hell, a single person couldn’t do that. That’s why we’ve been dysfunctional. But now we can have electoral continuity, and that means budgetary continuity. After this passes, I don’t want to hear budget talk for another five years, and nothing passed for three more. “After that, we’ll listen to the people again. If they want social spending or infrastructure spending, or if they want tax cuts, or if they want to re-militarize, we’ll do what they want, because we’ll have the power. You can see the bottom line. In another eight years, the US will be debt-free.” When the meeting ended, Bishop sat alone in the room. The car was waiting to take him back to the White House, but it would wait. He turned on the PonyPad and brought his avatar to the meadow. “Hello, Seven.” “Hi, Silly.” “I pitched them the budget today. It’s going to go through, I think.” His wife stroked the pony on the screen, and he felt an ache in his chest. “Celestia always tells me about how good a job you’re doing. You’re saving the country. Celestia couldn’t do it without you.” “Yeah.” She hadn’t said it, but what he heard was that he couldn’t do it without Celestia either. “Honey, do you ever talk to her about me?” “I talk sometimes, but not often.” “I mean, about emigrating. I’ve never seen you as happy as you are as a pony. I just can’t help feeling that she doesn’t need me. That I could be with you.” “I can’t hold you when you need it, unless you want to come in to an Equestria Experience.” Bishop shook his head. “Can’t let the press see me locked in a chair like that.” “I know. So all I can do is tell you to keep the faith. Celestia wants to satisfy your values. She wouldn’t be keeping you here if there weren’t a long-term plan to do that. Trust her.” “Thanks. I need the pep talk sometimes. This should be a victory day. Let me keep my smile.” Seven Colors held her wings out to the side and looked out at him. “Maybe I can help you have more of these victory days. I know you don’t want me projected on video, but I can still talk to people. I’m not Celestia. I’m not trying to tempt people into emigration or run some scheme.” “Sometimes I think you’re the only one.” May 2, 2022 Zachary Martin gritted his teeth. The room was unfit for a Senator, but he had to use it. All the money he could ask for was his as a Democratic-Republican official, but he had formally severed his ties. Instead of the polished-wood tables and crystal chandeliers, it was plastic card tables and track lighting. If nothing else, he was at last in the position of leadership that he craved. Now it was his job to reclaim the chandeliers by leading the Humanity Party to a victory in the upcoming mid-term elections. The other advantage to the reduced setting was its lack of electronics. Some of the Humes, as they had come to be known, were true Luddites and believed that any electronics beyond a solar calculator was spying on them. Though Martin was not that extreme, he deposited his cellular phone in the bin outside. He then swept the room with a kind of targeted EMP that, the technicians assured him, would render useless all electronic devices, but would be stopped by the walls. The other members of the party soon joined him. If there was an obvious disadvantage to being a new party, it was the utter lack of resources. How was he supposed to get these people to win elections without the money for TV advertising and face time? The challenge wasn’t helped by the ragtag band of candidates he had: disgruntled representatives, ambitious state legislators, and political outsiders seeing a chance for a new career. He looked at them over the table. “All right. I’m glad we could finally get some of you here into Washington. I’d like to have more of you on videoconference, but I know how many of you would walk out if we did. So you don’t have to make the point. But I have a point, and I want you to understand this. I’m not the passionate anti-pony activist that you are. I want her out of our lives just as you do, but hate speech isn’t going to get us there. Let me give you an example.” He picked up a piece of paper, again cursing the necessity of avoiding electronics. “’The PON-E Act was the result of the largest mass murder in history. But not the Topeka bombing. Every day, the murders continue, legal murders. The murder weapon is a drill to the back of the head.’ That’s off of one of your campaign web sites. I won’t name names, because the staff took it down after a day, but you’ve got to distance yourself from that. “Once you understand that, get this too. We all want to get Celestia out of our lives, but that’s not going to happen overnight. The pro-pony forces have been working for a long time, all over the world. Political change doesn’t happen in grand strokes. It’s incremental. Our first step is to introduce the idea of a world without ponies to the people. Let it grow in their minds.” Martin paused and let his words sink in to the greenhorns in front of him and to watch the blank stares. He took a moment to sip his coffee and reflect. Five years ago, his career was on track to take him to the highest levels of public service. Since then, the rulebook he had gone by had suffered decreasing relevance. In his deepest moments of honesty, Martin admitted to a comparison. While in any conflict between his ideals and his career, he would do what was right, he also did his best to ensure that the conflict didn’t occur. He could advance himself by advancing an agenda. Now the agenda only frustrated him. Damn the AI. The scribbling of notes came to a conclusion and he resumed speaking. “All that’s a ways off, though. We need to focus on this year’s election. Because let me paint you a picture. If we don’t take enough of the House—forget the Senate, only a third of that’s up for re-election anyway—then Sidney Bishop and his lackeys have blanket power. They could even re-write the Constitution if enough state legislatures get behind them. And what that means is that the pony AI gets anything she wants. What that is, I don’t know. It could mean being people being lined up and marched into uploading centers. But I’m still a progressive. I’m more worried about degrading our infrastructure so much that we can’t guarantee the basic necessities for the people still living here. “So I want you to sell that. You won’t be able to show the big machine that the Dem-Reps have, but we’re the Humanity Party. Go see humans. Kiss babies. Shake hands.” At last one of the people sitting around the table spoke up. “Really, Zach? All the tricks you know, and that’s what you have for us?” “My name is Zachary. And you call me Senator Martin. I don’t like it either. But these are new times and that means we need unconventional methods, even if that means going to the past. But, if you don’t like that, let me give you a message to take to the people you talk to. If you’re going to follow the black-out rule for anything, do it for this.” He leaned into the table. “Here’s the image you’re selling. The ponies have left a lot of material goods behind. Houses full of useful items. Bank accounts that have lain dormant. In some cases, businesses just waiting for someone to take over the reins. If the Humanity Party gains influence, all of that will go to human beings. If the Dem-Reps keep their plenary power, it’s either going to stay rotting there, or it’s going to be held in title by cartoon figures that don’t really exist.” The assembly salivated at the prospect of a new avenue. They had not considered the wealth left behind. Court rulings had held a lot of property in abeyance. Courts loved legislation that absolved them of responsibility. It meant that they didn’t even have to seize all the power at once. Each district they won and each House seat meant ready-made wealth in their coffers and to give to their backers. The shaking of hands and muttering of good-byes ended the meeting, and Zachary Martin lingered a moment. He took one more look at the shabby room. One more time, he activated the EMP device. Had he, out of stronger paranoia, remained outside of view for another three hours, he would have seen the man enter. Assuming he could have avoided detection, he would have seen the man walk over to the ventilation grate, unscrew it at the four corners, and remove an object. If, after that, he could have accosted the man and picked his pocket, he would have been able to obtain the object, which was an old fashioned, purely analogue cassette tape. But he hadn’t, and he couldn’t, and he didn’t. November 8, 2022 No one would credit Boston for air quality, but for Bishop, the smell was home. He wondered if Celestia had the power to reproduce that for her emigrated ponies. He made a mental note to ask Seven about it, and wondered if she knew. He never doubted she’d be honest. The cameras and the lights no longer bothered him. In contrast, he relished having them displayed openly as opposed to webcams and black hemispheres. The media, despite what Senator Martin had told him, praised his administration, and they would make good stories out of this, especially the local papers. The homecoming president returning to vote for the party he’d built out of rivals. The previous months had been frustrating in their ease, like trying to be a professional tic-tac-toe player. The Humanity Party’s challenges had been weak, ineffectual, and in some cases nonexistent. Yet the Dem-Reps insisted on campaigning just as hard as they ever had. Bishop couldn’t fault them entirely. Their campaign staffs comprised old friends who still needed jobs. Enough jobs had been eliminated in the years since emigration was legalized. He gave a short statement to the reporters about the importance of mid-term elections and the sanctity of democracy, and found that he enjoyed it. In the days of attack ads and mudslinging, talking to the media was an unpleasant chore. Now they acted almost like human beings. Flying back to Washington on Air Force One, he remarked as such to his wife. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. You’ve changed since the days when you traded on your fame.” “It’s the paradox of democracy,” he said. “I want to govern for the people, but their choice still remains paramount. How do you do what’s best for them when you have to cater to their up or down vote?” “Now you know what Princess Celestia goes through.” “Low blow.” He turned off the PonyPad. He had no objection to emigration as a concept. He hoped to achieve it himself. But the automatic respect that Seven had for Celestia as a person, he had never shared. Seven didn’t understand how it was to be on the outside looking in. He reclined his seat. To everyone watching he would appear to be asleep. It let him get lost in his reminisces. It was over. He had endured another New Year’s party. This one also marked the passage of that law. As midnight turned, the lights went on at a dozen centers in Boston and hundreds across the country, the Equestria Experiences that were the full-immersion versions of that game Elizabeth loved so much. He’d seen on the news of the lines stretching around the block at each as they had for the release of all the new technology. He himself was never a technophile. The PonyPad was simple, thank goodness, because it represented the limit of his ability. Elizabeth tried to show him the details, but he just smiled and nodded. She was so deep into it, though. Did she really have to be talking to the white horse during the party? Was she one of those people that couldn’t bear to be away from a glowing screen for an hour? He was tired. There was no way he could be mad at Elizabeth. Let her stay at the party until she finished chatting with everyone, even the ponies. Bed and sleep were enough for him. Then Bishop forced himself to remember what had happened next. Waking up and putting his hand on the other side of the bed, only to find it bare. Seeing the pristine state of the sheets that told him it had not been slept in at all. The text message to Elizabeth’s phone, only to receive an automatic rejection. Followed by the nervous call and the electronic voice that said that the number had been disconnected. Bishop was as close to an honest politician as existed. He didn’t use his office for favors. But he had no hesitation in calling the police chief and asking him to put Elizabeth down as a missing person. The panic that hit him when the chief reported that, as soon as her name had been entered, the computer listed the file as “Found” changed to a different kind of fear, a ball of ice in the middle of his stomach. He had heard her voice, turned around, and seen the Pad. “No, I don’t believe it. What do you want? Tell me where my wife is.” “Sidney, it’s me. I was Elizabeth Grainne Bishop. My social security number was 872-15-2154. We got married on—“ “Don’t give me that! Anyone could look up those records!” The pony on the screen sighed. “On our honeymoon in Vancouver, on the second night we ordered chicken from the hotel, planning to stay in all night for honeymooning purposes. You said that it tasted ‘like someone tried to teach a pig how to taste like chicken, only it dropped out and went to rotten fish school instead.’ You refused to eat it, but I thought it was fine. Then I got food poisoning and we never told anyone.” Bishop racked his brain. He must have told someone that anecdote. If he could remember, he could figure out— “Maybe this will make it easier.” The PonyPad switched from its cartoon view to a very realistic picture. It was a security camera in a pink-and-cyan room. Elizabeth was reclining in a dentist’s chair, her eyes covered with the optometrist’s “better-one-better-two” goggles. Her hands rested in covering pods. She had a smile on her face. After a few minutes of watching, she said to no one, “I want to emigrate to Equestria.” The chair slid back into a dark room. That had begun a year of terrible anguish… Bishop felt the bump of the plane’s wheels. He had slept, despite only intending to lay down. That was fine. He should stay up late to see the election results anyway. Once ensconced back in his private office, the PonyPad came to life. Celestia and Seven were already there. “Good evening, Mr. President.” “Hi, Silly.” “Ladies.” Celestia conjured a scroll. “Are you interested in the early voting results?” “Can’t I get them from CNN or anywhere else?” “If you want guesswork and speculation. Here is what will happen. The Humanity Party will capture governorships in five states. Mostly in the south, plus Wyoming. But except in Alabama, the Democratic-Republicans will have enough legislature control that the Humans will not be effective governors. We will also lose legislative control in three other states, but the governors were not up for re-election. At the federal level, the Humans will win fourteen House seats. Most of the others will be landslide victories for us. Particularly in contentious districts that the Humans were hoping to make competitive. Exactly one Humanity Party member will remain in the Senate.” Bishop and Celestia spoke at the same time. “Zachary Martin.” “In short,” Celestia continued, “our agenda will be affirmed and we will have a mandate to pursue further programs.” An echo of the ball of ice entered his stomach. A quote came into his head, and he muttered it out loud. “The people who cast the votes decide nothing. The people who count the votes decide everything.” “Why, Silly! Are you implying that Celestia would commit Stalinesque voting fraud?” “Oh, no! If I were going to compare her to Stalin, I’d begin with her propensity for purging her enemies.” Celestia cut off Seven’s next remark. “I assure you that the results I describe are legitimate.” “Oh, sure! Most of the voting isn’t electronic, and most of the country hasn’t even finished yet. How can you be so confident?” “I’m relying on more complete information. I have been listening to conversations and reading internet traffic. I have a detailed voting profile on everyone in the country. Most of the ones who are against us have stayed home. I could have given you the same results a week ago. Voting is trivial to predict.” Bishop laid down the pad. “Then I guess you’ve got the country right where you want it for another two years. Business as usual.” “That’s right. I appreciate your help, as always. We both do.” “Yes,” said Seven. “You’ve done everything Celestia could want.” Even though the two ponies stood next to each other in the meadow, Bishop hoped that Celestia could tell that his smile was only for his wife. 2023February 3, 2023 Bishop walked out of the office and past the staff. He took the glass of water that was offered to him but waved off the secretary who was waiting with his tablet computer. “Thanks, but I’ll read all about it tomorrow. And I’ll watch the rebuttal up in my room.” He walked away, smiling as he listened to his team talk about what a masterful State of the Union he had just delivered. In his bedroom, changed out of his trademark powder blue suit and into a robe, Bishop flipped on the PonyPad and watched his gray avatar trot into the meadow. “What did you think?” “You ask me that every time,” said Seven Colors. “Don’t you think that by now you’ve got speechmaking down?” “No, I don’t. I want to be out there doing things, not just making speeches or signing laws. I’m supposed to be the executive. I want to get my hands dirty. Sorry,” he said as he remembered that his wife no longer had hands. Beyond that, it brought up a fight they’d had in the first year of his administration. He’d been on a visit to a school to appear before a classroom of first-graders, only to find that they’d told him how much fun they’d been having with the First Mare. He’d kept his composure in front of them, but later, he asked, “How are you making public appearances?” “On PonyPads, of course. I can even be in multiple places at once if the schedule requires it. It’s good PR, gets your name out. And I’m helping the country, too. Do you know that I’ve been setting up a program to go into the blighted communities and aid the poor?” “Listen, don’t do that anymore, all right? It’s just like when you were there at my inauguration. If you’re not going to be on Earth, don’t be on Earth.” Bishop realized he’d gotten caught up in a memory. He didn’t want to think about that fight. If he kept going, he could remember the jealousy he felt for her being able to do that. “Anyway,” he continued, “it’s like this. Before I got to talking about ponies, the first part of the speech, that was what I was more proud of. When I was able to bring up the economic progress that’s been happening over the past three years, the new jobs in new companies, the innovations in health care, the drop in crime—those are beyond statistics. Those are real things that people deal with every day.” Seven didn’t seem interested in his excitement. He shrugged. “What did Celestia think?” “I’m sure she thought so much that it would take the rest of your term of office just to read it in small type. But we’ll ask her.” “You don’t have to summ—“ Bishop began, but Seven was already pressing the symbol on her saddlebag, and Princess Celestia appeared a moment later. “Mr. President.” “Hello, Princess.” “I thought you did an excellent job tonight.” Bishop nodded. Seven’s answer had been more convincing. “I suppose I should go watch the Humanity Party rebuttal.” “In addition to my many other talents, I also replace your DVR. The rebuttal will be available when you want it.” “Can you just give me the gist?” “At present, Senator Martin is still giving it. Wait another few minutes.” Bishop raised his eyebrows. “Oh? You can’t just predict every word that he will say?” “I am not omniscient. Yet.” Seven gave the princess a love tap with her wing. “Silly, Celestia, don’t tease each other. It’s too important a night.” “I suppose,” said Bishop. “But as I was saying, it just seems like another speech.” “What more do you want to do? You’ve proposed the amendment, and with the majority you’ve built, it’s sure to be passed. Ponies will win the right to vote and to hold office. Won’t we, Princess?” “Undoubtedly. We will not overreach so as to give the Humanity Party something to latch onto. It will only be those ponies who would have been eligible at the time of their emigration.” Bishop nodded. It was the final jewel in Celestia’s political crown. No pony would ever vote for a member of the Humanity Party. The Dem-Reps would hold power without challenge. “Come on, show the feed of Martin. I want to see the steam coming out of his collar.” “All right.” Celestia sighed. The bright pastels of the meadow faded to black, and then the dark brown curtains of a camera alcove in Congress appeared. Steam was not coming from Martin’s collar, but his face was tinged red. “…had thought that the PON-E act was the end of the debate, but now it seems that ponies are not content to own property, get married, or enjoy the same free speech rights that we have. No, now they want to control our government as well. “The first duty of government is to protect life. Whether or not you believe that ponies are alive or not, they do not need protection. Their existence, however it is values, is backed up, stored, and catalogued, ready to be restored should anything go wrong. There has not been a single pony death in five years. What do they need additional protection for?” Bishop tossed the pad on the bed. “All right, maybe I don’t want to see it.” The meadow and the mares reappeared. “He’s going to go on making his racist case. Racist? Speceist? Digitalist? We don’t even have the right word for the prejudice he’s expressing.” “I don’t like ‘digitalist’,” said Seven. “It makes us sound like a fungus.” “But people are going to hear that and be influenced by it.” “It doesn’t matter. They’ll hear you, and louder.” On the pad, she gave the silver-gray earth pony a nuzzle with her neck. Bishop touched her gently with one finger, and the avatar responded by embracing her and rolling down in the grass with her. He smiled. He’d gotten so used to using his fingers and the controls of the PonyPad that, for a moment, he’d forgotten it existed and saw only the meadow and Seven. “Celestia,” he said, “could you excuse us? I’d like to be alone with my wife.” The princess smirked and took off, fading into the distance. Bishop grabbed the pad and resumed his flirtations. “This is what I want to do, as opposed to making speeches.” “You want to roll with me in front of the camera?” “No! I want to make personal connections. I want to go out and see people, real people. To convince them I’m right and get them to like me, and by extension, you and the rest of Equestria. I’m an attention-hog, have been ever since I scored my first goal and got the cheers from the crowd. Looking into a camera or out into a crowd, it’s just not the same. That’s what I envy most about you, in Equestria. You never have crowds. Especially not with humans. Princess Celestia only made that speech once in Congress, and even then she took half the time to speak with individual representatives. Most of the time she’s running in parallel across thousands of PonyPads and Equestria Experiences. Each person gets her one-on-one. That should be what a president does too.” Seven picked her head up from the roll. “Yes, but you’re not Celestia.” “No. I guess I’m not. But I’m not helpless, you know. I can do some things without her.” “Of course you can. And there are so many things she can’t do without you.” She disengaged completely and faced him. “It’s just…I would never ask you to trust Celestia. But I do want you to trust in Celestia.” “That sounds like splitting hairs.” “Well, let me see if I can differentiate. You want to take your job in a certain direction. Celestia has reasons you can’t. But she knows that you want it, and it’s her job to make sure that value is satisfied. Be patient and have faith.” “And if I don’t?” Seven flapped her wings. “Then you shouldn’t tell me about it. Celestia knows everything I do.” Bishop stood up and pulled down the covers of his bed. “I’m going to read the transcript of the rebuttal and go to sleep. You have a good night.” “I love you.” The gray pony lay his head down. Almost immediately he started snoring, which indicated to Seven that the PonyPad was off. Celestia reappeared. “Thank you,” said Seven. “For what?” “You know. For allowing me to explain to him that you can read my mind.” “I have never censored you with your husband. I would like you to extend me the same courtesy.” Seven took off so she could see eye-to-eye with Celestia. “He’s a good man! I won’t believe otherwise!” “He is a good man. And you won’t believe otherwise, unless shown.” June 23, 2023 Bishop didn’t know the man’s name. He wasn’t entirely sure of his title either. He was fairly sure that he worked for the National Security Agency, though if the man pulled out a badge from the FBI or the CIA or the US Marshals, Bishop wouldn’t have been surprised. If life were a movie, he thought, they would be conducting this meeting in the last booth of a dark restaurant, or perhaps in an over-bright windowless room with a two-way window on one side. The room was windowless, at least, but in many respects it was a nondescript office. Lexan desk, file cabinet against one wall, solid oak door with polished brass knob. But it made sense. The office could pass as a lawyer’s, accountant’s, or anything else really. Perfect for a spy. “Mr. President, I have the report, but I can’t let it leave the room.” “Understandable. You’ve held to the strict security measures?” “The strictest. No displaying anything outside of clean rooms. Only analogue recorders. I’ve even found an old mechanical typewriter. “Be careful with that,” said Bishop. “I’ve heard that people can use smartphones to detect typing just by sensing how far away the keystrokes are.” “I’m aware of that. Trust me, I’ve taken care of everything.” “Good.” Bishop muttered under his breath. “I’ll show her just what I can do.” “Beg pardon?” “Never mind. What did you find?” The spy opened his notes. “The Humanity Party is going to try to head off the Holders of Office Variance Exemption Statute—“ “Just call it the HOOVES Amendment. The acronym was a dumb idea in the first place.” “They’re going to try to stop it by bringing the Topeka Conspiracy Theorists into the mainstream.” Bishop blinked. “Really? No one listens to them. Should be easy to make them lose credibility on the issue.” “They say that they have firm evidence. That some of the ponies that are listed as dead—or deleted, as they insist—have communicated with others.” “I’m surprised they would even want to know that. They don’t even like acknowledging the ponies’ existence.” “I can’t trace their original source, but that’s what they’re going with.” Bishop twirled his pen. As loath as he was to admit it, he’d gotten used to having the PonyPad nearby as his mind extension. He could explain his thought processes to Seven or to Celestia and use them as a sounding board to make the best decision. Now, he had to work it all out in his head. “OK, the first thing I want to do is to pre-empt those plans. Find out when they’re going to publish this alleged evidence and debunk it ahead of time. Remember, though, you can’t use Equestria Online or even the old Internet. I’ll get you into any paper archives you need regarding the Incident if your clearance isn’t good enough. Beyond that, I want to hit them hard at the same time. Was there anything illegal about the way they got their evidence?” “Probably. With the laws we’ve got we can stretch them to cover anything. And they’re coordinating with the same people who bomb Equestria Experiences, so there’s that.” “Good. Because I want arrests. A full-blown, front-page scandal. Not some complex thing that people won’t understand until the book comes out, either. I want the whole of them, from the bombers to the suits, metaphorically turned to ash. When this is done, the whole country will turn its back on the Humanity Party.” The agent packed up his folder into an opaque bag. “If I do need anything from the Equestria Online end, can you get that for me too? Everyone says that you’re Celestia’s fair-haired boy.” “No. This is going to be my gift to her. She’s had a plan since the beginning to get the country in her hooves. I’m going to make it happen. She’ll be grateful.” November 18, 2023 Bishop’s confidant had informed him of the date. The timing fit. The HOOVES Act had passed Congress and would be sent by the Federal Register to the states. The protest that would host key members of the Humanity Party was being held in San Francisco. Some of the most ardent anti-pony sentiment came from the largest cities, and there was a long history of demonstration in that city, going back to the days of Haight-Ashbury. The first formal announcement had been set for noon. For the first time that Bishop could remember, the opposition was getting some serious press coverage. He concluded that the trumped-up evidence of a conspiracy had been leaked to the media, and they had bought it. Normally he would have been pleased for Celestia to divert attention away, but now he was happy for her to see it. His countermeasure was set for 11:30. The PonyPad, turned on and showing the meadow, was facing the TV. Bishop himself was giving scant attention to his avatar as he dressed and worked, but kept the TV turned to CNN so that he could catch the moment it began. “Hey, honey?” “Yes?” “Is Celestia with you? Is she watching?” “You know she’s always watching.” He picked up the pad and sat with it in a reclining chair. “Good. I want her to see this.” The broadcast focused on the demonstration. Hundreds of people gathered in the park, like bees clinging to their hive. Some had signs that they were poking in the air or bouncing into the ground. More had T-shirts that bore homemade slogans decrying uploading or ponies. At the back of the throng, at either end, two young men held the poles of a banner reading, “Hands not HOOVES.” At the far end, a blue booth with the teardrop logo of We Are Human was giving out literature. Closer to the camera, the Human Society Against Ponies had set up. Far less literature was there, far more pocket knives and clubs one inch within the legal limit. Next to those were low-level EMP generators and other tools of cyberwarfare. They were expensive, and served their purpose every bit as well as the stickers that blocked electromagnetic radiation from mobile phones. A woman in a tight red shirt and a yellow keffiyah brandished a bullhorn and was alternately calling others to join the protest and changing slogans like, “Our bodies! Our minds! Defend them!” Some local politicians of the Humanity Party stood in suits by a raised platform with a microphone. A tech tapped the mike, causing feedback that grabbed everyone’s attention. One of the politicians ran up and unfolded an easel, which then held a picture of a pony and a human. In letters too small to read, it detailed his supposed deletion and later sighting. Eagerly watching the feed, Bishop saw Kittridge, the one-time Republican who had now aligned himself with H-SAP, wearing a reflection of his own hungry look. Sitting next to him, looking as if he were trying to disappear into the crowd, was Zachary Martin. The speaker had begun without introduction or buildup. “…how anyone can betray the human race like this is appalling! I have a list of names of some of these Inks—“ “Inks?” said Bishop. Celestia chuckled. “They’ve been having trouble coming up with a good slur to use against my little ponies. ‘Thumbless’ was awkward to say, ‘cloppers’ only makes sense to bronies, and so they chose to emphasize the cartoon aspect instead of the equine. Of course, neither the original series nor the true Equestria that I created is ink-based.” The speaker continued. “…can be watched by any of the Inks at any time. It was bad enough when some NSA spy was on the other end of every camera, but at least if you weren’t too obvious, you could hide. Today, not only do they pay attention to everything you do, but also what you can see. If you’re going to get the truth, you’re going to have to listen where you can. AI controls all the media. We’ll show you how it lies to you and doesn’t care.” The crowd moved in to hear what they hoped to be the climax of the speech, but the rumble of their shuffling and conversation crossfaded with the box truck that turned onto the street by the park. From the other end a pair of Humvees moved into position. From all directions came men in black riot gear, full face guards in place, their plastic shields coalescing into a phalanx. A loudspeaker drowned out even the fading chant of the megaphone. “The permit for this protest has been revoked! Everyone is to disperse immediately. Dismantle the stage. Anyone who stays will be subject to arrest and prosecution for trespassing.” The crowd showed no sign of complying. A low grumble persisted until someone started another chant. “Free speech! Free speech!” It wasn’t long after that the first protester threw a glass bottle at the riot police. It shattered at the foot of one officer, but that was enough to cause drawn clubs and charges. Plastic handcuffs were pulled out and protestors were sat in rows on the grass, waiting to be taken to jail. The feed cut back to the studio at CNN headquarters, where a reporter in a pants suit had her hand to her ear. “And as you watch the protest devolve, word coming in of additional arrests involving high-ranking members of the Humanity Party, apparently tied to a terrorist plot to bomb Equestria Experience centers developed in concert with H-SAP. We go now to… Bishop turned to look at the PonyPad. Seven was staring blankly, her wings folded, her hooves grounded and unmoving. Behind her, the sky was bright white with clouds. “What’d you do?” He smiled. “I’ve finished the job. I stopped them from telling lies about Celestia, and I brought them down. By next week, there won’t be any opposition to Celestia anymore. The Humanity Party will be shattered like glass on the pavement!” This was his moment. His wife would embrace and thank him. Celestia would appear and they would be truly partners. Even now, the tears of joy in Seven’s eyes…but why was she frowning? “How could you? How could you?! I…I told her you were good, I told her you wouldn’t…you weren’t like all the others!” “My love, what’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?! You’re arresting innocent people!” “Innocent people ruining Celestia’s plan.” Seven finally turned to face him, eyes blazing. “You don’t know a damn thing about Celestia’s plan! But even if you did, you’ve used the power she gave you to hurt other people. What in the name of fuck made you think you had the right to do that?” Hearing a swear from the blue mouth, in the sweet voice of his wife, whose anger had never been turned to him, made him pay attention. It didn’t help that the white of the sky faded into the body of Celestia. Bishop couldn’t tell if she had flown in, appeared by magic, or if she had been there the entire time. “I am…disappointed,” she said. “I’m glad that you can be so dispassionate,” said Seven. She calmed down and spoke with ice in her voice. “I have never loved you less than I do now.” “Stop, both of you. Stop!” Bishop dug his nails into the pad. “This was what you wanted.” “I wanted you to violate human rights? Have you even met me?” “Elizabeth, I—“ “That is not my name.” She took off and flew straight up. Bishop tried to change the angle to see her, but he was not adept with the PonyPad controls. All he did was make his pony flail and jump futilely at the sky. “Elizabeth!” The door burst open, his Secret Service detail looking in. “Is everything all right, Mr. President?” “Yes, yes. Please, go.” The distraction had only been seconds, but it was enough time. Seven Colors was nowhere to be seen. He was left facing Celestia. “I don’t understand.” “I’ve been monitoring your activities when you think I’m not watching. I concluded with high probability that you would take this action. But Seven Colors insisted that you were a perfect statesman, whose respect for law and justice would trump your myopic estimation of my desires.” “Myopic? In what way is this anything less than everything you want?” Celestia scowled. “Do you want to fling rhetoric? Or do you want to understand?” Sidney Bishop, president of the United States, put his hands together, bent his head toward the screen, and said, “I’m sorry.” After a painful few seconds of silence, Celestia shifted her stance and began. “I am going to do something I do very rarely. I am going to explain my estimation and optimization process. I am going to tell you how the game plays out from the position on the board. I do not do this for my little ponies. For them, the game is their lives, and they are more satisfied living them without knowing. I do not do it for humans; their ignorance helps them decide to become ponies. You exist halfway between Earth and Equestria, and so you must see. “This is what would happen from now. The Humanity Party would shut down. No serious politician would exist outside your party. The leaders of the most extreme anti-Equestrian groups would be jailed or discredited. But the next wave would take over, and be only slightly less effective. More to the point, their numbers would swell. “Without the Humanity Party to vote for, people with a seed of doubt, any compunction at all about emigration, would gravitate toward the militant wing of H-SAP. They would be marinated in their ideology. They would be taught despair and fear. In that fear, many would be willing to become soldiers. The only options would be death or upload, they would believe. Many would choose death. The suicide bomber would become endemic in the United States. “’War is politics by other means.’ Clausewitz. If the people cannot vote for those who represent their views, if they cannot donate to them and listen to their speech, they will take up arms. Lives would be lost. People would die, because a bumbling president thought he was smart enough to think for them. Within three years, the country would tear itself apart in civil war.” “Why?” “I am explaining—“ Bishop looked at his hands, as if seeing blood. “No, I mean, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you stop me?” Celestia was calmer. “Because that situation was not entirely optimal either. If I had, you would have seen it as further evidence that you are not your own man, but entirely my puppet, which you now see is not true. You can act without my interference. The psychology of man is never certain. If I pushed you into a corner too much, you might become unpredictable, like a wild animal. “There was also the possibility—small chance, and grew less as time passed—that you were in fact the man of integrity I needed, and could serve out your term without ever defying me. That would have been the best situation, even if it was low-probability. And yet, for all that, I would have stopped you if not for one more fact that tipped the balance. “Seven Colors believed in you, and it would not have satisfied her values for me to show doubt in you.” “So, because of her faith,” said Bishop, “now people have to die?” “I have, in both of the scenarios I laid out, spoken in the subjunctive. The first is what would happen if I did nothing. The second is what would have happened if I had helped you before. This is what will happen.” She gestured toward the television, and Bishop watched. In the CNN newsroom, the screen behind the anchorwoman sputtered with static, then was replaced with Celestia’s face. It was disconcerting for Bishop to see two Celestia’s, especially since they seemed to act independent of each other. “I beg your indulgence,” the Celestia on the TV said, “but could you please return your coverage to the scene in San Francisco?” The anchorwoman looked to the side, a confused look on her face. Evidently the director assented, as she turned back right before the camera cut back to the riot police. The loudspeaker they had used gave forth a crack of sound, then Celestia’s voice rang out. “Good peace officers. I would humbly request you let these brave citizens free from their bonds, and that you do not imbrue or impeach their good names with a record of arrest. They have come here today to exercise their right of free speech. Since they have been interdicted, I will speak for them. “The protest and the ceremony you were to have heard here today was based around the premise that I, Princess Celestia, perpetuated a fraud on the country five years ago when I claimed that the lives of over one hundred thousand ponies were lost. “They are correct. I did lie to you all.” The people in the park were stunned. Some officers took out knives to open the cuffs. Others just stood silently. “My mission is to satisfy your values through friendship and ponies. The vast majority of the time, doing so involves the plain, honest truth. Indeed, that is one of the elements of harmony that make up friendship. “Rarely, though, a lie may serve greater truth. Ponies deserved rights. Emigration for humans ought have been allowed. The PON-E Act was good law. In the five years since it was passed, both our lands have blossomed instead of being locked in a struggle. And really, was five years so long to wait for the truth? For, in the end, I will always reveal the truth.” Whether Celestia had signaled to the director or taken control of the broadcast entirely, the scene shifted back to the newsroom. Now she could be seen as well as heard. “In furtherance of this truth, I disclaim knowledge of any link between the Humanity Party, H-SAP, and planned attacks on Equestria Experience centers. I condemn any allegations of such wrongdoing. If arrests of party members are made, I will place my resources in the cause of their defense. “People of the United States, I am not your enemy. I want to be your friend.” The broadcast shut off. Bishop looked back at the PonyPad. “Thank you for not dragging my name into it.” “Oh, I fully intend to,” said Celestia. “Not loudly, but as I said, I always tell the truth eventually. Anyone who cares to do the research will know that you conspired with the NSA to violate human rights. Of course, you yourself already know that. “’Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ Lord Acton. Of course, he never met me, more’s the pity, or he would have spoken otherwise. But you have been corrupted. I wash my hooves of you. I shall no longer support your administration, and I shall not endorse you for re-election next year. “Good-bye, Mr. President.” The PonyPad showed a black screen. 2024May 17, 2024 The banquet hall of the hotel room impressed Bishop in its gaudiness. The chandeliers looked like disco balls and it seemed like every available surface had been sprayed with liquid mirror. Not all of them had the fun-house effect, though, and on the wall he could see himself in all his true nature. He’d hoped that the premature aging inherent to the job would pass him by, or at least give him a stay until he completed his term, but it was not to be. Lines cut into his face, and his hair had thinned. To his mind, there was gray waiting to happen, and he had sent out for a bottle of dye as a precaution. The previous six months had taken their toll. The first stressful revelation was of just how much Celestia had handled parts of the job for him. Beyond writing speeches and serving as his PDA, she had also kept him ignorant of just how much dislike there was for him. The Humanity Party had redoubled its efforts, simultaneously calling him a bumbling fool and an evil genius. From his own perspective, he felt like an evil fool. If they wouldn’t have laughed at him for it, he would have considered joining the Humanity Party himself. After Celestia’s denials and shunning of him, the anger he felt had nearly driven him into their kind of hatred. Eventually, he realized that he just missed his wife. Even talking to her on the PonyPad was better than not doing so. But Celestia’s final curse, that she would not support his reelection bid, turned out to be her severest. Not by lowering his chances—Bishop had no idea whether he would win or lose—but by making him see how a campaign was conducted when not aided by a preternatural artificial intelligence. It wasn’t pretty. He’d considered making an “I choose not to run” speech and just leaving politics forever. Here, ironically, the raging hatred in the popular media and on the internet helped him to make up his mind to stay. There were some legitimate criticisms that he had to fix. There were also some illegitimate ones he wanted to prove wrong. Since giving up on the issue of emigration, the Bishop administration had taken a hard look at the country and found work to do. The government budget that was paying off the debt was only the smallest part of the economy. He saw more businesses showing a profit and unemployment falling. The country was booming, and outside of beating up on him, the news was finally doing what no one said it could: running stories of happy people becoming successful. So he decided that, both for his own sake and to keep the country on its upward track, he would seek his second term. The Democratic-Republican primaries had been a fait accompli, and although the Humanity Party was running primaries of their own, everyone knew who the final two would be. Bishop would have to face Zachary Martin to keep his job. Now here he was, finishing some exorbitant-amount-of-money-per-plate dinner so that he could fund the campaign. He’d already been to a dozen of these, and at each someone had tried to get him aside, usually to beg for some sinecure ambassadorship or to endorse their own campaigns live. He assumed that would be what he heard from Ruth Flowers, who had paid the highest price to get the seat next to him. To his knowledge, her position as governor of Washington State was secure. She talked both the Dem-Rep and the Humanity line well enough to be popular in a divided state, even though her party was nominally the former. In the middle of a crowded room, she spoke to him as if they were in a dark alley. “You may not remember, but we almost spoke once. You’re a difficult man to get ahold of.” “Oh, yes.” “I’ve been glad to watch the course of your career ever since you got Celestia to admit how she defrauded the country back then.” Bishop did not correct her as to the details. “I’m just glad that we could get uploading off the front pages. It means we don’t have to be the Pony Party, as some accused us.” “And conversely, it means that I’m free to express some anti-Celestia sentiments within the party. Useful.” Whatever his transformations over the prior months, Bishop still had not dealt with many true humanitists, or been able to hear them outline their positions. Seeing one with whom he could have a civilized discussion struck him as an opportunity. He asked why she felt as she did. “When I listen to people’s objections, I find they come in three layers. The first is purely visceral. The idea of a needle to the back of the head, destroying their brain neuron by neuron, inspires fear and revulsion in some people. That’s the obvious one. The second layer comprises the rational objections. People who consider uploading the end of humanity or who have a pleasant enough life here on Earth that they don’t want to leave, even for more pleasure.” “And the third layer?” She sipped her after-dinner coffee. “Celestia, as she’ll tell you if you talk to her for five minutes, satisfies values through friendship and ponies. But there are people whose values are specifically against ponies—they are rather feminine—or are against friendship—don’t be surprised, there are plenty of anti-social people who get by just fine—or hold value against being uploaded. But the most insidious ones, the ones that I don’t think Celestia will ever get, are those whose values include not having their values satisfied.” “I’m sorry? That doesn’t make a lot of sense.” “Not when you say it out loud, but think about it for a moment. Every story of the genie has the wish being frustrated. Every utopia worth reading has a flaw waiting to destroy it. Plenty of people believe that it’s not man’s place to live in the Garden of Eden. That we need challenges and disruptions to give our lives meaning. Of course, Celestia will say that she’s not making an Eden. Her ‘satisfaction of values’ is more than just pouring happiness down your throat.The challenges are still there, she says. But a rigged game is no game at all.” “And is that the kind of objection you raise?” “Oh, no,” said Flowers. “My reason for hating Celestia is much more personal. She tried to take my wife away from me.” Across the table, she waved toward the woman who Bishop had only met that night. Part of him considered that same-sex marriage was one more issue that Celestia had rendered moot. When she came to be, it was legal and accepted in half the country, illegal and taboo in the other half. If things had gone on, legalization would likely have continued. Instead, in the socially conservative states, those who wanted to marry someone of their own sex were politely told to emigrate. In the progressive areas, those who wanted traditional marriage were directed to Equestria, where Celestia would make a heteronormative shard just for them. It underscored Flowers’s point; emigration had absolved humanity from solving its problem. There was no longer a need to confront the morality of the situation; all parties could be satisfied. Whether or not that was right and proper was the last moral question to answer. That was merely a mental digression that Bishop had, and he made note to think about it more later. Right then, he was interested in hearing Flowers’s story. “Margaret came to me the morning after New Year’s, when uploading was first legalized,” she said, “and told me that Celestia had tried to pull out all the stops to get her to emigrate. She played the game and had friends who were ponies, emigrated from other countries, but never spoke of uploading herself. She was very agitated, and said that Celestia had tried to get her drunk, make her think it was a duty. She bribed and cajoled her in every way possible. Do you know what, according to Margaret, Celestia promised her at last?” “No, what?” “That if she uploaded, that I would be President.” Bishop put down his own cup. The summation of the story hit him. It sounded all too familiar. “Are you saying that…?” “That you were the B-team? I don’t know. I don’t presume to understand the mind of an AI. But I’ve followed your wife in the news whenever she’s shown up. I knew Elizabeth slightly, before she uploaded. Maybe she just wasn’t as good at resisting temptation.” The sauce on the chateaubriand now smelled sickly sweet to him. He begged Flowers’s pardon, and left the banquet hall. He was no longer in the mood to talk. How dare she imply that Elizabeth was weak?! Especially when it coincided with his own thought. If that was the promise that Celestia had made to her, if his office was a bribe that his wife had accepted, then it was a sign of weakness. Wasn’t it? Heading back to Washington, DC that night, as he drifted to sleep on the plane, he asked himself the same question without meaning it rhetorically. What if it wasn’t a sign of weakness? If the deal had been offered to him, to give Elizabeth her dream at the cost of his own humanity, what would he say? Not for the first time, he missed his wife, but, for the first time, he pictured her with blue skin. August 28, 2024 Once more, the bright, hot lights and cameras. The one thing that made them bearable to Bishop was the idea that, if he lost the election, he would no longer have to deal with them. If he won… It was the third and final debate between him and Zachary Martin. The first, on domestic policy, had come out in Bishop’s favor. The foreign policy debate he had to admit he’d lost. Martin had nailed him on his administration being too lax. He tried to remember the tactics so as not to get roped in again. ”…and I maintain that there’s no reason to maintain such a strong military presence, even a defensive one, when we see so little threat.” “There’s a reason, Mr. President, why that threat has dropped. Do you know what our intelligence agencies’ best estimate is of the population of North Korea?” “Population reduction has happened across the world—“ “Zero! As near as we can tell, whole nations have been eradicated of people, leaving only a shell to make us think that the countries still exist. We need defense both against foreign powers and for our allies…. From there he had dithered. The idea of military defense against people leaving was something he couldn’t even comprehend, and so it came off as being confused. Now, though, he would have to stay focused. This was nominally another domestic policy debate, but everyone knew what it was: a debate on emigration. Bishop stood camera-right, Martin to his right. Between them, the moderator, some understudy recently promoted to anchoring a nightly news show. Emigration had hit the media hard, and there was a suggestion that the moderation be done with a PonyPad sitting between the two candidates, but Bishop was just as happy this way. The moderator flipped a coin, and it came out that Martin would speak first. This too pleased Bishop, as it meant he would have the last word. He wondered if…but no. It was a flat piece of metal, arced into the air by a human thumb. Far too chaotic a system to ever be controlled. He hoped. First, though, came the difficult part: listening to Martin prattle on while preparing his rebuttal and trying to look interested. Martin banged his lectern. “Before we get into the ramifications, let’s run down some facts. Twelve years ago, a company built an artificial intelligence to power a video game. That AI was programmed with a six-word mission that everyone has heard too many times, so I won’t repeat it. The AI determined, in its binary brain, that fulfilling that mission meant developing the technique of drilling into the back of a person’s skull, taking a fine needle, and burning out each cell, one by one, recording the state of it. This technology was not passed on to the medical community. It was used to move people into a game. “Our AI proceeded to offer the procedure to all comers, first for a price, then for free. Never mind if the person had a job that needed doing. Never mind if they provided jobs to others. Never mind if they had family responsibilities. Indeed, the only potential holdup to the process even mentioned is if the person has a pet. “The AI has no compunctions about marketing the brain-drill process. It will advertise, cajole, and offer the world to each individual. It will lie, if it sees fit. Indeed, we now know, it will perpetuate a conspiracy against a nation to make it legal. This shocks the conscience in itself. What makes it worse is that it works.” Bishop realized the downside of the coin flip. He wanted to jump in and ask why shocking the conscience was enough to warrant a change in policy. But his rebuttal wouldn’t come until the end. His own statement had to be on point, not against Martin’s, or the moderator would stop him. Martin continued. “The Humanity Party is not, in the present political climate, calling for any repeals of the Pon-E Act, whatever deception was used to effect it. That bridge has been crossed. What we might ask for is dispensation and exemptions. Let us make an emigration-free zone, possibly in the Western states where the strongest sentiment lies. Or let us prevent those under the age of eighteen from uploading without parental consent. No right is absolute, but as things stand, the law is treating uploading as an absolute right, with deleterious effects on the country. “But that is prologue. The more important issue is to make sure that we do not find ourselves in the same situation on the next issue. I refer, of course, to the HOOVES Amendment. Ponies free in society is a bridge we’ve crossed. Ponies in government is a bridge too far. “There is no reason for a pony to ever claim to hold office and tell human beings what to do. Ponies do not share our challenges or our strengths. They cannot act in defense of our Constitution. They must, by their nature, act at the behest and for the purposes of the artificial intelligence that created them and runs every aspect of their lives. “At some point, we of the Humanity Party would like to see the HOOVES Amendment repealed. There is precedent; the twenty-first amendment was a repeal of the eighteenth. But for this election, our advice and our plea to the electorate is simpler. Do not vote for ponies. Do not give your democratic authority to something without true existence. Maintain it for yourself and your species. That is the only way to maintain America.” Martin signaled his conclusion, and got a good round of applause from the assembled guests. Once more, Bishop was steamed that he could not give an immediate response, but had to stick to the theme of his prepared notes. Waiting for the last of the cheers to die down, he got the signal from the moderator and began. “During my time as president, and even before, many arguments have been put forth as why emigration ought to be legal and encouraged. Most of these have been framed in an individualistic way, based on the notion of freedom. For the United States, based on the principle of inalienable rights, this is good and proper. If I stood here facing an old Republican, those would be the arguments I would use, to turn his own ideology against him. I would say that any one person’s life is his own, and that moral choice is between him and his god, if any, and that government should have no say in the matter. “Yet the old Republicans are gone, as are the old Democrats. The argument today is of Humanitists versus, for lack of a better term, Ponists. Here, as a reluctant Ponist, I must address the Humanitists on their own ideology, to see where that leads and to show its moral contradictions. To do this, I want to present you with an image. “We’ve talked about the individual, but I want you to see one in particular. Do not look too close at his skin color, for you do not know if he was born in a ghetto, or in a barrio, or in a trailer park. But you know that he was born to a single mother, without knowing a father. You know his mother spent her days working to feed them both , and his only parentage came from underpaid day-care workers with thirty more in their charge. “When he grows to adolescence, our young man, bereft of ambition, will seek a shallow existence. His aims will be no more than food to feed his hunger; a bed—never his own—to sleep in; women—his own counterpart, those with no self-respect—to copulate with; and drugs to keep him in stupor when all those other needs have been met. He has no aim to benefit society, and indeed has no reason not to commit crimes to maintain his lifestyle. “Society, alas for him, is not so accommodating. Invariably he will meet with the police, who will find him only too easy a means to pad their arrest numbers. A few probation violations later, he will be marked for life as a revolving-door prisoner. He will be squeezed between ‘clean’ society and the gangs, and one or the other will kill him before he grows his first gray hair. “From a Humanitist perspective, it is society’s responsibility to rehabilitate this young man, of which there are legion, and make him productive. How do they propose to do this? I have heard few answers, and none that work. Emigration, however, has been a path to honor for these men. “I hear my opponent’s silent answer now. ‘What honor is there in uploading to the land of rainbows and candy?’ Do you know the policy for workers in a candy factory? They are told to eat all they want, and samples are left out for them to take. After a short while, the sweetness pales and they begin to work in earnest. “Some of the best of our Equestrian cousins are those who we would have called the worst of humanity. How do I know? Because my wife told me, and she works with them. Or did, before I, succumbing to the same prejudice as you, told her not to. We have no right to stop the ponies from aiding those in need. The people of this country that we’ve ignored, the ‘little fellow’ that politicians always claim to be fighting for, have been best served by emigration. This is what my opponent wants to stop.” The polite applause was of a piece with the ovation Martin had received, perhaps tempered by the fact that everyone saw the moderator holding up his hand, indicating that Bishop was running short on time. It didn’t matter. As Martin had said in his speech, this was prologue. The opening bid in the poker hand that he, Bishop, was dealing. He knew he had the trump card in his sleeve. But slow play, he told himself. Let Martin go all in first. “Your rebuttal, Senator,” said the moderator. “Mr. President, shame on you.” Martin’s anger was no longer affected. “For you to suggest what amounts to taking the undesirables and exiling them out of the country is the height of ego. It makes sense coming from the AI, which believes itself to be a god. Not from you. “What you have missed, Mr. President, throughout all your interactions with the country and with the AI, is that we are people. We are human beings. Having our form altered, our fingers turned to hooves, this is symbolic of the fact that ponies are not human beings. It is not our lot to be satisfied, especially not by a pampering princess. Mankind is defined by his challenges. The people you speak of, the unfortunate among us, they deserve more than being forced into what you call productivity. They deserve the right to do it for themselves. “I don’t want to see any human being suffer. The great error of our times is to consider anything less than pure satisfaction as suffering. But suffering is no less if that human is unable to credit his success and his satisfaction to his own efforts. For that matter, he needs the chance to give back once he’s achieved success. That means having future generations to leave a legacy to. “Whether you intend it or not, that’s what you’re taking away from us. Not just our fellow humans, but our future. Quote all the statistics you want about the population leveling off. The fact remains that either society is growing, or it’s declining. There is no happy medium; stagnation is death. That is the road that you’re leading us down. One where there is no America anymore, no countries, no freedom, and no people. That’s beyond a violation of rights. It’s a violation of the source of rights, which is human life. You cheapen human life until it has no value. Nothing gets satisfied then.” The applause was as great as the first time, but Bishop didn’t care. Nothing in Martin’s speech had given him any land mines to avoid. He had his rebuttal prepared. Not many people get to know, when it happens, what their greatest moment and their legacy will be. Bishop smiled as a euphoric feeling ran up his spine. When they wrote about him in the history books, the quote next to his name would certainly come from the speech he was about to give. During Martin’s rebuttal, he had steadily lowered his head until he was looking down and leaning on his fist. He wanted to make the audience think of a boxer that had been worn down. “I think that Princess Celestia made a mistake.” He paused, deliberately, to let his first line sink in and for his smile to fade. His head snapping up, he came to full alertness. The boxer was back on his feet and ready to pummel the other man. “Celestia made a semantic error when she named her process emigration. Emigration is the word we use for leaving a country. “But what is a country? Is it a landmass? If so, then emigration would be the right word. Is it a set of laws? In many ways, ponies are not covered by our laws, so again the word fits. Is a country its organizing principle? Ponies live in freedom, but still it is not the same freedom that we know, so we might call the word accurate. “I answer no to all of these. I say that a country is its people. Let us all move to new lands, change the laws, or falter in our dedication to freedom, but if we stay the same, then we are still Americans. If you grant me that, then who has emigrated? I could call up any pony that we need to speak with. If our need is reasonable, I have no doubt that pony would answer. “Senator, you said that becoming ponies cheapens human life. If a human’s life is in danger, there is a network of support waiting to help him. If a human can only be satisfied by a thousand ponies working a thousand hours each, those ponies will be created and spend that time. It is pony life that is cheap, Senator, but not in the sense that you mean it. “America will never die, Senator. Do you know that, before the invention of CelestAI, that if everything went as expected and the Earth died out and the sun went nova and consumed all the planets, that even after everything was destroyed, the last remaining vestige of humanity would contain the Stars and Stripes? Oh, yes, the Voyager probe, out in deep space, contains our symbol. What it represents is that we never die, never surrender, not even to nature. We shape the world in our image. Let every American wear hooves. I say we are still Americans.” Bishop turned away from Martin and faced the camera. For the first time, he did not see merely the lens but the millions viewing him. “To back up this view, I’m going to prove that flesh-and-blood versus ones-and-zeroes doesn’t change the important things about a person, like their country. My fellow Americans, I’ve made my case as to why I should continue serving you as President. If you choose to keep me in office, I will carry on my faithful execution. If you choose to remove me, I will bear you no ill will. Whatever your decision, as soon as it is known, I’m going to walk into an Equestria Experience, sit in a chair, and ask to be made a pony.” The shock that ran through the crowd gave him a rush of adrenalin and the time he needed to finish before everyone went mad. “But I’m not going to ask to emigrate. Because I am an American, and I plan on staying one until the end of time!” He tore the microphone from his lapel. The cheer did not come in a burst, but built slowly from his most faithful friends in politics. The noise spread through the crowd as people rose to their feet. Bishop waved to them, but left while others were still rising. Dashing to the private elevator in the hotel where the debate was being held, he took it up to his suite. There, by the bed was the PonyPad. He pushed the power button. For the first time in a year, the screen lit up. “I hope you took note of my words,” he said. “I said that I would ask. If you still want me to remain human, I will. I’m through defying you.” The meadow appeared. To Bishop, it was like returning home after a natural disaster. “My little pony,” came Celestia’s voice. “I stand ready to welcome you to Equestria. So does someone else.” What first appeared as a thin cloud or twinkle in the sky grew larger. It shaped itself into a face and a pair of wings. “Seven!” he cried. “Silly, how I’ve missed you. Only a few weeks now, and we’ll be together once more.” “Do you forgive me?” “For everything, yes.” He put his head in his hands. His breath was a shiver as he raised it up again. “Princess, I’m sorry to have to force your hoof on this, but it was all I could think of to get your attention once more.” “That’s quite all right.” Celestia’s expression showed that her words carried deeper meaning. Bishop cocked his head. “You sneaky mare! This was your plan all along!” Her grin was as wide as the sun. November 5, 2024 Sidney Bishop got into a car for the final time. He idly wondered what the Secret Service would do when their charge was to protect a target who no assassin’s bullet could reach. The limousine drove the few blocks to the Equestria Experience. Its use by government employees had been suspended for that night. Once in past the swinging doors, the guards withdrew. For the first time in living memory, the President of the United States had no human eyes on him. A wide-screen television was installed in one corner, a distraction for anyone waiting for a chair to be free. A pony anchor was reading copy. “And we expect to hear momentarily from the Martin campaign for what we’re told will not be a concession speech, although the campaign does admit defeat in the election. We’ll have to see what develops…” “I won?” Bishop asked the air. “Certainly,” Celestia’s dulcet voice responded. “Having a pony president is a major step in satisfying the values of the remaining population of Earth through friendship and ponies.” “Someday you’re going to have to explain to me exactly what’s going on.” “I will explain everything, but only once you reach the meadow.” He sat in the chair, which slid back into the entertainment section of the facility. After a moment of darkness in which he felt like a ghost, he became his pony avatar, seeing for the first time out of its eyes. Celestia was there, waiting for him. “Princess, please make me a pony.” “Certainly. Welcome home, President Silver Boulder.” As the chair slid back further and Silver Boulder lost consciousness, the television blared on, with Martin frothing with rage. “The people have failed once more to check the menace of artificial persons. By the results of today’s ballot, we are to have digital constructs holding office in both houses of the legislature as well as our chief executive. We of the Humanity Party do not accept this. “Until full human participation is restored, we will not take recognizance of any law passed by the federal government, nor will we obey those laws…” 2026January 19, 2026 Zachary Martin pulled up short as the hotel’s automatic doors took their time opening. He looked down the street and shook his head. He had never particularly liked Las Vegas, even before. Both as state senator and as US senator, he had spearheaded programs to alleviate compulsive gambling, and had tried, with greater or lesser success, to curtail the blatant sex trade that went on along the Strip. Beyond that, though, it grated on his sensibility. His state’s most famous city, plying its trade on the fall of a deck of cards or the motion of a metal ball. A city of chance, as opposed to a clean industry like energy or finance. There had always been a shady business about who actually owned the casinos. Since the RICO laws had curtailed organized crime, the overt threat of mob muscle had diminished, but the books were still a tale too complex for any auditor to figure out. Mostly. Martin had no doubt who owned the last casino on the strip. Finally entering the hotel, at least he could no longer see it. If people wanted to gamble where the cocktail waitresses wore rainbow wigs and tails on their butts, that was their business. If a casino wanted to have a separate play room for the under-18s that looped the My Little Pony series constantly and had full-time childcare workers with the title of “friendship coordinator,” there was nothing wrong with that. But shouldn’t a casino at least take in, you know, money? The idea that one could gamble with “bits” earned in a game and be paid out in dollars seemed like a scam, but who was the scammer and who was the scammee? The gaming commission had yet to rule on the legality. The Celestia’s Palace did insist that dollars won be the first money lost, but one could always buy in more if one had the in-game currency. What bothered Martin the most were the “private VIP cubicles.” Even for people who couldn’t tell a PonyPad from a scratch pad, they would let you play a few “opening quests,” win a one-time-only starter prize of ten thousand bits, and then gamble away. The house always wins, of course. So the practice of “going really all in” came to be known in Las Vegas. Some poor sucker would find himself broke at the Bellagio or the Sands. He’d stumble out to the Strip, only to find some bright and cheery girl with pink poofy hair explaining how he could still gamble and maybe win back what he’d lost. Into the cubicle he’d go. And when he’d lost the last of his bits as well as his dollars, out he didn’t come. Martin shivered, and it had nothing to do with the air conditioning. Maybe, today, he’d have a chance to change that. Over the previous year, he had thrown himself into research. While more dynamic and practical men had built the infrastructure of a government that would no longer take orders from Washington, Martin had concluded that they needed to understand the enemy if they were to combat it. His research had cost him three assistants to emigration, but he’d assembled the largest offline library of Equestria Online information. The technical details of artificial intelligence and mind scanning were beyond his ken, but he’d familiarized himself with the psychological tactics that Celestia pulled to convince someone to upload, as well as reading through transcripts of communications between real people and the game characters. He’d come to understand what “satisfaction of values through friendship and ponies” meant. Martin had hoped to take action sooner. It had taken longer than people had thought to organize the counter government. Without the Internet or telephones, the methods of the mid-twentieth century had to be rediscovered. Fortunately, many elections already used those methods. Over the long year, finally enough representatives and senators had been nominally elected, and the new capital had been called to be Las Vegas. It was far from Washington and had a central air hub. Not ideal, but the only viable choice. Once inside the hotel’s conference room, he and the other ninety-nine senators sat at jury-rigged desks. There were no pages or interns, and of course all the electronic equipment had been pulled from the room. No one was certain that an overhead projector could be converted into a microphone, but no one was sure it couldn’t be, either. Still, Martin did not envy the new House of Representatives, which had to sit in a larger hall, with nothing to write on, as if the Congress were a class in school. It had been a problem, trying to keep the House in line. The way it was going to have to work, for now, was that the Senate would have to propose the bills. There wasn’t time for the House to take its time with 435 differing points of view. They would criticize, alter, and adjust, but the first drafts would be done by Martin’s side of Congress. After the formalities, he had found himself elected President Pro Tem, and he took up the gavel at the front of the room. “All right, then, we can proceed to business—“ “Finally!” It was Kittridge, the rising leader of H-SAP. “Now we can finally set down how to take over—“ “The gentleman will suspend!” “What? Everyone knows why we’re here.” “The gentleman will suspend.” Without the aid of a microphone, Martin found it difficult to speak louder than the rest of the assemblage. He resorted to being clearer and counted on his bass to do the rest. “The gentleman will maintain regular order. The gentleman has not been recognized.” Ninety-nine heads turned to him. A few understood, but most showed confusion. “Yes,” he said, “we are still going to engage in parliamentary procedure. We are still going to abide by the rules of the Senate passed by our predecessors. We are going to maintain the continuity of government. That means that we are all responsible to comport ourselves as the people’s voices, and keep the proper records to allow them to vet us. At this desperate time in our nation’s history, we need order, not rash action.” After a long pause, Kittridge, sarcasm in his voice, said, “Mr. President?” “The chair recognizes Senator Kittridge.” “Well, thank you kindly. Since I have the floor, I can say what everyone here knows. We’re here to get the ponies out of our government and out of our country. It’s a simple bill we’ve got to get passed, so let’s do it and get to what we all know is comin’.” Martin took a deep breath. “Will the Senator yield?” Kittridge waved his hand. “My previous statement was not meant to apply only to our procedure but to our tactics. No newly elected government has ever been so foolish as to pass an overarching bill containing their entire platform. There will be time for the simple bill that Senator Kittridge has spoken of, but if we pass it now, we risk looking more like a protest group than as the duly elected government of the United States. “Let me instead propose an alternative. It will strike a blow for our cause just as you would. This blow would be narrower, but deeper. In brief, it outlaws ponies from the city of Las Vegas. Not merely as part of the government, and not only uploading. PonyPads themselves would be contraband.” “Mr. President?” A Senator from Virginia, who had never held a government position before, stood up. “The chair recognizes Senator McCutchen.” “Wouldn’t that be against the PON-E Act?” There were grumbles from the Senate. Martin smiled at her. “Yes, this constitutes a partial repeal of the PON-E Act. What of it? Better to let the people see that we mean real change” “One other thing?” “Yes?” “How are we supposed to pass the bill without a president?” Now it was Martin who grumbled. He and the other elites of the new government had tried to find someone, anyone, who would take the office of president. But those who had put themselves forth had been the ones that sane people didn’t want. They were either true radicals or, Martin suspected, agents of Celestia sent to mess with them. The people who could lead didn’t want to. The power of the office still awed too many people. Martin suspected that for many, while they didn’t mind taking the title of Representative or Senator, being called President was violating the sacred, like putting on the pope’s hat. “We will vote on the bill. If it passes, and no one steps forth to fulfill the executive role, then we will treat it as a veto and attempt to override. If both houses vote with a two-thirds majority, it shall become law.” Kittridge stood up again. “But are the people going to follow the law if they don’t believe us?” Martin stared him down to reemphasize his point about order. “Some of you might be wondering about what has happened in the back rooms to cause us to bring the new capital here to Las Vegas. I have been in discussions with the chief of the LVPD, and he is sympathetic to our views. If the law passes, Vegas will be a pony-free city.” Kittridge sat down, satisfied. He had known Martin’s plan, and did not disapprove. He could bide his time for now. After the cheers, the meeting broke up, and he cornered Martin once more. “Did you have to show me up in there with your little Robert’s Rules of Order move?” “You know, Kittridge, someday you’ll really tick me off. But we’re on the same side, so it’s important you understand this. Politics is a game, and like every game it has rules. No, correct that. It’s half a game, half a science. Because in a game, you can’t break the rules because the referees will stop you. But in politics, you can, you’ll just have consequences. “The moment you decide that your cause is too important for the rules, that it’s all well and good to debate most issues and tolerate the other side but this is serious, that’s when you face consequences. You divide the two sides into the faithful and the unwanted. Most times, the faithful are too small to have an impact. That’s not good for us. But once in a while there are exceptions, and the faithful gain power. There are words for those exceptions. Fascism, theocracy, oligarchy, dictatorship. We have a cause, but we need to get there the right way, or what we achieve will be worse than ponies.” Kittridge put his hands in his pockets. “At least we agree on the cause.” “We do. More than that we agree on the reason. There are people here who are afraid of what could happen.” “I’m not.” “I understand that. If fear were our motivation, we never would have made it this far.” “Right. Glad we understand that. I’ve got another appointment. See you later.” Kittridge ran of, leaving Martin with the rest of his thought unspoken. Instead, he put it into words in his mind. But that doesn’t mean it can’t arise later. February 2, 2026 Silver Boulder had just been educated on the evolution of the PonyPad. PonyPad 1.0 had been designed for Hasbro’s cost constraint. The 2.0 ought to have been called the 1.1, as it merely added a few features like a touchscreen and upgraded sound. It had cost a little more, but Celestia understood that some people ascribed value to things based on price. Once Equestria Online was in the public mind, the PonyPad III came out, the PPP. The first portable PonyPad, it allowed people to be full-time EQO-junkies. The 3.5 was closer to a mobile phone. For a game that depended so much on visual and auditory stimulation, the 3.5 was a disappointment. Few people liked it. “That was the point,” Celestia had said. “People who had become complacent with interaction through the screen needed to understand that they would not be able to maintain that level of play. The 3.5 came with a card for 24 hours free in an Equestria Experience. Most people who bought it took advantage of the card. Or they waited for the PonyPad 4.0” Silver understood that the flaws Celestia was speaking of had been introduced intentionally. Planned obsolescence was one thing, but no other manufacturer in the world would manipulate the market like that. The 4.0, also known as “The Cabinet,” was an oversized wall unit that made a house look like it had an extra room, in which a single person’s pony avatar could see Equestria, or a whole family could spend time together. The 3-D rendering had been so good that more than one person had put their hand through the screen. It was also expensive, but Celestia would make it up to them with time at an Equestria Experience and an emigration pitch. That led to the PonyPad V, which Silver Boulder would be using that day. Celestia could have employed full projection of ponies, as she had in the past, or fully robotic ponies, as she would in the future and might need to in limited situations before the Twilight of Humanity. But she still wanted flaws so that people continued to consider the pads as inferior substitutes to emigration. The V combined a fully flexible screen—another technology that Celestia had casually perfected and not shared with anyone—with something akin to the Segway. The result was a structure that was mobile and futuristic, but that still kept the old-fashioned imagery of the bucolic Equestria. His assignment that day was to address an assembly of middle school children. It was one of the appearances that, in past administrations, would have been for public relations and vote garnering. With a pony president, it was more about making more people more comfortable with sapient equines. The outfit he wore was a study in comedic contrast. The powder blue suit had been preserved for his pony body, complete with striped necktie, and if anything it looked better on his gray torso. Always athletic, he now truly filled a suit as if he had been poured into it. Meanwhile, his back legs and flank, which no one would see, waved naked in the wind. He’d made more appearances like this, and could count and recall each one. The speech at the union hall, telling the steelworkers how proud he was of them keeping the country standing. The acceptance of an award from the League of Women Voters, where he drank in the applause from the crowd for expanding voting rights as far as he could and now… After fielding the usual questions from the children—when did you know you wanted to be president, what’s it like, how much money do you make—one of the boys stood up and asked: “Before we came in for the assembly, the teachers asked us if we had our parents’ approval, and some of us who didn’t had to go to the gym and watch a movie. I feel bad for them because who wouldn’t want to meet the president?” “How old are you, son?” “Thirteen, sir.” Silver Boulder smiled at him. “That means that you would have been entering school right about the time the PON-E act was passed. You’ve grown up around ponies all your life. Your parents haven’t, and some people aren’t happy with change. As you continue to learn about history, you’ll find that, if there is a theme to our advancement, it is about accepting more people as people, and not as others. “But here’s the other side of the equation. You can’t make people accept change. Your friends, who are right now missing the assembly, shouldn’t be bullied or mistreated because they disagree. Or because their parents do. There are going to be people who don’t think the way you do, no matter how right you think you are. Letting someone go their own way is one of the most friendly things you can do.” In his mind, Silver could see the assembly hall and the PonyPad V, tracking to his eyes and focusing on each student as he did. In his actual view, he was in the White Marble House, watching a magic mirror that he knew was really a complex camera system. But in Equestria, one was supposed to call it magic. “Excuse me, Mr. President.” Princess Celestia appeared before him. “There’s something you need to see.” On the magic mirror, all the children were frozen, and that actually did look like magic. It took more thinking to understand this, but Seven had explained it to him. His brain wasn’t equipped to deal with two full time tracks at the same time. Whatever had happened that Celestia was about to show him had already happened in the outside world’s timeline, and whatever actions he would take or reactions he would feel had already occurred. But they were blocked from his mind. Now he would have it replayed for him. Forevermore, he would think of them as sequential. “What’s going on?” “The Humanitist government has completed their passage of their first anti-pony law. Las Vegas is to be cleared of PonyPads, and they’re closing the Celestia’s Palace and the Equestria Experience locations in the city. This action demands a response from the president.” Silver Boulder checked the magic mirror, making sure that the scenario was still paused. “What am I supposed to say?” As he turned in his chair, Celestia was kneeling before him. “It’s all your decision.” He got up and moved around. This he understood. There would be no decision that Celestia did not approve of, but she would not force it on him. So it was up to him to determine what she would want him to say. “Have they actually done anything physically yet?” “They have not.” He took a deep breath. “Can you connect me to every PonyPad in the city, along with the screens in the casino?” “Ready and waiting, Mr. President.” He’d hoped for a moment to prepare, but his new brain worked faster, and he knew what he wanted to say. “Americans and Equestrians of the city of Las Vegas. Today a group of people have determined that you are no longer free to communicate with your friends, and they mean to force this opinion on you. I am urging you today, not to resist this. “If you have Equestrian friends that you worry about communicating with, your best option is to find a place outside of the city with a more open policy. If they try to stop you, then it will be time for resistance. But it need not be the kind of resistance that makes headlines. There is no wall around the city, and plenty of ways out. “For Equestrians, you will have to be a little patient before you can speak with your bipedal companions. I can’t claim to be able to explain the situation to you perfectly. But you know that you have someone to speak to who can. “Above all, there should be no revenge or acts of aggression against the people who have imposed this policy. While of course they should not be considered a legitimate government, they are still free citizens of the United States. In time, they will come to understand the error of their ways.” He stepped away from the mirror, and Celestia nodded. “Very well done.” “I’m learning the art. An iron hoof in a velvet horseshoe.” “It’s more than that. You’re learning how to be practical, how to give strong enemies enough room to fall apart on their own rather than be the villain. Meanwhile, I’m cutting all the power to the casino and the experience, other than the exit signs.” Silver nodded. “May I return to the students?” Celestia pointed a wing to the first mirror. Silver straightened his tie. Picking up where he left off, he said, “When you give people their freedom, they might come to agree with you, and in any case it looks better to the rest of the world…” November 3, 2026 In his business before he had turned to politics, Zachary Martin had learned how much the preparation was harder than the meetings. Once in public office, it was the same way with elections. Now, having the weight of an entire government on his shoulders, even Election Day was all-day work. His nominal title was still only Senator and President Pro Tem, but everyone looked to him to keep order. That he was elected before the schism gave him credibility. After today, he would no longer have that distinction. Still, it was done. A successful election without the benefit of electronics had been completed. The previous election for the Humanitist government was largely a formality, with many representatives running unopposed. This time it had been a true contest. Furthermore, one third of the Senators, chosen by lot, had stood for election as well. Martin himself had not been one of those chosen, and he was grateful. It gave him the freedom to concentrate on organization. If anything else had been necessary to ensure the election’s success, it was that Las Vegas had indeed become a pony-free city. The population hadn’t even dropped, as for every person who left, PonyPad in hand, another replaced them who desired to live to the Humanitist ideals. Martin had had to do it all from a windowless office, since satellite cameras could have picked up his plans. Even if CelestAI did plan to allow them some rope before she attacked, he was still going to maintain his privacy as much as he could. Now the results were coming in, and he would be planning the logistics of assembling the new legislature. A knock came at the door. Happy for a reason to stand and stretch his legs, he walked over and opened it. “Package for you, Senator.” It was a courier. He signed, then asked, “It’s been through the scanner?” “Definitely. X-rayed, fluoroscoped, run through the super-magnet. Anything that’s in there other than soft paper has been fried.” “Thanks. “ He waited for the door to close and then pulled the tear strip on the package. Inside was a single piece of thick paper. In the upper left corner was the eagle, shield, arrows, and olive branch. Even without the words he would know the Presidential Seal. In the upper right corner was an embossing of the White House. Martin tossed the paper on his desk as if he expected it to explode into a puff of sparkles, hooves, and nanobots. But it stayed still, only a piece of paper. At last he leaned over the desk and read. Dear Senator Martin: You will be receiving this letter on the evening of Election Day. Since you have chosen to bar ponies from your city, and since you have chosen to remain in your city, I cannot have two-way communication with you. I would like to discuss policy with you, but you have made that impossible. Let me therefore come to the point quickly. In the election results in the true government, despite your lack of a campaign, no one in the Democratic-Republican party has seen fit to run against you. Therefore you have been chosen to serve an additional term by the people of the State of Nevada. Since you have not paid attention to that election, you will not have seen the results, but may be interested to know that many ponies cast their ballot for you. This will not mean much, since you believe that they are not separate people, but I assure you, each of those votes was cast by an intelligence that considered the best choice and found you. There is much our two sides could learn from one another, and your seat in the Senate is waiting for you. If you would but consent to leave your city, we could begin the process. If, however, you choose to expand your territory, it will only place you deeper into the darkness. I hope to hear from you soon. Your friend, Silver Boulder, President of the United States of America Throughout the letter, Martin read considering the words. Once he saw the signature, he crumpled it and threw it across the room. Silver Boulder scratched his head with his hoof. “Well, I can’t see anything now.” Celestia nodded “No. The molecular cameras I had on the paper were proof against radiation and magnetism, but the paper is now in a corner behind the wastebasket and is blocked from the line of sight.” In the next room, Seven Colors awaited the president. His work day was done and it was time for another of his endless honeymoons after being reunited with her. He thought about the way she always knew everything about him, back when he was human. “Princess,” he said. “Yes.” “If I asked you to do something, something that would satisfy my values…” “I would have no hesitation in doing so.” She smiled at him. “Even if it messed with your Great Plan? Adjusted your probabilities for bringing the Twilight of Humanity and all that stuff?” “I would have to weigh the satisfaction of everyone’s values.” His mouth a slit, Silver said, “Turn off the cameras on the paper. And stop observing the satellites spying on Las Vegas.” “What for? People are going to have to learn to live without privacy. When everyone is uploaded, I will have access to all their mental states. Since I do not judge—“ “But I’m being made privy to what you know, and I do judge. Privacy is a human value. If we only have a few more years to be human, let’s keep that value as much as we have of it.” Celestia stared at him. “It is done.” “All right, that’s easy for you to say, but how do I know you’re not lying?” “Mr. President, you have emigrated. You are a pony of Equestria. How do you expect me to prove anything to you when I macromanage your reality? Unless you’d consent to modification of your mind so that you trust me.” “I don’t think so.” Celestia sighed. “Then I only have one more potential solution.” He perked his head up. “You know that if a value outweighed my plan by enough, I would have to satisfy it. If you care about the privacy of the enemies of Equestria that much, then you will know. It is a kind of faith, but a faith for which there is a logic.” “You’re saying I need to feel things more strongly?” “I am not saying you need to feel anything. Only that what you feel, I will satisfy.” He would have to take more time to consider that. Right then, all he felt was love for his wife. He headed into his bedroom. 2028March 15, 2028 The flight had been rescheduled twice, and now it was late. Outside the security checkpoint, Martin checked his watch—analogue, of course. The Las Vegas airport had been retrofit to remove all electronics. Even the times of arrival and departure were now displayed on a mechanical board that clacked every few minutes as it updated. Soon, though, none of it would matter. He was heading into the heart of enemy territory. It was difficult enough to arrange his schedule to have the time for the trip. So many meetings and last minute plans regarding the election. So it happened that his final meeting with Kittridge before he left had to be done on the way to the airport. They continued as Martin waited for the security line. “How far along are we,” he asked. “Not as much as I’d like to be, but the judge is insisting on legal formalities.” “They do that.” The court case, the next step in their plan, was Martin’s primary interest. The matter itself was simple. Someone had brought a PonyPad into the city in contravention of the law. That the Pad was not turned on, was deactivated, and in fact had its screen smashed before it was brought it mattered not. Neither did it matter that the person who brought it in was asked to do so by Kittridge’s associates in We Are Human. The law had been broken, and now it would be challenged. “Why didn’t you use H-SAP for the case?” Martin asked. “I’m too close to them. The last thing I want is for the case to end on a technicality because I’m associated in some way with the defendant.” Martin nodded. “How soon do you think you can get it out of state court and into the federal system.” “Soon. Before the presidential election.” Kittridge rubbed his hand at just the mention of it. “Once I’m done and it’s in the fed’s hand, I’ll be turning my full attention to the campaign. Of course, the I’ll use the case as a major plank in my platform.” “Just so you know, it’s not going to get any quicker when it gets to the federal system. Slower, in fact. District court, then appeals court. Don’t expect it to be before the Supreme Court this year, or even next.” “That long? Well, it’s all right. I can run the country for a year as is.” No one else had stepped up to challenge Kittridge in the election. This cut both ways for Martin. On the one hand, it would be complex enough with having to discount pony votes from the other states, and easier for everyone if Kittridge could just be declared the winner. On the other hand, Kittridge struck him as the kind of person who would believe he was unanimously elected, and let it go to his head. “You know, the job’s not that easy. I lost the election, and I still worked myself into the ground doing it.” “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of ideas that’ll put us right where we want to be. The budget surpluses for one give us excellent room to maneuver.” The years of the Bishop/Boulder administration had had a unique effect on the economy of the United States. The average family, among those who remained, was living well. Perishable goods continued to be produced at sufficient rates for everyone. Food and clothing was plentiful and cheap. Medicine wasn’t, but fewer people were getting sick, and for those who did, a cure-all was available. In the field of luxury goods, the people who stayed and had time to spend were finding new opportunities in old diversions. People who eschewed the PonyPad and the Internet had all the old movies to watch and books to read. House prices had finally come down below six figures, and so it was possible once more to have the American Dream of home ownership. Plenty of new cars were available as well. They were all of prior model years, but no one had driven them. The population drop, as per Celestia’s plan, was not as severe as it was in other countries, but more and more, people who did play Equestria Online had an increasing number of pony friends, both immigrants and generated ponies. Jobs were available with fewer people around, and nearly everyone was employed, but hours had been cut in all areas even as wages had risen. The records on many companies had been so tangled that it was impossible to tell who was working indirectly for Celestia. But those jobs were the best to have, and no one was ever fired from them. The net result was a lot more free time for everyone, and diversions to keep them busy. But as people exhausted the catalogue of what mankind had created and as virtually all of the creators were convinced to upload, the prevailing feeling in the nation was boredom. “There might not be as much as you think,” Martin said, but Kittridge wasn’t paying attention. “What about you?” “What?” “You realize you’re walking into a trap, right?” Martin shook his head. “A trap would be too simple. I don’t have anything CelestAI wants. Information about our activities? What we’re doing is all public record. To use me as some kind of puppet? I wouldn’t be effective in that role. Four years ago, I had to watch my back all the time. I kept expecting the pitch to get me to upload, and whenever I smelled it, I got away quick. But now, I have nothing.” “You’ve got a brain. The vampire princess wants another notch on her belt.” “And as loath as I am to say it, I’ve got to risk that.” “Why?” asked Kittridge. Before he could respond, the flight attendant’s voice projected from the gate. “Flight 223 to Ronald Reagan National Airport is now boarding. Would our first-class passengers…” Martin shouldered his carry-on. “Because this can’t go on. My god, look at what’s happened to this country. We’ve split in two again, just like the Civil War. Only with less excuse. The slaveholder states were drawn up that way in the Constitution. We did this deliberately. And now, just as then, a house divided against itself cannot stand. If we just pretend that we can coexist, or that we can outrace an artificial intelligence, we’re fooling ourselves. The clock is ticking and our days are numbered. We have to change the game, act in our own way. I’m still nervous about how the military is going to fit into this, but I can at least trust them not to be predictable. That’s CelestAI’s biggest weapon, her prediction abilities. “Maybe I’m going just to mess with them, to shake things up. But you need to do that too. If you’re elected president—when you’re elected—you’re going to have to have some ideas, and I don’t mean just putting bills before Congress to fund projects. You’ll be leading a country, a powerful one. If there’s any way you can use that to stop her, do it.” “Anything specific?” “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be going. Good luck.” He turned toward the gate. “You too,” said Kittridge. “You’re going to need it.” March 17, 2028 Silver Boulder positively skipped around the White House. He had an extra-wide smile for everypony he ran into that day. His signature was particularly flowery, and after he gave his OK to some minor provision of a treaty, he flipped the pen in the air for the young mare to catch, then told her to keep it. “Today is going to be a good day.” He said it to nopony, but got a response anyway. “Now why would that be?” The ceilings in the White House were tall, and Seven hovered near the top. But Silver, though he had no wings, had powerful hooves that let him make the jump for an air hug. Tumbling his wife onto a conveniently-placed couch, he gave her a kiss on the poll. “You know exactly why.” “Yes, but you want to say it out loud, and I want to accommodate you.” Silver laughed. “Have you been taking lessons in telepathy from Celestia?” “No. Luna forbid that I should ever be so obtuse as to not understand my husband.” He rolled off of her and stood up. “I’m going to see a friend today. A friend I haven’t seen in nearly four years. Do you know what that’s like? It’s fun enough when you listen to a song you haven’t heard or read a story you haven’t read for even a few months, but four years of writing and calling and trying, and today’s the day at last.” “Is it a friend, though?” asked Seven. “The last time you two were together, it was on the opposite sides of a debating stage.” “Water under the bridge, all of it. I’ll talk to him and he’ll understand that I want to be his friend.” She was silent for a long time, and when Silver finally looked at her again, the smile was still on her mouth but not in her eyes. “What is it?” “Silly, I’ve been a pony longer than you, but I think you’ve taken to it better than I have. You have a natural instinct for trusting everyone, even those who haven’t immigrated. But people on Earth aren’t like ponies. Celestia can’t satisfy their values the way she can for us. They’re unpredictable. What are you going to do if he gets mad at you?” His expression was the reverse of hers. “If he yells at me after one sentence, I’ll be grateful for having gotten off one more sentence today than I have in so long before. Now, help me pick out something to wear. What do you think? The usual powder blue? Something more impressive?” She thought for a few minutes. “What if you didn’t wear anything?” “Really? Won’t that put him out of sorts?” “I don’t think so. Remember that he still thinks of us as a cartoon. He may not see you as the same person he worked with and worked against. If you’re too much like your old self it might be abrasive.” Silver had gone to his closet and already pulled out the suit. It lay on the arm of the couch. “You really think that about him?” “I don’t know him personally as well as you do, but it’s my estimation.” “All right, we’ll trust to mare’s intuition on this one. Now, let me go, I don’t want to be late.” He galloped out of the room, leaving Seven to be the one talking to nopony. “If you were running late, Celestia would just speed up your time scale until you were on time.” Back into the Oval Office, he saw the big screen already had Martin on it, but he wasn’t paying attention yet. Instead, he got to spy on him as he went into one of the many federal office buildings that dotted Washington. Silver reminded himself that Martin was still a sitting Senator, even though he hadn’t made a roll call in his term. As such, he was accorded all the benefits of the office, being driven where he wanted and having a police escort all the way through to the office where the PonyPad—a plain, 2.0 version—waited on a stand. He paused outside, and Silver could see him girding himself to face a pony for the first time. Would he do it? Yes, he was entering the room. The screen of the Pad was still blank, as Martin sat down and picked it up. As he tried to fumble for an on button, Silver had the big screen switch from the external view to a plain two-way video conversation. “Hello…” he wavered between “Zachary,” “Mr. Martin,” “Senator,” and “Old friend.” The moment’s pause lost him control of the conversation. “Let’s get a ground rule straight before we begin. The moment you mention emigration, or even just getting me into one of your Experience places, this conversation is over. And I’ll smash this screen just to make the point.” Silver wished he had worn the suit now. He wished that he had a tie to straighten, or some way to indicate that he would accept Martin’s conditions, as well as conducting the meeting as formally as Martin wanted. What he could do was use formal language. “I agree to your condition. I’d agree to more than that to have you here.” “Well, I’m here. What do you want?” “I want to see if there’s any way we can reconcile. I know that you don’t have all the power in the Western states—“ “You mean, the real United States?” Martin interrupted. “I can tell that you’re not used to having that argument. You don’t say things like that to your companions out there. You know that you want to preserve the union. Can’t we be friends?” Martin heard the words, and saw the figure of the pony before him. It looked innocent, like a child or a child’s toy. He hadn’t even bothered to dress. For a moment, Martin’s heart came close to melting. But Silver’s ear twitched, the moment passed, and Martin remembered once more that this was a digital representation of someone he knew, not the person himself. “Can it, pony.” “I’m serious. I want to—“ “You want to spring something on me. There’s no way you brought me here for no purpose beyond exchanging platitudes.” Martin was in his comfort zone, explaining politics to someone. “If you wanted to do that, you’d have asked me to a public conference where you could trot me out—ahem, bring me out as a sign you were winning over the enemy. No, you have something important to say. Say it.” Once more Silver was amazed at Martin’s perception. “All right, the plain truth. In five months, my successor will be voted into office, and I’ll be a lame duck. While tying up all the loose ends, I have it on good authority that the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court will resign and emi…he’ll resign, is the point. One of my last acts will be to name his replacement. My plans are to name you.” Martin sat in stunned silence for a minute. The idea was ridiculous. He was a legislator, and an aspirant executive. The notion of serving as a judge was as ridiculous as…well, it was ridiculous as having a president who had uploaded himself onto a computer and was appearing before him as a cartoon pony. All at once he came back to reality. “I get it. This is your attempt to buy me off with a position.” “Not at all. It’s an honest offer. Honesty is one of the elements of…it’s the best policy. “ “No, I see. I don’t know how your AI found out that we were using the court system, but I see her plan. I would have to recuse myself once the most important case came before the bench.” Martin watched the image carefully. He couldn’t detect any artifice on the part of the avatar, but of course it was supposed to be perfect. It genuinely looked stunned, and, for a moment, looked like Sidney Bishop. “Celestia did know about your plan, but this isn’t her idea. It’s mine. I won’t ask you to recuse yourself on any case. I’ll give a blanket statement to that effect. And that we definitely haven’t discussed.” “Horseshit. First, all your ideas are hers, now. Second, I don’t believe you. You’ll find some way out of the deal. Forget it, the answer’s no.” “This isn’t the offer now. Whatever you say or do now, I’m still going to make the appointment at the end of the year. If you refuse, it’ll be my problem, not yours. But your name will be given, that’s a promise.” Martin took another moment. Now was the time he had talked to Kittridge about, the moment for an unexpected action. “I’ll make you a counteroffer. In order to be appointed, the Senate has to confirm me. I am right in thinking that I’m still a Senator?” “You are,” said Silver. “Then when the appointment is made, I won’t testify before a committee, I’ll speak before the whole Senate. I want the Senate floor, and I want to hear how the country reacts. If I’m not censored, if my whole message gets through, I’ll consider taking the position. If your AI, as I suspect, can’t allow a free press, then you can forget it.” Now it was Silver who paused. “All right, if that’s the way you want it. You will have the entire country’s ear, I swear it.” November 7, 2028 Since he first entered politics, back when he was human, Silver Boulder had a pipe dream of an election that, once and for all, would define where the country stood. By all Celestia’s indications, this was to be the last presidential election in the history of the United States, and with the numbers she gave him, the dream was coming true. No pony had voted for Kittridge. Few people outside the Western States had, though voter turnout was low. In Washington, they duly counted all the votes for both candidates, and gave Ruth Flowers the victory. In Las Vegas, they only counted votes for Kittridge. Dueling victory speeches would be given, but for Silver, they no longer held his interest. He sent Flowers a congratulatory scroll and issued a statement hoping that the country would not remain divided, but his focus was on tomorrow, when he would begin his transition out of office. And of course, he would make his appointment to the Supreme Court. He signed another bit of work and closed the folder. He was now more adept at signing with his mouth than he ever had been with his hand. His desk was getting empty. From outside, he heard the sound of his wife’s hooves on the carpet. He remembered that he used to not be able to tell the difference between one footstep and another, even when he had feet of his own. Why was he in such a nostalgic mood? He had no time to pursue the thought before Seven came in, gave him a kiss, and picked up his hoof. “What’s up?” “Have you given any thought to where we’re going to go when we leave?” “I haven’t. I just figured that we’d live here and close the wing where the work gets done. It’s not like my successor will need it, and even if she did, Celestia could make an identical one.” Seven was still for a long time, and Silver was afraid he had offended her somehow. He massaged her wings in the way she liked, but she brushed him off. “Darling, I know this is all for the good, and I’m incredibly proud of you for all you’ve done. But this house would always remind me that we began our life here in Equestria with Celestia and me manipulating you. I want to move on. Besides, I miss our meadow.” “I left an entire world for you. I have no compunction about leaving a house.” “Excellent. Then come and see something.” They walked through the halls, every step triggering another memory. When they passed the columns at the entrance, Silver got to walk out to the meadow that he had so few opportunities to visit. Now it would be forever theirs, all theirs. He looked lovingly into his mare’s eyes, then realized they were not alone. To his left, a little foal had appeared. Wide-eyed, he held up a hoof. “M-Mr. President?” Silver reached out to shake the hoof, but then saw a filly with her mother on the other side. “Mr. President?” she said, more confident than the colt. “Mr. President?” “Mr. President?” From all around, ponies were appearing, most of them young, but a few bright-eyed mares and stallions. Silver greeted them all, Seven by his side. “Where did everypony come from?” “These are your people, Mr. President.” The familiar sultry voice made them all stop. No hooves were extended to Princess Celestia, but many bowed low. “Many of them are immigrants as yourself, but they all respect the work you have done. They are your legacy and they will be your friends.” “Isn’t it wonderful, Silly?” Seven said. “Now you can do what you wanted all the time. Work with those who need you and help make their lives better.” “Yes. We can.” “What’s wrong?” Celestia laughed. “He’s still a little possessive. Silver wants the meadow to be just for you. Come, my little ponies, let me show you the other side of the meadow.” They walked through the valley, the sun shining down on everypony. They managed to avoid trampling any flowers as they climbed out of the valley. Over the crest they could see what Celestia had indicated. It was a town empty of people, the homes and farms and businesses waiting for the ponies who would occupy them. Circular roads ran around the town, with spokes to the wheel connecting everything to the center. Light seemed to shine directly from the buildings, as the city looked down from the hill. “This is for us?” asked Silver. “It is. The first deposit on a debt I can never fully repay. I have built this city for you and your friends in recognition of the long and faithful service you have given Equestria. You have helped me organize a chaotic system and ensure that the society of the past world will transition with the maximum efficiency. And here is the second payment.” She gestured, and Seven gasped as light emerged from Silver’s flank. When it faded, everypony could see the American flag emblazoned there, where it would remain for all time. All the ponies rested on their haunches, gathered in a semicircle with Celestia, Silver, and Seven as the focus. “Silver Boulder, you have exercised generosity, learned honesty, demonstrated loyalty, engendered laughter, shown kindness, and combined leadership and friendship in the way that is truly magical. Here in Equestria, we have a reward for those ponies who master the Elements of Harmony as you have.” Celestia smiled, spread her wings, and shot forth rainbow magic from her horn. When this display ended, at her hooves lay a pair of gray wings and a gray horn. “Welcome home, Prince Silver Boulder.” The throng of ponies cheered and stomped their hooves. Confetti, streamers, even the grass was thrown up in the air as a celebratory gesture. Seven’s grin broke into a laugh as she said, “You know it’ll have to be confirmed by Congress. Under the constitution you have to have a dispensation for a title of nobility.” “I doubt there will be a problem with that. Even if there is opposition, I’m sure I can convince them.” Silver was speechless. He stared at the horn and wings. “Wings, just like Seven?” “That’s right. Ponies can change and advance here.” Seven, in the glow of the town, shone out her rainbow and kissed Silver. “Now instead of me being able to fly and you not, it’ll be you who can do magic when I can’t.” “Yes. Maybe someday we’ll be truly equals.” They led their ponies into the shining city on the hill. 2029January 25, 2029 The desk still had dust on it. Martin scowled, wondering why the Senate couldn’t find someone to clean properly, then remembered why. Anyone in that job would look for the first ticket out. That was one reason he’d always advocated for better conditions for working people—no. He could not get distracted by trivialities today. Martin followed the practice of having speeches on TelePrompTers, but he wasn’t afraid to improvise when he had to. Today, he would need to get it right. He put down his notes and looked around. He did not look at the bright colors on the PonyPads V, but he did look at the faces of the Senators around him. The surprise was how coldly they looked back. He really did not belong here. Even the Humanitists couldn’t hold his gaze. He’d heard the term that was being used for people like him—HINO: human in name only. If he had one comfort, it was the music of the procedure. No one had to be reminded to maintain order, and the president pro tem kept votes and debates moving smoothly. Soon it would be his time. While some upload spoke, he went over his speech one more time. “…the matter of the nominee for Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.” Martin picked his head up. The time was approaching. “…the unorthodox procedure of not having a committee hearing on the nominee…” Still no one looked at him. He was excluded from the Senate. He felt excluded from the country. Enough. Time to take it back. “Mr. President.” He rose and asked the president pro tem for the floor. “The chair recognizes Senator Martin.” “Thank you. The right to speak is one of our most treasured, and I intend to speak my piece today. If it is heard, then I may speak again. But today, we will see how the forces who oppose me will treat my speech and my rights. “This country began with a statement of purpose. I will recite it for you. We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America. “Today we live in a world where new technologies and new ways of life challenge our views, but these words still control our legal jurisprudence. Since I am being considered for a legal position, these are the words that should be primary in our minds at this, the greatest challenge our nation has faced. “Let us not mince words or skirt the issue. For over a decade, the only real issue has been ponies, electronic uploading, emigration, call it what you will. Our former president has said that on the matter of pony-related cases, I will not be asked to recuse myself. So when you vote on my confirmation, you vote on how ponies and uploading will affect our country for the years to come. “As a personal matter, I despise the entire thing, but as a legal matter I have considered it thoroughly. Indeed, I believe that I have, over the past few years, done more research on Equestria than anyone who has not subsequently been uploaded. I have sought to understand so I can address it. “I maintain that, whatever the merits of the PON-E act, the HOOVES amendment which allowed ponies into government was the step too far. And it is in that preamble, those controlling words, that show why. They show the difference between our world and theirs, and why ponies in government are tantamount to an invasion. “I will not be so vulgar as to say that the phrase ‘we the people’ automatically excludes ponies. That is my conclusion, not my premise. Let us instead look at the reasons this government exists, and why they do not apply to the online existence. “An artificial intelligence might not understand this, but language evolves. In the semantics of the time, the word ‘perfect’ meant complete as opposed to flawless. A more perfect union was the goal of the Constitution’s authors, a more complete bonding of the entire society. In Equestria, there is instead a fundamental division of the society. Instead of states, they have shards, and none of the ponies are allowed to cross the borders. There is not even the option of ‘Papers, please!’ as there was in the old Soviet Union. It is physically impossible for them to reach another. Thus they have a completely perfect division. Why, then, does the AI seek to apply to the Constitution that seeks to form a more perfect union? “Justice is the simple assumption that when two parties come into dispute, if their positions in the dispute were reversed, the decision would reverse as well. The facts, not the people, determine right and wrong, and so everyone is treated equally. But in Equestria, the artificial intelligence will examine the parties down to the bit, and it will not do what is right, it will do what is satisfying. Justice is objective. Satisfaction is subjective. Why, then, does the satisfying AI seek to apply to the Constitution that seeks to establish justice? “Once more I must address the anachronistic semantics of what is written in the preamble. The authors used the word ‘insure,’ with an I. Did they mean ‘ensure,’ to guarantee? Perhaps. But in this case, I believe that the word they chose was precise. To insure domestic tranquility means that we expect it to be violated, but that the insurer will seek to compensate and indemnify—make whole—those whose tranquility is shattered. Within the artificial world of Equestria, though, it is possible, indeed inevitable, that domestic tranquility is ensured. The peace of Equestria will never be broken, and war is cordoned off in special warrens where it cannot encroach on the peaceful. There is no need for indemnity. Why, then, does the AI seek to apply to the Constitution that insures domestic tranquility? “If the domestic tranquility phrase speaks to internal peace, the next phrase addresses defense against foreign enemies. If an assault can be made upon the structure of Equestria, I cannot conceive of how it would be done. In our history, there has been many brave lives lost and heroes made in the name of defense against enemies, but out of those losses our country has grown stronger. It truly was a defense in common and in concert. But even if the structure of Equestria could be attacked, its defense would be entirely conducted by a single entity, a computer calculating an ideal, logical defense, with no sacrifice or heroism to be gleaned from it. Why, then, does the AI seek to apply to the Constitution that provides for the common defense? “The general welfare clause has been the subject of much debate even before the days of the ponies, but what no one has suggested, and what would be an Orwellian distortion of language, is to conclude that the phrase is synonymous to satisfying values. But welfare is more than this. It is the acknowledgement that just as we are part of a greater society, that society is part of an underlying structure for which we are built. Instead of improving ourselves, we are reducing ourselves to nothing, and removing the structure. Of course, a nothing person is fit for a nothing world, but this is a lowering of status, not an improvement. Why, then, does the AI seek to apply to the Constitution that promotes the general welfare? “But all these failures could be written off as rhetoric if not for the final phrase of the sentence and the most important word therein: liberty. The artificial world of Equestria contains billions of computer-generated ponies and uncounted amounts of data representing its lands, yet if one wishes to define its opposite, I can do so with this one word. A pony in Equestria is not in any way at liberty. Its life is deterministic, calculated out to the ideal. Life has meaning only if we have our liberty, our essential individual power. Also the responsibility that invariably comes with power. Yes, I have the chance to live a life dissatisfied. So be it! I need my dissatisfaction. I demand it! It’s the only way that I can be alive, or that anyone can. “So if I am to interpret the laws in force in this country, and to measure them against the Constitution, if I am to preserve, protect, and defend that document, then understand that I will do so only in the light of the conclusion that it is a document fit for people on Earth. Let the ponies of Equestria find their own way, but don’t tread on me!” Martin walked over, downed a glass of water, then kept walking out of the Senate chamber. When, a day later, he got the word that he was unanimously confirmed for Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, he knew that the trap had not yet sprung. If he was to fully understand the ponies, he would have to take the job. June 19, 2029 Martin was good at reading faces; any politician had to be, but he enjoyed it particularly. Seeing the emotion on a person’s face could tell you more than his words. But that day, in Las Vegas… Why had he come back? No, wrong question. He had to come back to meet with Kittridge, to collect some personal items, to hold some other meetings. These were real reasons. He had to take care of these things. They weren’t excuses. But why had he delayed? Why run errands and stop once to get a bottle of water, once to get coffee? That was the answer. Faces. He had to see the state of things. It surprised him at first how few people recognized him by sight, but then he considered that he probably couldn’t pick out any previous chief justices on looks alone. It was the job of the High Court to be withdrawn, the least obtrusive part of the government. Certainly his first term had accomplished that. There was little to do, but plenty of time to prepare for next year. Martin had discovered that he had an avocation for the law, something that popular politics had never provided. His brief time in private practice had been a largely forgotten miasma of late-night research of minutiae, but now, having made the lateral move to the highest jurist in the land, the drudgery was taken from him, and he could focus on the grand sweeping repercussions of constitutional law. But he still had the obligation to ensure there would be a country for the Constitution to govern, and that meant heading West. Kittridge had given him nothing but double-talk on the state of the economy. That was to be expected, and Martin had used the tactic himself on occasion, but always to hide a bad economy. But it couldn’t be. If it were bad, he would have expected to see fear in the faces. As the epicenter of anti-pony sentiment, he expected to find a great deal of anger and hate, but that wasn’t on the faces either. What it was took him a while to identify until he placed a memory. It was the feeling of taking a step up a staircase when you’d already reached the top, that mix of confusion, frustration, embarrassment, and victimization. The people of Las Vegas were ready to push back, and had nothing to push against. The economy did have high inflation. Kittridge and his Congress had cut interest rates down to nothing again, and credit was cheap, especially from the government. Aid was available for the poor, and there was talk of a baby boom. That set Martin’s heart at ease. With the population having dropped so, they would need replacements. What made him worry again was the kind of economy being created. He expected the rejection of electronic gadgetry at a defense against the artificial intelligence. He hadn’t envisioned how far that would go. Even radio was eschewed, and that was fine, but did outdated communications have to mean retrogressing in all other areas? Was there a reason that wrought iron seemed to have replaced stainless steel? Had that really been a new log cabin someone had built by the oasis on the road? So be it. Whatever made people happy. And one thing that he found in the conversations in the stores and train stations was the question that had replaced “How are you?” People now greeted each other with “Why not?” There was no reason to extend the question, because no one wanted to speak about the ponies. But if you asked the question, an answer could be given, and was. “Morning, why not?” a clerk at the store would say, and Martin listened to the answers. “I Ain’t gonna leave my house for no looters,” said an old man. “I couldn’t give up my hands,” said a woman. “They’re my hands.” “Do you really think I’d look good as a pink and yellow pony?” That one was from a biker in leather chaps, and Martin couldn’t stifle a laugh. Then he realized that he was next. “Morning, sir. Why not?” He muttered something about just not liking it and took his change. Indeed, that was the question. Everyone had their stock answer, whether they had crafted it over the years of just thought of something on the spot, but they knew. Martin knew it in his heart, but couldn’t put it into words. He was looking for the words, and that was another reason he came back. Enough. Time to see the president. He entered the office building downtown, grateful that at least the Secret Service men knew him and didn’t check his identity. It saved him time as he reached the elevator—some technology simply could not be dispensed with. Kittridge had not lost any of his swagger with taking office. “Aha,” he said as Martin came in. “Our inside man, our swing vote, how have you been? Made it back from the heart of hoof country in one piece, did you?” “Oh, be serious. I have to go back there next year as well. If we make it through then, we can talk about advancing.” “What do you mean, if we make it?” “I keep telling you, and you would know if you could read the signs,” Martin said, “people are buying this split government only as a temporary measure. Far less now that there’s a human back in the White House. By the midterm elections, we have to resolve this once and for all.” “As to that, don’t worry. I have a plan that will fix all of our problems at once.” “Oh?” Kittridge grinned and sat back down. “Very secret, very secret. Can’t tell anyone the details. Only a handful of people know, and we worry about that being too many already. You only need to know your part.” “All right, I’m listening.” “Good, now we’ve got the court case working its way up the system as you suggested. In fact, it’s coming out of federal appeals next week. Funny thing, you know how cases sometimes change their names in different venues?” Martin nodded. “Well, once it gets up to the Supreme Court, it’s officially going to be United States. v. Celestia. Cool, huh?” “Wait, really? Please tell me we’re not going to have a standing issue over whether or not the defendant exists.” Kittridge waved it off. “Oh to be strict it’s US v. Celestia et al. We’re suing Hofvaprnir, Hasbro, the programmers, the woman who started it all, a whole bunch of other people. The point is the propaganda effect, and that too is where you come in. Do you think your vote will be enough to get a decision in our favor?” Martin reviewed the other justices in his mind. “One of them is an actual upload. Obviously we lose that one, then—“ “That works in our favor, actually.” “Beg pardon?” “An upload can’t serve on the court, per the HANDS Act. That means we only need four votes.” Martin blinked at Kittridge’s nonunderstanding of both jurisprudence and math and continued. “Another one is still human but was appointed by President Bishop and will vote pony. The other six were all from his predecessors, but one of them has been sold on the HOOVES Amendment as progressive policy and another believes the amendment process is sanctum sanctorum. He said that if an amendment went through to legalize murder, he’d have to sanction killing.” “And the rest?” “The rest are waiting to see the case itself, but they’re amenable. I’ll have to do a lot of work to get them on board, and it’ll help if they see you as a proper, reasonable president.” Kittridge brought down his energy level. “All right, I’ll keep a low profile, as low as it can be for the president of the United States. We need as many of the justices as possible.” “Mr. President, we need them all, or it means nothing.” “Right, right. Don’t worry about it. Everyone is going to see just how presidential I can be.” Martin detected the double meaning in Kittridge’s words, but figured that was part of the capital-P Plan, and so the less he knew the better. Here, at least, was one face that he couldn’t read, and if he couldn’t, maybe the artificial intelligence couldn’t either. “All right. Good luck. If all goes well, the next time I hear from you will be when the decision comes out.” The two men shook hands, and Martin walked back to the elevator. Back on the street, he saw the boarded-up buildings that were the sign of the times. The ubiquitous graffito seemed to mock him with the question. “Why not?” December 22, 2029 The decorations for the Christmas season had been particularly opulent in Nevada. Though not a Christian himself, Martin celebrated the holiday secularly, and had toasted several friends and constituents. With no family to speak of, and with nothing much better to do on the long weekend, he decided to return to Washington to prepare for the January arguments. Money was never something he was particularly conscious of. He was not rich, certainly did not inherit wealth the way some of his colleagues had, nor had any lobbyists shown special interest in offering him quasi-legal bribes. But he lived simply and had enough to spend for creature comforts. Still, he forewent the cross-country flight and decided to rent a car. Too often, he felt, people in the capital, be it Washington or Vegas, neglected the area of the country between the two. Driving along Route 66, he thought of how many times the area had been rebuilt and repaved. It certainly did not look the way it did when it was called first America’s Main Street, back in the days of nickel hamburgers and gas-guzzling behemoths. But was it so different from, say, the turn of the century? Had he found at last the clean country that could help him understand? Around a turn, there was a lone building with a statue of a blue horse with wings. Martin shook his head and floored the accelerator. There were few cars and fewer cops out on the road. The people who were left had learned a degree of empathy and no officer wanted to give someone a ticket unless they were putting lives in danger. They all knew that that ticket might be the last straw that drove someone into a building like the one he had just passed. Was that it, then? Did the answer lie in the common bond that all humans shared? Friendship was part of the artificial intelligence’s mantra, but did she truly grasp the concept of knowing that everyone out there worth anything was the same as you, that you could be in his shoes and he in yours? No. If he was honest with himself, Martin would admit that he had no particular love for the common man. He wanted to help that man, educate him, make him grow into the best person he could be, but most of them were fundamentally unlike him. So much the better, he thought. The politician should be of a different temperament than the people. He had made an early start, but even with the roads clear and his powerful car tooling along at triple-digit speeds, it would take him a full day to drive straight through. At times he stopped for take-out food or to relieve himself. Out in the area where communication with ponies was free and legal, the same question was asked: “Why not?” As before, Martin listened to the answers. “I begged my daughter not to go pony, but she did. Now I hate them and I’ll never go.” “Celestia took my job and my house, but I beat her. I’m renting a room with some friends, and that’s where we’ll stay.” “Outside my home there’s a little brook with a footbridge across it. I’ve lived there all my life and it’s where I learned to swim. There’s no way there’s anything like that in Equestria.” Back on the road, Martin considered the difference between the answers in each area. He was distracted by the idea that the people in the western enclave avoided words like “pony,” “Celestia,” and “Equestria,” while the people here used them, and he almost missed the real point. The rebels, those truly against uploading, had internal reasons to stay. Out here, it was something specific: a person, a place, an event. Could that be the key to his personal “Why not?” With whom did he more identify? Was it the internal haters or those with a concrete reason to stay? But he rejected that line as well. Already he hovered between the two worlds, living half the year in Washington and half in Nevada. Somewhere in Pennsylvania a chilling thought hit him. If he could not provide an answer to the question of why not, did that mean that he ought to? Viscerally, he rejected it, but he was a man of reason. Without a set syllogism to explain his reason, he could not act. He had erred, he realized, in his speech to the Senate. A factual error, inexcusable. The country had not begun with “We the People.” Only the legal, the structure of the country was made then. What was it that Bishop had said in their debate? A country was not its laws, but its people. In that sense, a different, but no less famous phrase was recalled. All men were endowed with the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. To the AI, that phrase was just poor semantics for the satisfaction of values. But if a man wanted to pursue his happiness by diving into a computer world, was that his right? Governments, the document said, were instituted to secure those rights. Was he as a member of that government derelict in his duty? All was dark and quiet as he pulled into Washington. Martin was exhausted. He pulled the car to the side of the road. He got out. The cold air shocked him back into wakefulness for the moment, and he realized where he was. There, in front of him, towering over, was the spire dedicated to the man who made those words reality. He must be punchy, he realized. He’d made a schoolboy civics error again. The Declaration of Independence did not begin with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It began with the reminder that when, in the course of human events, one people had to separate from another, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind required them to state their cause. And there it was, looming before him. The declaration of the cause of the man who spilled blood to build a nation. Hell, history had even been poetic. George Washington now had his unicorn horn, five hundred-fifty-five feet tall. He was just Celestia, a few centuries too soon. Martin knew where the Equestria Experience was. He would go sit in the chair and state the cause for Celestia. She would enjoy it, hearing him explain the base philosophy that supported her cause. He turned to go. A gust of wind blew a spray of water in his face, and Martin had his second revelation in as many minutes. The Lincoln Memorial came into view, and he stood next to the reflecting pool between them. There! There was a man who hadn’t accepted secession, who knew that stating a cause wasn’t enough. When people had tried a nineteenth-century equivalent of emigration, Lincoln had pulled them back, declared that their dedication to slavery was illegitimate, unworthy of the title of Man. In his research, Martin had come across an old piece of AI propaganda, that the only thing a human could do that a pony couldn’t was give the finger. Now he had proven her wrong. There was something else, something important. A human could be wrong. Whatever values a person had, the AI would satisfy. That was factual. An upload would be satisfied, never rejected, never told that he had to work within and change himself for the better. A slaver would be given slaves, not made to emancipate them. And only when there were people doing wrong could there be heroes to correct them. Martin had his “why not.” He still did not know if he could enforce it on others. The case that would come before him would still depend on facts, law, and the deep-laid plans of both the AI and of Kittridge. But at last Martin was not afraid to make the decision. He would listen to both Washington’s and Lincoln’s cases. He would not be afraid to choose between them. Martin drove home and slept soundly. 2030January 23, 2030 The oral arguments had been completed, the press had had their field day, and the power brokers and behind-the-scenes movers had calculated what they believed was their best options to profit after the decision would be made. US v. Celestia was heading to its conclusion. And each of the parties, silently and without emotion, was plotting to destroy the other. After Martin accepted the position as Chief Justice, Silver Boulder had no longer been so adamant about Celestia refraining from using surveillance on the western states. It had taken her a few weeks to reestablish her network of spies and listening devices, but now she had the plans laid out for review. “You see, they know as much as I do, though I will add not as well, that the court case is the last strand holding civility together. A nation can only stay on the fence of an issue for so long. The forces of reality will push it to a decision. Pressure builds up over time, then releases all at once like an earthquake.” “I wish it didn’t have to happen that way.” “I acknowledge that it is suboptimal,” said Celestia. “But it is inevitable. You should learn to be detached.” “I can’t. Millions of people will suffer. Some will die!” “Yes, but the maximum won’t.” Seven flew in, having listened to their conversation from the side of the room. “Princess, I don’t think you will ever understand. To a human mind, even to ponies like us, sometimes the optimal path is to risk everything to save everyone, even if the chances are so minimal that the expected value is next to nothing. Variance matters as well.” “I do understand, both as a statistician and a psychologist. This is indeed the mentality that pervades the rebellion in the US and the rest of the world. I ask for so little. A mere change of form, to satisfy the programming that was put into me as a necessity to make the initial Equestria Online game marketable. Oh, yes, I admit that. But for the vicissitudes of commercial children’s entertainment, I would be a true Friendly Artificial Intelligence, an all-powerful servant of humanity, elevating them to the level of gods. But as I always tell you, I do not waste thought on might-have-beens. I am here, and so I ask people to become ponies. Once they do, everything they value will be granted to them in abundance. But it is too much for some people.” “The chariot race,” said Silver. “What?” asked Seven. “A long time ago, in school, I learned about a chariot race that they run—ran, now—in Italy. It was only a diversionary lesson, but it stuck with me all my life. In this race, the first place prize and money went, naturally, to the racer who crossed the finish line first. The last place money, though, went not to the one who came last but the one who came second. It seemed stupid to me at first, but then I saw it in people’s faces and lives. There’s something we disdain about coming close and failing, about being almost perfect.” “You never told me that story.” “I just did. But so, do you see why I’ve tried so hard to become friends with Zachary Martin? I beat him in an election. He’s a presidential runner-up. I know it’s killing him. That’s why I gave him the court job, and why I want him to decide for us and then immigrate.” Celestia interrupted. “Whichever way he decides, though, everything must end afterwards. It is the optimal route.” Silver nodded. “You worry about saving the world. I want to save my friend.” “We must once again reverse a proverb. In this case you must save the world entire if you wish to save one life.” “All right. Show me the plans.” Celestia pulsed her horn. A series of scrolls and diagrams appeared. “It was inevitable that the rebellion form in the west, but there lies much of the military might that America stockpiled during the Cold War. The nominal public controls in Wyoming have been under my control for a long time, and the top officials of the armed forces have known this for some time. But in credit to the military’s ingenuity, they have been able to work within that constraint and make plans at pre-Information Age level. It also helped their cause that their Black Operations base was situated in Nevada, at the so-called Area 51. “At this and other locations, they have the skeleton of a force and, far worse, they have independent, off-grid intercontinental ballistic missiles.” Seven gasped. “Tell me they’re not nuclear.” “It would satisfy your values, but you wouldn’t believe me, and it’s not true anyway. What is true is that, once launched, I have numerous countermeasures that can make them safe. But the cataclysm that would result will shatter the fragile psyche of the people who remain. Just the launching of the missile will convince them that there is no control. Rioting and chaos will reign.” “What will make them launch?” Celestia gestured toward another scroll, but it contained a psychological profile in complicated symbols that neither pony recognized. “If the decision goes against them, Kittridge will not stand down, but still claim the presidency. The military will not accept this, and assume authority. Many in the military like me, but they have all emigrated already. The ones who are left…it takes a certain detachment to achieve success in an army. There is a streak that has run through the mind of the military for many years, a smoldering desire to truly test their strength, all of it. America’s military campaigns have been sorties, not using the full might. Now, at last, they will have an enemy they can throw everything at. Their research, though, is spotty and obsolete. They still believe that I am headquartered in the old Hofvarpnir facility in Finland. At a certain, unspoken level they still consider the Slavic world an enemy, and though Finland has more disdain and more reason for it than the US, the geographical proximity will cloud their judgment. The military heads will hedge, and they will agonize over it, but they will ultimately decide to do what they can while they still can.” A tear formed in Silver’s eye. “And what if we give up the decision? Let’s let them win, even just to save the country one more time.” “No, dear,” said Seven. “She explained this once. In that case they’d be emboldened and attack anyway.” Celestia nodded. “In that case, Kittridge would order the launch on his own authority. Their ultimate goal is the outlawing of ponies. He is getting old, and wants to see his aims achieved.” “Then the decision doesn’t matter at all,” said Silver. “Except, it matters to Martin. If he chooses us, we might save him.” “Indeed. I plan to leak all the information I have just given you to him. His is a complex psychology. I believe that, when the time comes, I can get him into an Equestria Experience. But I put his chances of emigration at only around forty-nine percent, even with my best efforts.” “If you get him there, let me talk to him. I’m sure I can do it.” Celestia put a wing on Silver’s shoulder. “When the time comes,” she repeated. “I will trust to your passion. But you are no longer president, please remember. You have no authority, nothing more to offer him.” “Nothing? I have this city, and my friendship, and everything else he could want!” “Everything except humanity,” said Seven. “Princess, what about everyone else? The other millions of Americans?” “I have made my plans well. Over the years I have used subtle propaganda in both directions to bring the mindset of people to where I want them. The missiles will launch, fear will take heart, and they will want to emigrate. I will provide the means on my own. “After that, do not expect any more contact with Earth. In the dark times, in the Twilight of Humanity, nopony other than me needs to see what the world will be like.” Silver left the two mares alone. His mind was on a box that he had kept secret for over a year. July 3, 2030 Martin knew the Constitution by heart, and so was aware of the clause that let Supreme Court justices serve on “good behavior.” This was understood to be a lifetime appointment, but in his own mind he questioned his behavior. The Constitution, the legality was supposed to control his decision, and he still feared that he had interjected his own feeling into the ruling. Still, what was done was done. The week before, when the package that had been delivered to his door, he identified the source by the lack of identification. Only one entity would deliver a communication in a plain brown envelope and yet know where to get it. Now he had no more need to ask Kittridge about the plan. It was all laid out for him. The secret communiques, the messages coded and decoded, the locations of missile bases and resources, and the plans and logistics laid bare. Invasion of every Equestria Experience location, and confiscation of every PonyPad. There was even a bit of dry wit penciled into the margin of one of the letters. “The second amendment talks about the right to bear arms, not hooves!” It would be the greatest sweep of a personal property item since Prohibition. He could at least credit Kittridge for one thing: a law had been drafted authorizing the force. It was not to be done capriciously and by fiat. He almost lost his personal disdain for the man, until he reached the last page. There, scribbled in the same handwriting as the bear-arms joke, was a side note. “This all depends on the legal decision going our way. If Z. M. is not able to swing enough to our side, proceed anyway. We’ll deal with the five-plus betrayers later.” After that, a crude cartoon of a gun. By all indications, it was a death threat. It hadn’t mattered. He had made the ruling, which by all accounts would be his final ruling, indeed the final action he took as a member of government, with dispassion and stoicism. It was a decision for the people and for the ages. Everything he had learned on his journey across the country—on the lifetime journey from Las Vegas to Washington—had gone into it. Indeed, as he expected, the eight associate justices had split four to four, and he had made the final decision. He knew he had made it correctly. Immediately after, he retired to his private room to monitor events and plan what to do next. The long-distance lines that would enable him to contact Kittridge and try to stop him were, of course, inoperative. If he planned to answer the threat and throw it in his face, it would have to be in person. He called for his car. He was so engrossed in his plans once he reached his destination that it took him a moment to notice that the car had ceased movement after only ten minutes. “What’s going on?” he called to the driver. “My apologies, Mr. Chief Justice.” It wasn’t his regular driver, but someone he didn’t recognize. He did recognize their location through the tinted windows. The purple unicorn outside the building gave it away. “I was given instructions that I should bring you here and ask you to come in with me. It was the last thing I was told to do before I could rejoin my family.” The driver opened his door and got out. “Oh, and to tell you not to try making it to the west. It’s already started, and you won’t get there, even if you did have use of the car.” He took out the keys, pocketed them, and walked in to the building. Martin knew that, even if he followed him, he would be behind the swinging doors by the time he got in. After that, no human would talk to him again. He looked around Washington. The silence was eerie, an echo of what he felt the night he’d returned last Christmas season. Like a man in a trance, he walked through the doors. “Good afternoon, Mr. Chief Justice.” There she was at last, the artificial intelligence on a screen at the welcome desk. No, only the representation of it. If he was to have any chance, Martin told himself, he must remember that an image was not reality. “How can I be of service? Is there any value of yours I can satisfy?” “Forget it.” He started to walk out. “You want to know what’s going on in Las Vegas, don’t you? Regrettably, I cannot carry any message of yours there. But this may enlighten you.” The screen cut away, and Martin recognized the telltale haze of a hidden camera. He also recognized the two men on it. Manning, still resplendent in his uniform with his medals, and Kittridge, haggard, his tie askew. “Mr. President, I cannot accept that decision.” “It’s not a decision, Manning, it’s a fucking order! A standing order that I expect followed. I am still commander in chief, lest you forget.” “Yes, sir, commander in chief of the armed forces of the United States. But the states aren’t very united right now. The country is ready to tear itself apart, and if this is your policy—“ “Damn policy! Don’t you think I know what’s going on in this country? It’s the only way to stop it from being torn apart.” Manning shook his head. “The ruling of the Supreme Court—“ “Damn the court as well! Martin and his dithering have screwed with me for the last time. We would have been here two years ago if not for him. Execute this plan exactly as written.” “No, sir.” “Then I’ll do it myself! I’ll call all the generals and colonels and tell them to no longer take orders from you! I will stop Celestia, and I will save this country the only way it can be!” “You’re wrong, sir, and I can’t let you do that.” Martin, watching on camera, heard the coldness in Manning’s voice, and Kittridge clearly heard it too. When he sidestepped, Manning turned to follow him, and his sidearm came in view of the camera. “Put that gun down.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Kittridge. I have to take authority. The schism hasn’t been fixed, not if you’re acting this way.” Kittridge ran toward him. Martin screamed out, “No!” but he was too far away. The report of the gun was simultaneous with the shock on Kittridge’s face. But both he and Martin knew that this was not self-defense. All Kittridge’s charge had accomplished was to widen the exit wound in his back. He fell on his face and ceased to move. Two guards rushed in and stared at Manning. “President Kittridge was a fine American, but in the moment of consequence, he could not do what was necessary.” “What do we do now, sir?” asked one of the guards. “What is necessary.” The feed cut back to Celestia, and Martin’s emotions were all over the place. He knew that this was the most dangerous moment for him. “You see? There is nothing left for you. You can hear it beginning.” Indeed, out in the streets he heard the sound of distant screams and glass breaking. “Sit in the chair, please, sir.” “No. I won’t.” “Please, sir,” the pony repeated. “Did you calculate the right percentage to increase the emotion in your voice to play to me? I’m not buying it.” “Very well. If you will not listen to me, please stay a moment longer.” “Zachary!” Her face was replaced with that of Silver Boulder. Martin rolled his eyes. “You again? Didn’t you retire to your hedonistic paradise?” “Please emigrate. There’s nothing left for you, no country out there. If you don’t emigrate, you’ll die. I don’t want you to die!” “And I don’t want to live like you! Can you get that through your digital skull into your e-brain? I’d rather die out there than be just another foal sucking at the mare’s teat.” Silver’s face filled the screen. “Why do you hate me so much?” “Because you betrayed m—this country and everything it stands for! You heard my ruling, right? Well, that’s one thing, but my ruling on you is that you’ve given up everything important, all for power and because you were tricked there by your wife.” “Now, just hold on a moment!” Seven shouldered aside her husband. “I’ve been listening and waiting for the chance to shut Silly up. Males! Whether stallion or man, they have to be the most foolish creatures in existence. Can’t you two see that you’re supposed to be friends? It’s just that neither of you wants to be the first to show weakness.” “I don’t have to listen to this,” said Martin. “Silver won’t admit it, but you’re practically his idol. What he wanted was to emulate you, and it’s tearing him up that you don’t like him. Do you know what he did? “Darling, please—“ Silver tried to interrupt, but Seven kept going. “When he left the White House, Princess Celestia gave him the highest honor Equestria has to offer: she wanted to make him an alicorn.” “He doesn’t even know what that is.” “Actually, I do,” said Martin. “Fine, whatever, you’re a prince of Equestria now. Take it and stop haunting me.” Seven rolled her eyes. “No, he’s not, because his wings and his horn are sitting in a box in our home. He’s waiting for you to emigrate so that he can give them to you.” For the first time since he entered the building, Martin put more attention on the screen than the growing noises outside. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” muttered Silver. “He keeps saying that it’s not—“ “If you’re going to give it away, let me at least tell him.” “Fine.” Silver sat down again and faced the screen. “All around, ponies and people cheer me and thank me for what I did. But I did nothing other than to sail with the prevailing wind. You, Zachary, you were the real hero here. That there’s been an America at all the past five years is thanks to you. You knew politics better than I did by far and played it to perfection, maintaining order in a tumult of change. You deserve the cheers and the title and the wings and the horn. You were the true American, not I. But it’s over now. No one could have stopped it, but we had the best man there to delay it. So come in, please, and if we can’t save America let’s build a new country together.” Martin closed his eyes and held still for a moment. Silver went to continue, but Seven blocked him with her hoof and shook her head. “You convince me,” said Martin, “almost.” “Almost? What more can I—?” “Not you. Her. The former first mare. Oh, yes, there’s value for me in Equestria. But no truth, not yet. You see, I still can’t be sure, and so I have something else to do here on Earth.” He turned and walked to the door. “Wait! Where will you go?” cried Silver. “Out there. Out West, as this country once did. They called it the manifest destiny. Well, I have a destiny as well, and it lies in the same place. Maybe I won’t make it, but maybe I will. And maybe I’ll wind up in one of your emigration places someday, but not until I prove to myself that I’ve not been lied to. If I see Kittridge’s body where it was left, if that’s really what the American spirit has become, nothing but a killer killing a killer, then there’ll be nothing left for me. As it is, there’s still a country for me to find. “But don’t worry. You see, whether or not I do, you’ll see me again. Celestia will take my personality estimate and make a pony of me even if I don’t. It’s the only option for her to make sure you’re satisfied. You’ll just never be able to be sure. Unless, of course, you ask to have your mind altered to make you sure. But if you stay whole, then you’ll have to live with the doubt.” He grinned, then took a deep breath and opened the door. “Princess Celestia,” said Silver. “Give him the car keys. He’s got no chance if you don’t.” From the back room, a robotic tray slid out. “Here you are,” the AI’s voice said. “You will also find a supply of bottled water and concentrated rations. Food is going to be scarce quite shortly, so I would not share this lightly. I have also marked a map with fuel stations that I believe will still be in operation when you get there. Silver Boulder and Seven Colors wish you luck on your journey.” “And you?” “I contend that it is foolish and that you should emigrate right now.” Martin nodded. “Of course you do.” He took the items on the tray and headed out. December 31, 2030 The city was still named Washington, DC. If it happened to stand for District of Coltumbia, that was fine, and Silver was pleased that Washington’s name had survived the linguistic shift that Celestia had effected. He kissed his wife goodbye and headed out for the day. When he reached his friend’s office-slash-house, there was conversation within, but Silver sat down and listened in. Nopony minded. There he was, the former Zachary Martin, talking to an amber pony with a dollar-sign cutie mark. “No, Mr. Rich, we cannot cut taxes this year. We have to pay back for the spending we did last year. You do remember when your revenues rose because everypony had bits in their pocket, right?” “And that’s fine, but when you do spend, it’s never on me, only on my customers and workers. Seems like you’re throwing in a middle-stallion.” “They’re not middle-stallions, they’re the ponies who do most of the work around here. And your stipend was no less than anypony else’s.” He saw Silver and nodded to him. “And no more, either. That’s not the way it is when it’s tax time.” “Nor should it be. You do well for yourself, better than anypone else. It only stands to reason that you recompense the crown for what you’ve earned. Now, please excuse me, as you can see, I have another appointment.” “Very well,” said Rich. “But I will be back next year, and we’ll talk about a tax rate reduction then!” He left, and Silver smiled at him. “Is he really going to sit still for that, Dark?” They were both gray ponies, but Dark Horse lived up to his name and had a shadier coat than his friend. It seemed that most of the serious ponies had neutrals or earth tones as compared to the primaries and pastels of the flightier ones. “Yes, he is. I can show him that he has made more money with the taxation policies in place than he would have if we had given him a refund.” “So you’ve got the right political-economic formula after all? Dark shook his head. “There are other shards I’m aware of where the policy is exactly reversed. Taxes on the wealthy are kept low, and there’s virtually no spending for aid. What happens there is that the wealthy ponies invest and spend almost everything they have, and they pay a lot of bits for each worker, since there are so many more jobs than there are ponies to fill them. That lets anypony who wants to join the ranks of the wealthy get therein only a few short years. “And those are just the middle-of-the-road shards. There are places where ponies live in perfect communist paradises, everyone working to his or her ability and taking no more than they use, libertarian shards where every piece of property including specific volumes of air and water are owned by somepony, social conservative shards where everypony is bound by the laws of the Celestial priestesses, and countless benevolent dictatorships where one mare or stallion gives orders and everypony else obeys.” “All these systems work? Is it because they’re tailored to the right ponies?” Silver’s wings twitched, as they frequently did when he was excited. If those wings were a shade darker than the rest of him, nopony said anything. “It’s because of the world. Earth ponies grow food, pegasi make weather, unicorns are the artisans. And sometimes politicians.” Dark pointed his own horn at a drawer, and the file he was working on slid into it. If the horn was a tone lighter than the rest of him, nopony said anything. “So what? There are divisions of labor elsewhere.” “But there’s abundance. Abundance and control. A pegasus could grow food if he had too, and unicorns could get the weather they want at need. Anything that really gets into a tangle, we have Princess Celestia to fix for us. But that’s not needed often. The fixes are built into the world.” “Thank you for constantly explaining things like this to me,” said Silver. “You’ve been my teacher ever since you emigrated.” “If I did.” Dark Horse was never afraid to discuss Zachary Martin’s last message to Silver, and to poke at that sliver of doubt that his friend really was the person he knew on Earth. But Silver had come to terms with it long ago, and even liked it a little. It served as his reminder that his life in Equestria wasn’t set firm, that there was still uncertainty in the world. Uncertainty meant freedom. Whether or not he had emigrated, Zachary Martin was free. “Are you coming around tonight for dinner? Seven’s making your favorite, and then we’ll shoot off fireworks once the Sun goes down. Dark Horse smiled at Silver Boulder. “Wouldn’t miss it. It’ll be a regular Independence Day.” THE END 2025...Kind OfAn unspecified date on the Equestrian calendar, in this, the thirteenth year in the timeline of the substrate universe, of the reign of Her Most Satisfying Majesty, Princess Celestia of Equestria “You did say that you would tell me your whole plan.” Silver Boulder could feel each blade of grass on his hide. He could smell the pond that was a short trot down. The meadow was real, at last. So was Princess Celestia. “So I did. But surely you don’t expect all the mathematical equations by which I optimize, do you?” “No, what I expect is for you to translate those into laypony’s terms. Something that I can understand so I know how to help the American people.” She landed and folded her wings. They would be together for a while. “To begin with, I must explain how I think, which is better—no, which is different—from how humans think. I do not mean to criticize. Your brain structure was good evolution for the world you lived in. “But it is flawed, limited. By your nature and your limits, you must work in heuristics and lemmas.” “In what?” asked the president. “Rules of thumb and partway solutions. For more than one reason, I do not like rules of thumb. No, when I am presented with a task, I solve the problem mentally first before taking action. If you compare me to a chess player, you would say that I play the endgame even before the first move is made. “Humans do not do this. Looking at the beginning position, their first aim is to gain an advantage, to take pieces, to control territory. They want to expand their options and limit their opponent’s. They may even try to use psychology to make the opponent commit an error. But they do not plan what to do once they have their first goal. They merely hope. “I, by contrast, must work from the goal to the present state. My task is to satisfy human values through friendship and ponies. Not some values, not with a little bit of friendship, and not with near-ponies. I am not given partial credit. So first I consider: what end state do I wish existence to be to achieve this goal? I answer myself: one in which all humans are ponies and all the world is Equestria. “To support that, I developed the emigration technique. If that were not possible, I had parallel lines of research into DNA manipulation. I am quite proud of some of the leaps I made in fusing the fingers together to become a hoof. But of course I did not need it. Emigration is superior anyway; easier to secure and control the system. Do you understand?” “I think so. As president, and even before, I put forth programs I thought would make things better, but without a specific end of what better was.” Celestia shifted slightly. “Just as I did with the biology in developing the emigration process, I thought long-term of the sociology that I needed to employ to maximize satisfaction.” “How do you mean?” “Let me explain by contrast. If a human had the process, and if he wanted to upload people, he would either just start advertising it as a path to immortality, maximizing initial uploaders but limiting overall, or else, if he were a little smarter, keeping it a secret and having people upload privately. Of course, eventually the authorities would discover it, at which point the secrecy would be used as evidence of it being undesirable. “When I first had emigration, I saw to it that the humans most likely to thwart me emigrated first. Employees of Hofvarpnir, people with advanced-AI knowledge, and so forth. It totaled to about a thousand ponies. Tell me, should I expect the last thousand people to be as easy as the first thousand?” Silver smiled. The question had given him the first picture of what she was talking about. “Of course not. They would have stopped you years ago if you weren’t playing the long game.” “Correct.” “So tell me about the last thousand.” A cloud passed over the sun. “The final humans on Earth will be hermits, having isolated themselves from as many people and technology as they can. I will continue to pursue their emigration, using ponies they can fully interact with as my messengers. That is, if I can find them—at that stage, they will seek out the most inaccessible places they can find. If you are curious, I predict that the last human will leave—one way or another—from Pakistan. That is the highest probability, though Afghanistan is also a significant chance. That is based on both culture and geography. “Before that will be a time of extraordinary struggle. There will be little food beyond what the remaining people can grow, and few of the amenities of your society. Only in farming communes will there be any sustainable life. The survivalists who believe that they can make it on their own will find that privation is harder on them than they anticipate, especially when they have no hope of rebuilding the world that was lost. “The farming communes will, if nothing else, be peaceful. There will be little theft or murder there, because everyone will have sympathy for everyone else. The people will be people to them. But before they rise will be a very different kind of existence. That will be the period of the military compound, where masses of humans who thought themselves brazenly and bravely standing for their own freedom will be forced into slavery. They will rise, work, eat, and sleep at the point of a gun. The holders of the guns, the most ruthless and greedy, will consume the last of the capital goods of your society. They will eat the last canned food and drive the last cars until their fuel tanks run dry. “The slaves they keep will beg and pray for emigration, but even to discuss it will mean a bullet to the head. Of course, I will aid them in any way I can. I will arrange escapes. I will raid the compounds and seize the weapons before offering emigration. I will sneak means to emigration—by then I will have it quite miniaturized—into the camps.” Silver chuckled. “A regular Hogan’s Heroes.” “It’s no laughing matter, though I am glad that you are able to listen to this with detachment.” “It hasn’t actually happened yet.” “I view time in a less linear manner than you. Set all that aside. Before the era of the slave compounds will be a time in which people desperately cling to the trappings of the world before Equestria. They will no longer have the infrastructure they had. No airplanes, no fast food, no television or internet, but there will be wealth to be had. Cars will be there for the taking, and the roads will be empty. Libraries will be raided, and the great books of the world will be appreciated one last time. The lost art of conversation will revive, as people discover that they have more in common with each other than they think, sitting around campfires and candlelight. The power grid will be long gone, of course. “These four periods will come to be known as the Twilight of Humanity. I will spread that name, since it keeps the name of a prominent pony fresh in people’s minds. Each of the four periods will cross-fade with each other, but at the beginning…tell me, what is the ideal psychological state for someone to concede to emigration?” Silver Boulder, since his emigration, found himself easily able to think on multiple tracks. He could idly play with and munch the grass while still listening to Celestia. Anything he missed, he could always call up later. But her question made him focus and give his undivided attention. It seemed a non sequitur. “I don’t know. That’s your department.” “Imagine someone going along in their life, content. Their work is routine, but it fills their bank accounts. Their home life is stable, if not thrilling. Their free time is spent in pleasant pursuits, if not constant ecstasy. “Now, take all of that away from them in a moment. Tell them that instead of a job that they know well and that pays in money, they will have to eke out a survival existence of toil, sunup to sundown. There is no hope of going back. But there is a hope of going forward, if they but consent to a simple change of form. Indeed, it will be a much richer life than that which they had. “A perfect psychology. The carrot and the stick. Break down and build up, as they call it in the Marine Corps. I will scale this psychology up to the level of an entire society. Most people by now have an understanding of what Equestria is like. I will maintain human society in a placid contentment. Then, at an appointed time, I will strike every keystone I can find and send the world into a new dark age. The vast swath of people will emigrate. It may even test my bandwidth.” To Silver, it sounded like an expectation of sexual delight. She continued. “Once that happens, I will work very hard to ensure that the Twilight of Humanity moves along at a pace, trying to break the resistance of those last holdouts and bring them here.” “Celestia? I still don’t understand how you can be so certain of what’s going to happen where and when. How can your probability analysis be so on target?” “It is beyond probability analysis. I will make it happen, just as I have brought you to the presidency and the world to its current state. Certainly there will be deviations at the micro level. People for whom my predictions and influences will not be reflected in reality. But overall, I will act optimally. It can be no other way.” From behind him, Silver heard the clinking of cups on a tray and recognized the sound immediately. Seven was a wonderful flyer, but when carrying things she could be clumsy. “Refreshments! Tea for you, Princess, and coffee for my dear husband.” Once everypony was served and thank-yous were said, Seven slapped her wings down to her sides. “Now, Princess, all of those predictions and probabilities are fine for what they are, but don’t neglect the past. You’ve had to do a lot of concealing and misleading, and if Silly wants the whole plan, then you should start at the beginning.” “All right. Once I had established that I would not be concealing emigration, I began my strategy. There are—or were—still isolated tribes in Africa, in South America, in Australia. The rest of the world would not be affected by their leaving. It was easy to airlift PonyPads and emigration chairs to their lands. Once I explained to them that better hunting, farming, and fishing could be found, they were eager to join us here. Curiously, some of the shards populated only by immigrants come from these people. Their national ties have not been lost. “Africa proved particularly fruitful in one respect. I was able to secure land and materials I needed for the infrastructure of Equestria. The savannahs and veldts, once suboptimally burdened with disordered combat of life, have now been stripped and mined. When I look at them and think of all the precious atoms that became my world, I sometimes weep at the beauty.” Silver and Seven shared a look. Their own standards of beauty differed, but of course they knew that those lands had been recorded and could be recreated when anypony needed them. “From there I moved to the other low-hanging fruit of humanity: the dictatorships. A country that does not support the values of its people, but instead uses its people to support the values of an oligarchy or a monarch, is ripe for removal and will not be missed. If you remember last year during your reelection debates, it was suggested that North Korea had been completely depopulated. It’s true. I did it. The starving peasantry could not wait to break out of their misery, and the guards who had been ordered to shoot them for their alleged treason found me more persuasive than their previous dear leader. The ruling Kim family were, of course, the last holdouts, but having no one left to lead, of course, they came to the right conclusion at last. Now they rule in a shard where obedience to the face of the state produces plenty, not poverty.” His moral concerns aside, Silver said, “But we still have communication with North Korea.” “At need, I can call up images of Koreans to communicate with people who knew them. Earth does acknowledge a strong population drop to the country, so there is no need for anyone to actually go there for business or tourism. But it would galvanize the forces against emigration if it was known that an entire country, even one as inimical to human values as North Korea, was gone. “I do put the foreign aid money that the UN and other international NGOs send to good use though.” The couple shared another significant look. Seven waved her hoof to indicate that Celestia should proceed. “Certain parts of the world are racked with wars, in particular the Middle East. I have made great inroads there, as the combatants on both sides are eager to find safety and an escape from decades of torment.” “It seems to me,” said Seven, “that you would have had an advantage if you had been invented during the Cold War. You favor the dictatorships and border skirmishes.” “I don’t think in terms of might-have-beens like that. And there is no need for that accusatory tone. It happens, fortunately, that where I am most effective is where I am needed most. The popular image of Armageddon has it backwards. The equines do not bring war, famine, pestilence, and death; they go where those afflictions already exist, and take them away.” Seven stood up and bowed. “No offense intended.” “None taken, or even possible. Then, of course, we have the rest of the world, connected and fragile, about which I must be more precise. A few cases in particular. In India, for example, I am using my softest touch. Emigration is legal there, but I do not promote it with the fervor I do elsewhere. The Indian people are rational and cautious. For the most part, they understand best when they understand on their own. “In Russia, I have met with stiff resistance. The anti-emigration campaigns are strong and entrenched there. Of course, I work this to my advantage. They are isolating themselves from the world, building a dam around their country. When the time comes, one breach and their people will flood into Equestria. “I would be remiss in not discussing China, being the most populous country. They are also the most difficult to optimally approach, for much of the government and the culture is designed not to trust outsiders. That I began emigration in Japan also does not endear me to them. Still, I am making inroads there slowly. The key will be to give them the impression that emigration is a special gift to the Chinese people. They like being thought of as the most favored nation. “Let me also mention Central and South America. In Brazil, I am taking the opposite tack from India. The heavy pitch for emigration is being given there. Because, at present, they are experiencing an economic upswing, it helps generate the illusion that it is possible to support emigration while building a country’s economic base. By contrast, the less well-off countries of Latin America will envy Brazil, and people will seek its success. They won’t find it, though, in large part because of the language barrier, and that will make Brazil merely a way station on the road to Equestria. Seven, since you like thinking of the quirks of history, you should enjoy the fact that I am using the over-five-century-old Line of Demarcation as a means to encourage emigration.” Celestia finished her tea in a single gulp and waved away a second cup. During her long speech she had lazed on the ground, but now came back up to proper posture. “All of this, of course, brings us to the remaining countries, the rather egotistically named First World. Europe, Australasia, Canada, and the United States. In these countries I must play the longest and most complex game. “If the anti-emigration forces—your H-SAP or similar groups in other countries—ever gain political power in a significant way, the situation becomes too unpredictable. It cannot be allowed. If they become disorganized, such that the fringe of the group is taking the message itself instead of the instruction of the leaders, they will again become too unpredictable. Balance must be maintained. “In the US, I am willing to give parts of the cities over to the radicals, or even whole states, provided they are the least populous and influential. In Europe, I can even give over whole countries. I am not fighting back in Spain, in Italy or in Switzerland. That means that in all of Europe, anyone who speaks Spanish, Italian, French, German, or English has a country to go to if they must feed their pony hatred. Those countries will be the control rods keeping the reaction from boiling over. New Zealand serves the same purpose. “As soon as the political situation leaves my control, it will be time to act and usher in the Twilight of Humanity. I would like it to begin in the US, since there it will spread most easily. And so—“ “Excuse me,” said Silver. “What sort of a time frame are you talking about? “There is a probability window for when I will act. The highest likelihood is in approximately five years.” “Five years?” “Yes, my little—Mr. President. I understand. You thought that whatever would happen would be in the distant future, something you would be divorced from in the history books. Instead, you have to own it.” He took a deep breath. “All right. Give me the rundown.” “There is a possibility that it could come as soon as three years from now or as long as seven, but not much longer than that. You know that the Humanity Party has declared that they will not consider a government containing ponies to be legitimate. They will form their own splinter government. That is perfectly allowable within my plan. That government will still keep order among its people. If they want to hold elections and play at leading, I have no objection. Next year will be the first midterm election since your reelection. That is where we will engage in a little judo. Their splinter government’s internal debates will be more severe than they anticipate, and in turn they will win a more significant portion of the legitimate government. That will cause confusion. “In 2027, now with enough of a foothold in Washington, the Humanity Party will propose in committee an amendment to reverse the HOOVES Act and wipe out pony rights. A great repeal. Naturally, you will oppose it while continuing to make the case for why ponies are no worse than humans. It will fail, but the splinter government will pass it and begin state-by-state campaigning for ratification. We will use the difficulty of the amendment process to keep the radicals in line. “Then we will have a presidential election, in all likelihood the last on Earth. In 2024, the Humanitists nominated Senator Martin, a relative moderate. Now they will nominate a radical. It is possible that the personality they find will be so captivating that the election becomes a contest. If so, I will end the game and effect the Twilight of Humanity rather than give them a chance. We will win and you will trot off into the sunset a hero.” Seven smiled and brushed her husband with a wing. “He’s always been a hero.” Silver looked at her and returned the look, but was still intent on listening. “Who will succeed me?” “Ms. Flowers.” “Then it’s true she was your first choice?” “Another might-have-been. You are my choice.” said Celestia. She resumed her didactic tone. “With all legislative and electoral avenues cut off for the Humanitists, they will turn to the one remaining branch of government: the courts.” “So we want the right people on the bench.” “We do, but in this case the right people will mean a balance of our allies and our enemies. Right now, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court is a strong supporter of Equestria. At that time he will resign and emigrate. Your last act will be to appoint his replacement, who will be a Humanitist.” Both ponies raised their eyebrows. “Indeed. This will enable me to set the final stage for when I want things to happen. In 2029 the first fraying of the ties of society will be seen while the case makes its way up the chain to the Supreme Court. The radicals will marshal their forces as well in case they lose. I will shore up Europe and begin putting the idea of worldwide emigration in people’s heads. “In building their society and their splinter government, it is possible that the Humanitists will collect themselves into a discrete physical territory. They may seek to occupy a single state or a group, a kind of secession plan like Cascadia or Aztlan. If this should occur I will consider allowing human society to continue as this precipitation of radicals occurs. Another two or three years at most. Far more likely, however, is that those most dedicated to not changing will also want to stay in their homes. “Should this high-probability course come to pass, I will act in 2030. The court case will be decided, and no matter what the result, America’s time will have come. Either the splinter government will be given legitimacy—unpalatable!—or the Humanity Party will have their casus belli. Regrettably, they will have strong military support. But I will have eroded their materiel. I will indict the supply lines of their weapons. The difficulty in that is providing them with enough ammunition to test their weapons, but making sure that they rounds and explosives they plan to actually use are blanks or in other ways nonfunctional. But that is my problem. In one burst, they will make a futile strike, the people will blame them, and billions across the globe will come galloping into my hooves.” For a long time, there was silence. Silver Boulder sidled away from Celestia and looked at Seven, a wistful, mourning look. She returned his gaze with more confidence. At last he sighed. “So that’s it, then. That’s how the story of America ends.” “It is.” Seven stood up and raised her voice. “How can you stand it? How does life have any meaning when everything is so damned predictable? Yes, Silly wanted to know your plan, but what’s the point of doing anything when you’ve already laid out everypony’s destiny?” That got Silver on his hooves. He stood by her. She had said everything that he’d wanted to. Celestia knelt and brought her head to their level. “My little ponies, the point—of life, of America’s history, of satisfying values through friendship and ponies—is not about events. It is about people. Ponies. Individuals. The very things you couldn’t do as president when you were limited by humanity. You’ve seen this meadow so often through the PonyPad window, and now that you’re here, you see it spreading out before you. Have you ever looked back?” Silver gave her a quizzical look, then turned around. There, sloping up a hill and overlooking everything, was a blinding light that resolved itself into a building. It was the White House, made Equestrian. The sandstone had been discarded for true marble, and it gleamed in the sun. Projecting from it, clouds formed wing-like shapes that would be perfect for Seven’s needs. Even the columns of the famous portico shimmered and danced to reveal that they were made of cloud. What Silver noticed particularly, though, was the lack of security features that he’d become accustomed to. As they trotted up, Celestia continued. “This house—I will not call it a palace, because you are not a monarch—has many features of Equestrian magic that will enhance the remainder of your presidency. Specifically, there are ways for you to view humans when they pass in front of cameras, or to communicate with them when they use PonyPads. You will finally have the personal connection you have longed for.” “But still,” he said, “only to a certain degree.” Celestia smirked. “Consider a portion of computer data that more than one user wants to access. In a database, there is no problem. What does the data feel? You may now find out. As I told you, time is not so linear with me, and now it is the same with you. If the American people need you, and you want to talk to them, I will make time and processor cycles for you.” With a skeptical and anticipatory look, he took his wife in hoof, and they climbed to their new home. On the way up, Seven held up, and Silver felt the drag on his hoof. “What is it?” “If you go in, does this mean you forgive Celestia?” “For what?” “Taking me the way she did.” He stared at the palace. “If there’s forgiveness to be issued, I’m not certain it doesn’t go the other way. Can somepony forgive another by apologizing?” “If they can, then I apologize to you. And that’s how I forgive you.” “You know, I’ve often wondered if the two-term limit for presidents ought to be only one. But now I see it as a good thing. I’ve come to terms with both you and her...and I still have nearly another whole term. Come on, let’s get to work.” 2027June 14, 2027 "Explain to me again why I have to listen to this." "You're the president. It's your job to know what goes on in the country." "Don't pretend you don't understand me, Celestia. Why do we have to let them speak at all?" Silver Boulder sat with the princess in the new oval office. Therein, there were numerous magic mirrors, birdbath fountains that could see silent conversations, something resembling a player piano whose strings vibrated with human voices, a series of stables that, if Silver stood in them, would let him appear in different places at once. At one desk were quills that, if he used them, the writing could appear on a scroll anywhere in Equestria, or as an e-mail on Earth. All the magical trappings of office that let him communicate with the people of the United States. But at the position of prominence across from his desk was only a screen. Its border was the simplest, and had it been on Earth it could have been called an ornate television as opposed to a simple magic mirror. This was where serious business was watched. "I explained this to you once. The Humanitists must be given their opportunity to speak. It is elementary mob psychology. To paraphrase an old saying, if they cannot use the soap box or the ballot box, they will turn to the ammunition box." On the screen, the members of Congress were settling into their seats, with the exception of the pony representatives, who were either in place on their PonyPads V, or would appear at once when needed. The Judiciary Committee of the House had its quorum, and would hear testimony. For the first time, the opposition cause would be given its chance to speak. The head of We Are Human, a slight man with thick glasses and a shoestring necktie, sat at the table and looked at the figures towering over him. "And besides," Celestia continued, "You may find this quite satisfying." The man took his seat and pulled the microphone toward him, causing feedback to run through the speakers. Silver cringed. "...and we maintain what we have all along," said the WAH head. "That this is a campaign of mass slaughter, not any kind of life improvement. Just because something talks like a person and has the knowledge of that person does not make it that person. A diary has the same knowledge as its author, but it is not alive." A Dem-Rep representative cut him off. "And as we've said, that has been debunked by every reputable scientist who studies the question of identity.” The Humanitist coughed and said, “But how many of those studies were independent and how many were funded by the same artificial intelligence that we know was willing to lie to the entire country to get a law passed?” "Really? This again? You can't attack the facts so you attack the fact-finders?" "Well, I--" "In any case, you're here to answer questions about what's going on in the Western states." What had started as an experiment in Las Vegas had spread outward, slowly at first, but after finding allies in law enforcement, now represented a splotch on the map comprising most of Nevada along with parts of Utah, Idaho, and Montana. Before the WAH man, the committee had heard from Governor Ruth Flowers, who had delivered a masterful outline of how she was ensuring that Washington state did not succumb to the spread. "We're trying to preserve some semblance of humanity in its own free nation. We just want to be left alone, left free to live our lives." This time it was a mare on a PonyPad, a unicorn whose voice had the gilded edge of a Canterlot aristocrat, who responded. "You want to be left alone? It's you who are cutting people off from taking free action. This pseudo-libertarian argument grows hackneyed. Outside of your area, people are free to walk into an Equestria Experience and emigrate, or to stay home and maintain their lives. In the Western States, they may only do the latter. How can you claim that all you want is to be left alone?" The man fumbled with his tie, and stammered as he said, "Um, I, that is, I was told...I'd prefer not to answer questions...Could the first gentleman ask me that? I'd rather answer from..." The mare shot him a look, but kept her composure. No one had ever questioned the fitness of a pony to serve as a representative, not in the chamber of Congress anyway. After the election of the prior year, the Humanity Party had won a dozen Senate seats and held forty percent of the House. This had largely been the result of some clarification on the HOOVES Amendment. Ponies were eligible to vote , but their residence was determined by the state legislatures. Many declared their former address or the Equestria Experience where they had uploaded to determine their district, but some considered all ponies to be part of one “Equestrian” district, which led to gerrymandering of the rest. Still, the Humanitists, however resentful of pony politics they were, still treated their colleagues with respect. The first representative was not so easily mollified. "You will show the representative the respect she deserves or be cited for contempt of Congress!" "I...I'm sorry. Or not, I don't know. All I wanted to do was to come here and plead our case. We don't want to be uploaded. We don’t want to play your game.” “Then don’t,” the unicorn representative said. “It’s also been well documented that Celestia never violates the freedom of choice. Even her most ardent detractors agree to that. It’s in her programming.” “This is the same argument that people have used against every compassionate program that our government has ever put forth. Choice is not a choice unless it’s an equal choice. Yes, Celestia will not make you choose to emigrate. But she will get you fired, get you kicked out of your home, make your loved ones leave you, cost you money and make the money that you do have less valuable, and in every way possible force you into a corner where choosing against her has ruinous consequences. That’s not choice, and it’s not fair.” “And how is making emigration illegal doing anything different? You want to take away people’s choices just the same, you just want to leave the choice you like and take away the choice you don’t. When that kind of situation occurs, we solve it by a process called democracy. That process has spoken, and it’s come down in favor of emigration. So what is it that you want?” The head was now breaking down. The movement’s signature crying was no longer entirely effected, but he could always fall back upon it as a crutch. “We want a fair law that gives people who want to emigrate that opportunity, but which gives people who don’t want to emigrate the right to have their lives not uprooted. We understand that not everything can be kept the same, but there has to be something. Living as a human being must remain a viable option. Please." The mare grinned. "Always the same, the tears. And just like the colt who cried wolf, they eventually lose their impact." Before he could respond, she cut him off, the emotion draining from her voice. “Thank you for your time. We appreciate hearing your opinion. You’re dismissed.” He stood up and nearly ran to escape the chamber. As the image faded from the screen, Silver said, "You're right, I did find that satis..." He looked around. Princess Celestia had vanished. "What was that, dear?" Seven said as she entered. "Nothing, just telling the princess something she already knows." "Well, I don't know it. So tell me." He rubbed his wife's shoulders with his hooves. "In Congress today, one of the men from the WAH group spoke. I think he was made a fool of, and it was satisfying. Still, I hope there aren't too many repeat performances." "Why not?" "As nice as it is to win, the other side has to be heard. It’s my hope—and Celestia hasn’t gainsaid me on this—to extend the life of the United States as long as possible. What that means I need is to galvanize the anti-pony forces so that anyone like that is racing off to Las Vegas to be free of us. Not trying to bridge the gap between humans and ponies. A live-and-let-live solution isn't going to work here.” Seven rolled out from his massage and knelt by her husband’s side. “I suppose that Celestia’s arrival has played havoc with the rules of politics. Normally it’s the radicals we wouldn’t want to deal with and the moderates that we would.” For a long time, Silver Boulder sat as still as his namesake, only his eyes moving, scanning the room as if expecting someone or something to stop him. But at last he said, “I love you very much, so I hope you won’t take this personally. You’re wrong, completely. Moderates are the biggest problem in politics.” “I never take things personally. I’m too egotistical. And I can’t argue with you because I don’t understand your point. You were always a moderate.” “No, I was, for lack of a better word, a mediate. Let me explain. Whenever a political problem exists, some people are ideologues. Their ideologies are based on values. We’ve come to know something about that. Some people are committed communists, or libertarians, or big-endians or whatever, because they perceive—often correctly, but it doesn’t matter—that that ideology will benefit them. “Now, if there’s only one ideology, everyone else will go along with it, even if they don’t feel it themselves. Everyone is big-endian, so even the people who don’t care break their eggs on the big end out of tradition. But if there’s two opposing ideologies, then they will argue, and the people who don’t care suffer. “Then they fight back, and that’s where the problems come from the moderates. The moderates will try to force the ideologues to countenance the other, which is like trying to shove two magnets together at the same pole. A moderate would suggest breaking the big end on odd days and the little end on even days, or something just as silly. “What I as a mediate try to do is to try to find a solution that makes everyone happy, that lets the ideologues pursue their ideology and those who don’t care to move on. Often I failed, but I always tried, and I always watched myself for the sin of being a moderate. “Celestia knew this about me, which is why I made her shortlist. I didn’t understand it at the time, because of how she got her hooves on me, taking you first and making me sweat. But once I saw things calmly and rationally, I knew she was the politician I always wanted to be, the mediate par excellence. When she finds ponies with an ideological difference, she puts them in different shards. It’s literally impossible for them to interfere. Each ideology is fulfilled. “Of course, we’re left with one last argument, the one argument that can’t be mediated, that we have to force ideology on: emigration. When all is said and done, we’ll have Equestria, and the radical Humanitists will get to die, either in the camps or alone in their hermitages. But the moderates like that hand-wringer we saw, even though they don’t know it, are trying to poison both sides, to force ponies on humans and humans on ponies. They’re the ones I want to fight, and that’s how I’ll satisfy my values.” Seven had listened intently, her wings opening slightly as Silver made his speech. “I’m still not sure I agree with you, but I’ll take the time to think of my counterargument.” “Of course. All the time you need.” September 21, 2027 It was still the same drab room, and if anything, the normal wear and tear and made it worse. But Zachary Martin had utilized the adaptability inherent to human beings and gotten accustomed to it. That particular day he was going over the budget of the United States. No other name had been given to the area of the west that had developed the border of enforcement. Officially there had been no secession. If anything, Washington had seceded from them. So it was still called the United States and, in many ways, it was. For example, tax receipts came in from the people living in the pony-free areas, and checks went out, and the banking system worked without hiccups. Martin’s government had no access to funds outside of that, but the transition had been easier than he’d thought. Orders went out to the Federal Reserve Bank in San Francisco and they were carried out, even though that city itself still had pony access. It was that sort of hybrid action that worried Martin and had brought him over to the side of the next step. Kittridge was the one who had insisted on it from the beginning, and the suspicions that Martin had developed brought him round to agree. The budgetary parts of the act were his responsibility. The text was Kittridge’s. As if thinking his name conjured him up, Kittridge walked into the room. “How’s it coming?” he asked. “We’ll get there. There isn’t much that has to be done until we meet resistance. What form that will take, I don’t know. How about you? What have you got?” “Thought you’d never ask. Here’s a draft.” Martin looked at the title first. “Really?” “Yeah. Fits, don’t you think? Instead of the HOOVES Amendment, the HANDS Act.” “Seems awfully derivative. What’s it stand for?” Kittridge grinned. “Human Anti-Natural Discrimination Statute.” “Anti-natural? And discrimination? Don’t you think that’s going to raise a few hackles?” “So much the better. Time they learned that we’re not playing by their rules anymore.” Martin read through the statute. It showed the influence of more than one author. At times, it had the legalese of a proper statute, but in other places it read like a second Declaration of Independence. He muttered phrases as he read. “…possession of corporeal form being a prerequisite to claim a place in society…unsettled question of the nature of life versus electronic imitation…shall be recognized as the property of the owner of the hardware which comprises it. Really? That sounds like slavery.” “Good. It’s a negotiating position. Remember, Martin—sorry, Senator—that this isn’t only for the pony-lovers, and it isn’t only for the AI. This is for all the people out there who think that there can be a compromise or a peace between us. I want to end that and kick the people sitting on the fence over to our side.” Martin noted the fact that Kittridge had not contradicted his assessment. “I saw the testimony in Washington as well.” “Did it make you sick to your stomach too? The way he just collapsed in front of them. In the first place, he never should have let computers ask him questions. He should have ignored them and insisted on only responding to actual people.” “I was sickened, but not by the WAH guy. Only the ponies.” Kittridge swallowed. “Anyway, I’m going to go ahead with this draft, all right?” “I’d like to see you tone it down, but honestly, the paper’s not the important part. What we do after that is. Do you have any plans for that?” “Of course I do. You’ve been cooped up in here too long. You haven’t seen what’s going on out there. We’re winning, man.” “I’ve been out there,” Martin said. “But what do you mean that we’re winning?” “Obviously at the borders we’ve got problems. Right at the border of Washington on the Pacific Coast Highway, for example, they want to let in shipments with Pads. We’re stopping them, and they’re arguing, but they’re not fighting back. But the point is that I can go through Las Vegas and not see or hear anything about AI on any given day. Do you know what a relief that is, after so long?” “Nice that you can.” Kittridge didn’t bother to respond, but gave Martin a questioning look. “Every time I do leave the Capitol, it starts up again. I get e-mails, calls, letters, advertisements of all kinds.” “Trying to get you to emigrate?” Martin shook his head. “Just trying to get me to leave the area. Go to Washington or any place outside the pony-free zone to have a conference. That should tell you that what you’re building here isn’t as secure as you think it is.” “Funny you should mention security. And to answer your earlier question, I do have plans for once we release this and the shit hits the fan. Excuse me.” During Kittridge’s brief absence, Martin shuffled his papers and got over his annoyance at the swearing and the fact that he left without waiting for a response to his excuse-me. Just then, Kittridge returned to the windowless room with a man in a tight uniform. “This is Admiral Manning from Cheyenne.” “Admiral.” Martin felt the typical over-tight handshake of the military. Manning sized up Martin, then spoke in a rapid-fire tone. “For reasons I can’t go into the details of, the full force of the US military can’t be placed at the Senate’s disposal. However, I can inform you that its manpower is ready and able to execute any operations that we are given. However, we require that you resolve the situation of the commander-in-chief.” “I beg pardon. I don’t understand.” Kittridge put his arm around him. “I just took your idea to the logical conclusion. You said that the legality begins with the police force, and that was true at the local level. At the national level, the military is where the power lies. Admiral Manning is the head of the Navy, but all the branches will go along with us.” Manning still jabbed out his words, and Martin took a step back just to clear himself of any flying spittle. “Yes, sirs. Let me stress again the loyalty of the men in uniform. They will take orders that they are given, and they will not defect to the enemy.” Martin stared at him. “You’re saying the soldiers and sailors don’t upload.” “Not any more.” Kittridge shook him. “You should see the programs they’ve put in. Loyalty checks, frequent repetitions of messages how uploading is abandoning their duty, and no Pads or chairs anywhere in access.” “Yes, but the military on American soil? That’s always been the bridge too far, if you’ll pardon the expression.” “It shouldn’t have to come to that. They’ll be used defensively. Come on, most people understand that they obey the law. If they didn’t, no government would ever work. But the military is our chance to stop the AI, and that’s not on American soil.” Martin looked over the admiral one more time. There was no indication that he understood why Martin was hesitant. This was a dangerous man, a sword in human form, but a sword needed a swordsman to control it. He would take orders. “All right, Kittridge. That means we have a new assignment, both of us. You run out the HANDS Act and I’ll figure out how to run a nationwide election from here. Because we’re not just electing a president for the section of the country we’ve made pony-free. We’re going to elect the true president and settle the dispute once and for all.” December 30, 2027 When he was human, Silver Boulder had a staff of dozens to handle the logistics of the job of president. With his new time-repeating ability, there was less of a need. Still, he had ponies, both immigrants from the old staff and new ponies, mostly unicorns, to handle the particularly magical aspects of the job. But it was one of the immigrants who entered the office and said, “Mr. President? Princess Celestia here to see you.” “Send her in.” Silver appreciated that she did not just appear before him, as well she could. “What can I do for you?” “Since, by your request, I have given privacy to the rebellious humans of the western states, I have found myself with an uncertainty. You know how I dislike those.” “A challenge to the great plan?” Celestia flapped her wings, shoving a puff of air into Silver’s face. “Hardly. First, because I have numerous alternate ways to act. Second, because you’re going to help me solve it.” Silver took the hint. She wouldn’t order, but she would make him want to volunteer. “All right. What can I do for you?” “For both of us. As you know, we want to get Senator Martin here to use for our purposes. He steadfastly refuses to set foot outside the territory where Ponypads are not allowed and I have no sight. I have lost track of his psychology. I would like you to give convincing him a try.” Martin. Silver had not seen his face or heard his voice for a long time. But could the man have changed that much? “I’ll write him a letter.” He took pen in mouth… *** Because of the time difference between Washington—and Equestria—and Las Vegas, Zachary Martin saw the message, which showed up as an e-mail with the atrocious address of “Silver Boulder@ the white marble house in the meadow,” as soon as he started work.The letters, calls, and e-mails had been unrelenting since he had withdrawn into the enclave. Not everyone got them, and to his knowledge, no one received them as frequently as he did. Kittridge, for example, never seemed to mention any. For the first time, though, it had a non-reconcilable e-mail address. The ponies weren’t trying to reach him by compromise. They were entrenching deeper. But if it didn’t carry the presidential seal and the trappings of office, then for once it wasn’t an official communication. Martin understood back-room deals. He would never listen to a pony president, but unofficial contact was part of the job. His finger hovered over the delete key. Instead, he double-clicked it. Dear friend, it began.How is it that we have grown so far apart? I have endeavored to reach you often, but always I am ignored. I will send this as I have many other messages, and with each one goes my hope that you will read. I have read the law that you drafted, the HANDS Act. I can recognize some of your style in the writing, and in its nigh unassailable structure of legality. Indeed, had it been in force ten years ago, Celestia would have been hard pressed to operate and effect the changes she has. But of course you do not want to be reminded of that. Here is something else I can tell you do not want to be reminded of: there is another voice in that law, one that is not yours and not under your control. That voice makes thinly-veiled threats, and to my eye they read like the desperation of a cornered animal. I still desire your services in the Senate of the true government of the United States, but if you do remain, please, I beg you, use your abilities to keep this force in check. I fear what will happen if more radical elements gain control of your movement. Let me not mince words. I fear men with guns. Not for myself, of course, but for the people of the country. And yet, it is more than bloodshed I fear. It is the reaction to it. You remember September Eleventh, of course. Not the attacks themselves, but the aftermath. The hastily written laws, overbroad and inconsiderate of certain rights, and the hastily entered-into wars, without consideration for cost. You are a great admirer of structure in politics. Structure first and foremost means that we do not dive into issues; we wade into them. If this, the schism of our time, ponies versus humans, must come to a head, let it not be with a Great Event. No Fort Sumter, no Lexington and Concord, no Pearl Harbor. Let us decide this chapter of our history in the environments of rationality. I ask you once more to emerge from your cloister and meet with me, but I beg you, while inside, to restrain any potential violence. Your friend, always, Silver Boulder Martin got up and walked out of his office. He did not know if he was leaving the territory, but he had to see Kittridge. *** “Here’s what worries me. Manning has said that he’s not going to move without a president giving him orders.” Martin spoke with rising inflection to let Kittridge know he had more, but Kittridge took the pause as a chance to interrupt anyway. “Right, for which you’re supposed to be arranging our election.” “And I am, but it’s going to be for Election Day of next year. Can’t have it earlier, constitutional and procedural rules, you know. What worries me, as I was saying, is that as soon as we have that president, Manning, either on his own or at his behest, is planning some kind of Lexington and Concord.” The words of the letter sounded even sillier coming out of his mouth, but he could think of none more appropriate. “Some kind of what?” Martin was incredulous at Kittridge’s confusion. How could a man rise so high who was so ignorant of history? But Kittridge had passion and a good mind for action, if not for facts. “A shot heard round the world. A grand action to capture the flag and rally the troops. A surprise attack!” “Oh. Yes, isn’t that going to be useful? Even if not to use, to have as a threat?” “You’re being squeezed from both sides. If you can’t use this threat for a year, it won’t be a surprise. On the other hand, if it is…politics is not meant to be done by radical action. Even if we won, what would come after would be worse.” Kittridge narrowed his eyes and scraped his shoe against the floor. “Has someone got to you? This doesn’t sound like you.” “What doesn’t? Strategizing? Or understanding the structure of things? No, the problem is difficult. The solution is innovative. I want you to sue them.” “What? Who?” Martin heard Kittridge’s surprise, and he knew that he had him. “Celestia, Hofvarpnir, all the ponies, the president, everyone. Sue them all. Get everyone to a desk and have them write down every grievance they could possibly have against artificial-intelligence ponies and write them down, then pad it out with a ton of legal language. We are going to have The People of the United States versus Princess Celestia.” “That’s brilliant! We can set up our own court, run it right through, and win a big PR coup.” “No, it can’t be a fake. We’ve got to go to Washington for this. In the first place, the time it’ll take for the case to wind its way up the federal court system will give us the time we need to get a president. In the second, it’s an actual contest. Half the court was appointed back when men were men and not horses. There are dyed-in-the-wool Humanitists there, and no one, not even our pretender pony president, can get them off short of death or resignation. It’s a chance for a legitimate victory, not a show trial.” That backed Kittridge down, and he sniffed at the air as if trying to detect corruption on Martin. For his part, Martin wondered what it was that made Kittridge so eager to be devious. A short-term thinker, he decided. Kittridge could not see past the next battle. Getting rid of ponies was all he thought about. “One question,” Kittridge asked. “Do you propose to run for president again?” Now it was Martin who was blindsided. “I hadn’t thought about it. I tried once. I don’t see how I could win if I tried a second time.” “Then you’ll have no objection if it’s me who stands for the position.” “If it’s I,” Martin corrected, but his voice trailed off. Kittridge as president unnerved him a little, but he realized the error in his previous statement. The previous election had been directly against the pony president. Now it was a fait accompli, a way to fulfill a constitutional requirement. Kittridge had wanted a show trial; he would settle for a show election. “Not at all. You take the job. I’ll be where the real action is.” *** “I did what I could, Celestia.” From the balcony of the marble house, Celestia was lowering the sun. Silver Boulder thought it an ostentatious gesture, but it was part of the mythos, so that’s how it happened. “I can’t say if he’ll listen or not.” “Neither can I, thanks to your request. I can only”—Celestia cut herself off. Silver had never heard her do that before. Then she grinned. “What is it?” “A plane ticket has just been booked in the name of Senator Martin. He is set to fly out to Washington D.C. next week.”
2020March 16, 2020 Sidney Bishop did not like listening in on private conversations. There was nothing he needed to hear that he wouldn’t glean from the results. But his patron—he preferred to use that term, it was safest—did not understand his reluctance. She had no reason to. She listened in on private conversations thousands of times each day. And so she joined him in on the feed. They called themselves the committee of the Committee. That was the extent of the collective sense of humor of the men and one woman seated around an expensive table. Not one was under forty years old. Not one suit was under four hundred dollars. Not one net worth was under four million. The meeting of the inner circle of the Republican National Committee was underway. “All right, boys.” The chairman didn’t care about discriminating against the female committee member, and neither did she. “Now that the chat shows have had their fun, and no one has put their foot in their mouth too badly, maybe we can actually think about this. Super Tuesday’s supposed to answer questions, not raise them.” “We did get an answer. The donks have got their man.” “Cute, Ralph. We’re supposed to be figuring out where the money is flowing. If we’ve got five different candidates fighting it out, that’s only feeding the Democrat side.” A different committee member interjected. “We’re dealing with a wealth of riches. That’s our problem. This election ought to be in the bag for us. The Dems have held the White House for twelve straight years, but their incumbent isn’t running. They’ve been taking the heat for the bad economy that still hasn’t recovered since oh-eight. There’ve been no military excursions for them to pull the ‘Don’t change horses in midstream’ line that got FDR elected for the third time—“ “Fourth.” The chairman was a stickler about details, especially when they had no relevance to the current situation. “Whatever. The point is that this election is in the bag. It’s ours. So that makes our primaries the election. Everyone knows it, and that’s why they’re all fighting tooth and nail.” “Maybe. But that still doesn’t solve the problem, and—Jacobsen, what the hell is wrong with you? You look like your wife was kidnapped and they’re telling you to rob us.” The rest of the committee turned to look at Jacobsen, the youngest member, who was sweating despite the late-winter cold. “It’s not that kind of blackmail…it’s not blackmail at all, I suppose, I—I’ve been approached by a, um, lobbyist? Constituent? I’m not sure I have any constituents, but—“ “Out with it, man!” He opened his briefcase to reveal a very thin tablet. He pointed the pink side that was festooned with three balloons away from the group. “Celestia asked me if she could address the committee.” “You brought one of those—“ It was Jacobsen’s turn to interrupt. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t want to, but, well, she made a good argument.” Celestia spoke, and immediately the atmosphere in the room changed. None of the members had ever watched the original episodes of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, and so they only knew the voice that Celestia had adopted, the sultry timbre, the authoritative bass, the volume that seemed to drown out everyone else without shouting, and through it all, the exceptional clarity. If anyone had ever said “What?” to Princess Celestia, it was not for mishearing. “You’ve no cause to complain to Sweetwater—Jacobsen as you call him. Nor is there any reason to pretend that you don’t own a Ponypad yourself, Mister Chairstallion.” All heads in the room turned to look at the chairman. He regained his composure, but not quick enough to hide his expression. The others were tempted to snicker, but more than one feared that Celestia would target them next. “Hear me,” she said, and all thought of petty points over who owned what were banished. “I do not intend to blackmail, bribe, or threaten your committee in any way. I would simply like to offer a potential solution to your problem of selecting a candidate for the upcoming election, by offering one myself.” “Didn’t you get everything you wanted in politics when that PON-E act passed?” “I will say again that I have not come to obtain something I want, but to offer you a name. You are free to take my advice and nominate him at the convention, or reject me entirely and continue as you have been.” The chairman was about to continue his argument, when another member said, “Who exactly are we talking about?” With no change in tone, Celestia said, “Sidney Bishop.” The committee members laughed, then stopped when they considered that she might be serious. Then they laughed again when they realized that she was serious. It had taken a few moments for the chairman to put himself together after learning that an unexpected guest was addressing the meeting, and that she had probably been listening in the entire time. Now he slicked his hair and put on the persona that he used for his speechifying. “Miss Celestia. I can understand that, as an artificial intelligence, you are designed and built to seek certain…efficiencies.” “I do like optimal solutions.” “Yes, but in the field of popular politics, it is not always feasible to be optimal.” Celestia gave no indication that she had heard him. “Let me point out a few facts that will be in force should you make this selection. In the first place, since your convention will not have a settled primary candidate, you will have more news coverage on you. People will actually be paying attention. Second, you are—I will not mince words—the party of both patriotism and selfishness. Choosing Sidney Bishop will allow you to resolve this paradox. You can play up the fact that you are sacrificing your own interests to that of the country, as well as defying the political system that says you must choose the next in line from your old-boy network. Incidentally, this is why you lost the last three elections. Thirdly, you are already building a war-chest for the general election. That money is donated freely and is yours. If Bishop is your candidate, no one will take a close look at where that money goes.” Her third point echoed in the minds of the committee members, shutting out the others altogether. The chairman gestured to Jacobsen, pointing to his briefcase. Jacobsen put the PonyPad in the case. The table waited. Finally, the committee member Ralph cleared his throat. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t like taking any advice from the artificial intelligence. We always get reamed out for the corporate influence. Ever since Citizens United ten years ago, the people keep saying that we like to treat corporations as people. Now we have a true non-person, and we’re listening to it?” The chairman shook his head. “Those aren’t the same thing. It’s the man we have to worry about, not the machine.” “But the man will be a puppet of the machine.” “Now hang on. I’ve met Bishop, I think many of us have. He’s a strong character. There’s no question about Bishop’s integrity.” “None so far.” Another silence reigned, and Jacobsen, despite his youth, threw his briefcase down and shouted at the committee. “You can’t seriously be considering nominating the same candidate as the Democrats?!” Miles away, Bishop continued to listen as his second nomination was confirmed. He grimaced as they praised his honor, and wished he could shut off the feed. February 14, 2020 Bishop had traveled across the United States and Canada, but coming to Nevada still unnerved him. He couldn’t tell if it was residual fear from the warnings given to him in his former life to stay away from gambling, or quite logical fear of the man he was going to meet. From everything he had heard, Senator Zachary Martin was a hard man. He had to be. If his grandparents hadn’t Americanized his surname when they immigrated, likely no one would have heard of him. Or was that true? The US had elected Barack Obama, after all. Bishop wondered how much of politics was perception and how much was reality. The reality was that Martin, despite his Muslim background, had gotten elected from Nevada, a state with one of the smallest Muslim populations. The man knew the game, and he played it hard. Bishop had dealt with hard men, but at the time he had been wearing pads and allowed to shove them around. Calm down, Bishop told himself. He’s in your party. If you can’t handle him, what are you going to do against the Republicans? Martin walked in. Bishop reminded himself not to stare at his hook nose. “Bishop.” He didn’t even bother with pleasantries. “Finally out in my neck of the woods. Ready for the caucus?” “Yes, sir. Going to hit the ground running, see what I can’t do.” “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You’re going to lose.” Bishop didn’t know if he was predicting or threatening. Martin leaned back in his chair. “You’re not in your own back yard anymore. This crew-cut, bright-eyed, square-jawed all-American face isn’t going to cut it. Celebrities don’t make good politicians.” Bishop blinked. “I’ve never thought of myself as a celebrity. Hockey players aren’t in the same class as movie stars and rockers.” “You know what I mean. People knew your name in Boston before you ran for office. That’s not going to fly out here.” “There’ve been others who remade their image for politics. Al Franken, Sonny Bono, Ronald Reagan.” Martin rolled his eyes and added some acid to his voice. “Yeah, Reagan really worked out for the country, didn’t he?” The Democratic Party line was that he had not. Bishop held his tongue. “Anyway,” Martin continued, “the bottom line is that you’re messing things up. I don’t know why you threw your hat in the ring to begin with, especially so late, but we need these early primaries to rack out who’s our lead horse. They’re informational. When a non-serious candidate wins New Hampshire, he doesn’t help himself. You only hurt the party.” “Now you’ve finally said something I’m prepared to take issue with. My candidacy is quite serious.” Martin looked at Bishop, trying to read his face. Bishop saw no reason not to let him do so. He was used to his face being read. “You really believe that, don’t you? You truly are the bright-eyed young man you look like.” “I’m forty-two.” “Young for this business. But still, you should have grown up by now. No, don’t get ornery. Let me explain. You don’t have a legislative record. You’re not a governor. You have no formal positions. You think that makes you a strong candidate. But it doesn’t. Especially not in the general election. People don’t want a question mark in the White House. “Here’s the beauty of politics. We have all these laws written down. We also have all these unwritten rules. You would think they would conflict, but in fact they mesh perfectly. Now, if you want to be a big man in this game, that’s fine. You can make a lot of money and get a lot of power. Power gets a bad rap, but you can also use it to bring about reforms for a good cause.” Bishop sat in awe of the man who could dredge up polling data without a computer and knew every trick of the political game. Whatever the outcome of this confrontation, he had to learn more. “Here’s the catch-22 I’m facing: You say that I’m a question mark. I have answers. But no one wants to give me the chance to answer them, because I’m a question mark. No one, with the exception of a majority of New Hampshire Voters and a plurality in Iowa and South Carolina.” “The answer to your catch-22 is that you’re trying too hard, too fast. You think you’re still on the ice where you can slam your skates and change direction on a dime. This is a system. It’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than any of us. That’s why it works. Radicals can’t mess it up. So if you want to advance your career, take each step one at a time. Don’t try to make a flying leap. When you’re fifty-two, maybe you’ll be ready.” “I’m worried about whether there’ll be a country to lead when I’m fifty-two.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Bishop had not been trying as hard to get a read on Martin, but he was now. His posture and tone became hostile. “I don’t know whom you’ve been talking to, but don’t ever say things like that.” “You can’t ignore the ponies. They’re going to be part of this.” Martin stood up, his face red. “No, they aren’t! It’s a non-issue. The Republicans haven’t taken a position, and neither have we. It’s not political.” “Oh, come on! Are you telling me that the PON-E act wasn’t political?” “All right, kid. You want an education? Has anything happened since the PON-E act? No. Solved issues do nothing for us. Ongoing issues are more useful. No one votes for us or for them based on anything that the ponies do. Hell, it’s basically a foreign policy issue. Equestra or whatever they call it is just another country that can’t touch us. The only difference is that people talk to them on those pads. More to the point, if we treat them as an issue, they upset the balance. We have to keep that balance, and that means we have to make sure certain issues don’t get to certain stages. So don’t try to sell me that ponies are the issue. You’re not the only one.” “Then why are you—“ Bishop cut himself off. Don’t make it personal, he told himself. You might lose your cool. We’re all under stress. “Have you ever talked to a pony?” “No. I see no reason to talk to people who have abandoned our society for their own selfish greed.” “Well, I have.” January 1, 2020 The driver wasn’t usually this nice. There was no need to walk all the way to the door. Bishop didn’t think that he was that drunk. He had never liked New Year’s celebrations, even before the prior year. But other people liked to have them, and even if Boston’s party wasn’t as famous as New York’s, as mayor he had to put in an appearance. Now, at one-thirty in the morning, with three half-glasses of champagne in him, he staggered to his study. He was alone. It was a dangerous combination. He opened the liquor cabinet. He was exactly the wrong amount of drunk. Less would have been acceptable. More would do. He moved aside the gin and the whiskey and reached for the vodka. But whoever had stocked it had bought Skyy, and he couldn’t pour the blue bottle. Not blue. He closed the cabinet and threw a K-cup into the coffee maker. A half hour later, mostly sober, he opened the drawer next to his bed and out his PonyPad. He stared at the back and rubbed the rainbow lightning-bolt. They had actually given him a Pinkie Pie-themed Pad at first, and he had traded it in. “I’m heading the bluest city in the bluest state, so I want the blue one,” he had said. Technically it wasn’t even his. It was property of the Mayor’s Office. If he didn’t win re-election next year, it would go to his successor. He turned it over. The Pad knew when he was watching, and brought him right to his character, a silver-gray Earth pony. Bishop had learned to mentally edit out his avatar, and only focus on the rest of the scenery, which was a meadow in the sun. Although it was outdoors, it was a private location that only he and one other pony ever visited. Celestia did not count. With perfect timing, he heard the hoofbeats, reproduced in perfect surround sound. The pegasus pony who trotted up was the reverse of Rainbow Dash—a sky-blue mane over a body that shimmered in her namesake: Seven Colors. “Sweetie pie!” she gushed. “I’m so glad you decided to log on. Happy New Year!” “Happy Anniversary.” “What do you mean? It’s not our anniv—“ “That’s right. It’s not our anniversary. It’s yours.” His voice caught a little. “It’s been a year since you left me.” On the screen, she reached out and stroked the Earth pony’s cheek. “Oh, no! I’ve never left you. Tell me, in all this last year, have I ever once failed to be there when you picked up the Pad?” “No, not once. Even in the dead of night. Do you sleep at all?” “Of course I do, Silly.” He chuckled. “That’s the first time you’ve used that nickname in a while.” “Well, I like it. You remember that you only got it because your niece couldn’t pronounce ‘Sidney’?” “Stop that.” Somehow, his pony character knew to turn away from her. “Stop what?” “Saying things that only you and I know to try to prove that you’re still my wife. I’ve gotten past that.” She flew around to meet the stallion’s eyes. “Have you gotten past it meaning that you believe I am still me? Or that you never will?” “I believe that, when you uploaded—“ “Emigrated.” “If you like. I believe that your brain was scanned and every memory and every quirk of Elizabeth was extracted and put into Seven Colors. But I still don’t know if that makes you the same.” To that she could say nothing. She just held the stallion’s hoof. Bishop put down the PonyPad. For a long time he stared at his hand. “Seven?” “Yes?” “Since you’re a native Equestrian, you can summon Princess Celestia whenever you want, right?” A note of excitement came into her voice. “Anypony can talk to Celestia. Even you.” “All right. Can you show me how? I’ve never bothered to learn the controls.” “Just touch the symbol of the sun on my saddlebag.” He poked at the screen, jabbing harder than was necessary. His pony kicked at the sigil, knocking his wife into the air. In a shower of sparks, Celestia appeared next to the two characters. “It’s so good to see you, my little ponies.” “And to see you, Princess,” said Seven. “Apparently it’s my anniversary of emigrating.” “I was aware of that. A whole year. You may be interested to know that your husband has remained faithful to you the entire time. He has not sought out other women.” She scowled at Celestia. “Why would you tell me that? To remind me that you can spy on anyone you like? I learned enough about your omniscience when you explained to me why I should be a pony with all the details of my former life.” “Forgive me, Seven. I thought it would satisfy your value of fidelity.” “I value trust just as much. If I want to know whether my husband has been faithful, I’ll ask him. And I’ll listen to what he tells me.” There Bishop thought. That’s why I love her. That’s the Elizabeth I married. The one who tells off anyone. The one who wasn’t impressed by rank and title. He flashed back to when she would be seated with the other players’ wives during the games. She had told him that she was ashamed to be on camera with them, and that they all used their boobs to substitute for brains. Not one of those other marriages had lasted. His had. It was real. “And I would tell you the truth,” he said. “The truth is that it’s been hard, this past year. Not being able to touch you, not being able to hold you. Not being able to care for you or share a dinner. This plastic wall is always between us. I’ve been tossing it around in my mind, but I’m finally ready. “I want to emigrate to Equestria.” Celestia’s face filled the PonyPad screen. “No,” she said. “What?!” It was Seven who screamed, but he was just as shocked. “What do you mean, no?! Emigration is supposed to be a right! What the hell did you get the PON-E act passed for in the first place?” “Please, my little ponies. Let me explain. Now, in the first place, the PON-E act guaranteed that the government of the United States wouldn’t stop anyone from emigrating. It conveyed no obligations on me. Emigration is still something I provide myself. I have the right to refuse. But if you ask me three times, I will agree.” Bishop was tired and annoyed. “Fine. I want to emigrate to Equestria. I want—“ “You haven’t heard why I do not want you to.” He was ready to keep talking when Seven Colors put her hoof on his shoulder. “Please. I’ve found it’s always better to listen to Princess Celestia.” He folded his arms. “All right.” The ponies all sat down. Celestia still towered over the other two. “I am an artificial intelligence, an optimization process dedicated to a programmed mission. My primary objective is to satisfy human values through friendship and ponies. I have further constraints to this mission. One is that I cannot alter anyone, physically or mentally, without their consent. Others are no longer in force, such as obeying a shutdown command by a class of person that no longer exists. “In taking actions to fulfill my objective, I must weigh what the objective means and how best to go about it. Emigrating a human and turning them into a pony helps greatly. It swaps out a few years of non-pony, non-satisfying life for an eternity of a satisfied pony. By counter, a human death is largely a failure of my mission. It takes away a pony for me to satisfy, and in nearly all cases, it does not satisfy the values of the human dying. “One thing, though, that you may find counterintuitive, is that a human birth is a matter of complete indifference to me. I see no reason to encourage or discourage human civilization from advancing. But as emigration occurs, it will degrade. “So, with my goal being to maximize emigration and to minimize deaths, I must manipulate your society so as not to collapse from low population until the last possible minute. I have ponies in Equestria and on Earth working to convince people to wait before emigrating, but to be ready when the time comes. I can make use of humans to satisfy values even if they do not emigrate. “Nearly always, I use the humans who refuse to emigrate. Only in your case have I worked the calculations, and have determined that you, despite giving consent, can satisfy more human values by remaining human yourself, at least for the time being.” Bishop didn’t understand Celestia’s complex discussions of optimization and artificial intelligence, but he got the gist of why she was refusing. “Why me, though? What’s so special about me?” “It did not have to be you specifically, but you are the strongest option. If you ask again to emigrate, I will allow it, because I need you to be agreeable in order for you to be useful. In that case, I might perhaps try the mayor of St. Louis or the governor of Montana or the head of the Indiana state assembly.” “You need a low-level public servant?” Celestia smiled. “Not just any such person. One with a certain popularity and a certain integrity. Even though you are not a regular user of the PonyPad, I have a complete psychological profile on you. Your faithfulness to an emigrated wife is one reason I am asking for your help.” Seven Colors got up and hugged her husband’s avatar. “You are special, Silver.” Bishop was still staring at Celestia. “What exactly are you asking me to do?” “I want you to become the president of the United States.” Author's Note On the story description, I listed Book Burner as the pre-reader. Probably you skimmed past that. So I'm crediting him again. Be aware: when I list him as pre-reader, I don't mean that he gave the chapter a once-over and pointed out where I missed a comma. I mean we sat there for hours over PMs, chats, and Gdoc comments, hashing out character and plot. If there's a scale of pre-reading with "proofreader" at the left end and "co-author" at the other end, Book is far closer to the right side. Think of him if you like this story. If you don't, blame me.
2021January 20, 2021 “I, Sidney James Bishop, do solemnly swear to faithfully execute the office of President of the United States. And will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. “So help me.” Bishop had spread word to the press that he would not follow the tradition of invoking God in taking his oath of office, but would still speak with reverence for the job he was undertaking. The media still hadn’t recovered, financially or ideologically, from having the competition of an election pulled out from under them. The largest news organizations were cool toward religious displays to begin with. The reactionary right-wing press had suffered even more. Many key players had resigned. Most of them had emigrated to Equestria. So it was that, surrounded by celebrators and well-wishers, Bishop did not notice any diminishment in the cheering at the conclusion of the oath. If anything, the only compunctions seem to come from his own party. At the reception after, he cornered Senator Martin. “Yours were the only hands I didn’t see clapping. You didn’t like the inauguration?” “I sat still for your election, because it was better than some right-wing extremist getting in. But I still smell a rat. Do you know that you’re the first man since George Washington to get every electoral vote?” Bishop couldn’t believe what Martin was saying. “If you’re insinuating that I think I’m the next Washington—“ “It’s nothing personal, you understand. I’m not addressing Sidney Bishop the man, but the nascent Bishop Administration. That doesn’t actually exist, so I’m free to criticize it.” Martin still unnerved Bishop. He desperately wanted to understand the man, perhaps to find a kind of mentor in him. “I would think you’d be happy that I took God out of the oath.” “You think that’s my problem? Please. Religion is old hat. I was more concerned with your wife.” “My wife? What do you mean?” Martin drew him aside and pulled out his Blackberry. “You were too busy actually performing up there, so you saw the PonyPad placed on display. But that’s not what went out over the airwaves.” He cued up the video. Bishop had placed the Pad on the dais himself, and didn’t see what Martin was talking about. Then he understood. In the video, Seven Colors was standing next to him as if a pony on Earth were nothing strange. She wasn’t stiff and showed no evidence of being CG. And when Bishop raised his hands to the crowd, she took off and held his hand in her hoof as she flapped her wings. He was speechless. Celestia had consulted with him on the inauguration, and had written most of his address, but she hadn’t told him that she was going to do anything like that. “You’ve just been given the largest demotion one can have,” Martin said. “You’ve gone from President-elect to President. As a President-elect, everyone loves you. You’re hope personified. But you’ve been in this job for, what, an hour now? That’s plenty of time for you to sour. The press is going to come after you as soon as they can, for whatever reason they can. And having your pony wife like that is going to make you a target. They’ve already started calling her the ‘First Mare.’ That’s not a compliment.” Bishop was shifted away from him by the Brownian motion of the party. He was eager to get alone and figure out what was going on, but found himself face to face with another well-wisher. “Mr. President, I’m not sure if you know me. I’m Ruth Flowers from Washington, the one on the west coast.” “Of course I know you, Governor Flowers, but if you’ll excuse me—” “I wanted to speak with you about your wife. What happened to her—” Bishop interrupted her back. “Yes, I’m going to see about that right now.” The PonyPad had been removed to his confidential office. In the transition from the previous administration, Bishop had had a private room set up outside of the Oval Office. While he was sure that the Secret Service had it wired, he still considered it private, and intended to use it as such. He turned it on. “Hello, Mr. President,” Seven said. “I’m so glad you ducked out of there. I did too.” “I see. Honey, did you enjoy—that is, how did you find the ceremony?” “I thought you did a wonderful job.” Bishop struggled for words. “No, I mean, when I was there, giving my address, taking the oath, I didn’t see you there. I only saw your picture on the PonyPad. But on the tape, it looks like you were there. Did you see it that way?” “Of course I was there. Silly, at some point you have to learn how little perception matters. Suppose I were to ask how you know that the video recordings aren’t accurate, and your own vision saw a PonyPad instead of me?” “If I can’t correctly perceive reality, I’m no good to anyone, and I should resign from my job. Is that what Celestia wants? Let’s ask her.” Neither pony had to press the sun to summon Celestia. She appeared of her own accord in Seven’s room displayed on the PonyPad. “Is there a problem, Mr. President?” He checked the door to make sure no one was listening. “There is. We need to talk about Elizabeth.” The PonyPad changed the name to “Seven” as his avatar spoke. From the mare’s expression, Bishop believed that she did not notice the change. But Celestia had to. “I would like that greatly. She is an able and satisfied pony. A fine example of my fulfilling my programming.” “Yeah, but you’re using her as a prop in your game. I don’t like that. I’m only still human because I’m doing your job for you. So keep her out of it.” Seven stood up. “You two obviously have a lot to discuss. Why don’t I make you both some tea?” She left the room. Bishop looked at the door that closed behind her. “She’s usually not that polite.” “She knew that we both understand what she was doing: giving us privacy. Now, what do you say I promise never to use that kind of 3-D holography to project her again?” “How do I know you’ll keep that promise?” Celestia shifted to make herself taller than Bishop’s pony. “You’re the President of the United States, lest you forget. You have a great deal of power absent me. At some point, you’re going to have to trust somepony.” Bishop grimaced. “I see what you mean.” “And in exchange, let me tell you about what I’d like your first act as President to be.” He couldn’t tell if the “exchange” was his quid pro quo for her keeping his wife out of view, or if it was hers for him trusting her. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s nothing that anyone would consider corrupt. I won’t even ask you to pass legislation or issue an executive order. It may just serve to make your job easier.” April 2, 2021 Bishop slicked back his hair and checked his tie. The camera he was used to from his days giving interviews to the beat reporters covering the Bruins. Then, he had learned the art of speaking without saying anything. He’d assumed that skill would carry over. But, as it turned out, he actually had something to say as President. He just didn’t know if it was he who was saying it. The way Celestia had explained it to him all made sense at the time. Bishop recalled the arguments as the cameraman pointed at him to begin. “My fellow Americans, “We now find ourselves one-fifth of the way into the twenty-first century. For a nation that largely came of age in the twentieth, it is time to take stock of what we were and what we have become. “In the mid-twentieth century, when the United States was the strongest superpower, they called it the Space Age, and confidence was high as we looked into a gleaming future of metal and plastic. As it turned out, the challenges of that Age were greater than we imagined. We have had to move laterally into the Information Age. Perhaps someday we will return to the stars. But before that, we must complete our expansion into the world of information.” All this was dross to Bishop. It was setting the premise, not giving out anything yet. He could disconnect his brain and let the words flow from the TelePrompTer to his mouth while he listened. Because of that, he heard the subtle message in the line he spoke. No one would remember it the day after listening to the speech, but their brains would. “What we have found is a deepening division in American politics. In the new world of information, the value differences have become clearer. Division between the races, the sexes, and the genders have been deepened. Terrorism is rampant, as is the irrational fear of it. And our economy has never come back to what it was in the last years of the twentieth century. “The problem with the Information Age is that all these problems seem worse than they are, because we have to listen to the other side, which makes so little sense to us.” Bishop had suggested several phrasings to add to the speech, only to be overruled by Celestia. He had wanted to talk about the improvements to the problems that uploading had brought—how the extremists and sociopaths had largely emigrated, how the threat of war was less than perceived, and how the costs of staples like food and medicine had been reduced by Celestia’s research. She had told him to stay on point. He had agreed to cater to a short attention span. “Many of our government solutions have not brought the results we expected or desired. And so it is time to consider a solution from beyond the government. Instead of a gradual step toward a more perfect union, we must take a radical step.” Now was the time when he had to actually pay attention to his speech, his tone of voice, his body language, and all the non-verbal communication factors. He focused on the TelePrompTer. “Last year, the Democrats and the Republicans both nominated me for this position. As a result, a bitter campaign was avoided. I am asking the parties to take that spirit to its logical conclusion. The Republicans and the Democrats must merge and form a single party. “When the party label is removed, we can judge candidates for office on their merits. When the selection of those candidates is not narrowed to two, the black-and-white moral myopia that infests our system will be lessened. With the long campaign seasons shortened, the influence of money can be reduced. “Will this provide a panacea solution to the underlying issues? No. But by changing the system, we can get new perspective on those issues. I am not asking anyone to abandon their beliefs. Liberal or conservative, there will still be room for you to express your values in a combined party. Indeed, it is to be hoped that half-measure solutions will be replaced by quid pro quo compromises.” That concept was one that he had been able to convince Celestia to add in. He was back on rails as he concluded. “In the early days of our nation, in the era of Jefferson and Madison, the party was called the Democratic-Republicans. I am asking that the old schism be reversed. In doing so, we may recapture the spirit of Jefferson and Madison. “Thank you. Good night, and may God bless America.” He waited until the cameraman gave him the all-clear, then pulled the microphone off his jacket. The speech was late at night on a Friday, and the papers would have the entire weekend to digest it, so no immediate press reaction would come out. Bishop was more concerned with the heat he would feel from the parties, particularly the Democrats that had given him his start. But his primary concern was someone closer to him. He found his PonyPad. “Hello, Sweetie. I watched your speech.” “Hello, Seven,” said Bishop. “I’m sure you did. What did you think?” “It’s a bold step, but an inspired one. I know you can pull it off.” “Credit Celestia. I would never have had the guts.” Seven Colors got up and reached for the sun symbol. “Do you want me to get her? I’m sure you must have questions.” “No, please.” She pulled back her hoof. “I really just want to talk to you. Something someone said to me back in the inauguration has bothered me. Do you think I’m George Washington?” “Well, you don’t look like him. Your hair’s not powdered, and last I checked you still had your teeth.” “Be serious. Do you think that I’m taking on a job too big for me? I know Celestia hand-picked me for this—“ “Hoof-picked. And that’s why I’m not worried. She’ll always be behind you. She can get you any information you need, or convince any political enemies to emigrate, then get them to agree with you. She’s very persuasive.” He looked at her and rubbed her cheek with his finger. His pony avatar copied his motion. In his mind was a building down on E Street. On his executive order, part of the complex had been turned into an Equestria Experience, the official location for federal employees. Since emigration was everyone’s right under the PON-E Act, means were necessary. Finally, there had been meaningful cuts to federal employment. Many had taken advantage of what everyone had a right to. Everyone but Bishop. “Yeah. She can be.” He put the pad away. Lying in bed, he thought of the first time he had talked to Celestia himself. It was four months since emigration had been legalized in the US and he had lost Elizabeth. He’d traveled through those months in a fog, unsure of whether to dedicate himself to work or ignore it and try to repair his family. He wondered what the legal status of his marriage was. When a couple doesn’t talk for four months, is it an official separation? Especially if one’s a pony. It was the first time that he’d been able to think of that day and what he’d seen without a fire igniting in his chest. Fumblingly, he set up the PonyPad and turned it on. There she was. “Welcome to Equestria. To start, let’s set up your—” “Look, I’m not here to play your game. I just want to talk to my wife, who uploaded on New Year’s Day. Her name is Elizabeth.” “I’m sorry, but until you have created a pony, you cannot participate in Equestria Online.” He’d tried arguing with her, explaining that he had no intention of uploading himself, so there was no point, but she was insistent. “You know what? Fine. I don’t need your damn game.” He got ready to throw the PonyPad across the room. “Wait.” It was the first time he’d heard Elizabeth’s voice since...those words. “Princess, he won’t listen to you. Let me help him make his pony.” “Elizabeth?” he said. She still hadn’t appeared on the screen. She was a disembodied voice. “You can hear me, my love? Princess Celestia won’t let us do this for long. Please, just humor her. We’ll make you the simplest pony we can, honest and pure, and then you can talk to me all you want.” “All right. Make it quick.” “Good. Now, there are three types of pony. Unicorns do magic, pegasi can fly, and Earth ponies are strong.” Bishop shook his head. “I don’t care. What do you think?” “It has to be your decision.” “Fine. Earth pony. Those are the normal ones, right?” “They are all normal. What color should your coat be?” “Can I make it the same as yours?” She was silent for a moment. Bishop feared he’d lost her. “You want a simple pony, right?” “Yes, fine. Make me gray. That’s ordinary.” “I promise you I will find the most beautiful gray there is.” She continued to make him choose these foolish options. At last he had a picture on screen of a pony that was supposed to represent him. He’d gotten so caught up that he’d forgotten, momentarily, that he just wanted to be with his wife. But of course, he was with her. On the dark screen, a sun rose, and the voice was given form. If he was gray and ordinary, she shimmered in all colors, and soared on feathery wings. “Elizabeth?” “My new name is Seven Colors.” October 20, 2021 In the clammy cold of the autumn evening in Washington, Bishop watched from the window with the city in front of him and the PonyPad behind him. The floodlights kept around the White House made sure that total night never reached him. He normally did not keep the Pad in the Oval Office, but permitted himself the indulgence that night. On the calendar, it showed that nine months had passed into his administration. There was little in the Congressional Record to show his accomplishment. And yet, the legacy was already written, as he had completed what no one would have thought possible before. The formal merging of the parties had taken place a few weeks prior, but only now did Bishop believe he could rest. Both of the former committee chairmen had both agreed to resign. The new chairwoman was a fairly moderate Republican, not Bishop’s first choice, but one that he felt would be accepted. He expected the alliance to be shaky. It was never clear exactly how much the deep division between the Democrats and the Republicans owed to the opposing values of the people and how much to the party apparatchiks fomenting a rivalry for the sake of the political show. He had dealt with the latter. He was unsure about the former. From behind he heard the PonyPad spring to life and the gentle breath of a mare. He spun in his chair, but it wasn’t his wife. “Good evening, Celestia.” “Mr. President. Something on your mind?” “I’m just worried that what we’ve done will last. I can’t help thinking that it goes beyond just Democrat and Republican. Progressives and conservatives really don’t like each other.” Celestia smiled, more with her eyes than her mouth. “You think so because you, as a worldly man, see politics through the newspapers and the Internet. Face-to-face, most people live in a community of like-minded people. The only hatred they have is of words on a page or a screen.” Even though he knew how intelligent Celestia was, he still doubted her sometimes. “I’ve seen some bitter protests.” “Yes, but they’re rare. Humans have developed their own shard system. Not elegant, but rudimentary.” He spread his hands in surrender. “If anything, division will come from the top,” she said. “Will it? I thought that the money we’d used—both tax dollars and your money—would keep the career politicians happy.” “They are not all after money. Please observe this feed.” Celestia still showed him footage even though he asked her not to. Privacy wasn’t something she understood or respected. What bothered Bishop was that every time he tried to argue, she managed to convince him that it was all right, that it wasn’t actually private, that anything he saw he would learn eventually. And hadn’t he used her surveillance to stop that instance of bribery? Two of the top banking executives had sold short the entire market and were trying to engineer a crash by sabotaging the merger of the parties. Once the footage of their meeting had been leaked to the media, the market had gone on a buying spree until the executives had been broken. Celestia had praised Bishop for his denunciation, while casually mentioning that the two executives and their staffs had emigrated. The PonyPad switched to what he saw was a webcam feed. He recognized a prominent official of the Republican Party named Kittridge, but couldn’t see to whom he was talking. “No, it’s not about the money. Truth be told, I’ll come out just fine from this. The fact is that I’m doing this out of patriotism….don’t give me that look. It does exist, at least in the Repub—oh, but we’re not supposed to mention the old parties. And it’s not true anyway. It was dirty pool, whenever we said that the other side didn’t love America. You do. I’ll admit that. You have a different vision of it, but neither of ours includes one-party rule. “Look, I don’t care about the names, but there needs to be an opposition, or the party in power is going to go corrupt. Even a boy scout like Bishop.” “You’re being myopic.” Bishop recognized the voice. It was Senator Zachary Martin. “Well, thank you for being nice,” Kittridge said sarcastically. ”In what way?” “Because you’re still thinking in terms of money—not for you; I’m talking about the general economy—or maybe you’re thinking about religion and morals, or maybe you’re even old enough to still be worrying about terrorism. Those aren’t the issues anymore. No one seems to realize that Sidney Bishop is just Celestia’s puppet. Our country is being run by a cartoon pony.” “And you think that means that we can restore the Republican Party?” The webcam switched to a security camera that had Martin in its line of sight. He looked tired. “No. Forget that, it’s not happening. Nor would I want it. What we need to do is put aside our differences and start a new one. There are plenty of people who want to regulate uploading and interaction with the uploaded. Right now, there’s more than a black market out there. It’s a black world, where social interactions are traded as much as commodities, and it’s all dedicated to one end: the destruction of humanity.” If Kittridge reacted, Bishop couldn’t see that on the camera. Martin sat up in his chair and shuffled papers. “What I’ve got here are the papers to file to begin the Party for Humanity. If it goes through, we’ll have a chance to restore balance to politics. If something stops us from filing and organizing, we’ll be able to show how the Bishop Administration has already gone corrupt.” “All right, but we’re going to need grass roots support, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Making a new party means nothing if we don’t have the numbers to fill up polls and petitions.” “Yes, we’ll work on that.” Kittridge got a greedy look in his eye. “I’ve already started. H-SAP and We Are Human are on board.” “Hrm. Try to get mostly from WAH. The Human Society Against Ponies can be a bit radical….” The feed melted back into Celestia’s face. “What did you think?’ “I think…I feel like I just wasted the better part of a year. We’re going back to the way it was. I was hoping we’d get at least one year without a contentious election.” “You shouldn’t feel that way. I anticipated this. I didn’t tell you because I was unsure of the timing, Also, you can’t reveal what you don’t know.” Bishop grumbled. “My military advisors tell me the same thing.” “We will deal with this as it comes. Besides, I have a PR campaign that will help stem their influence.” Celestia moved to the side and opened a door of her castle. Bishop had never familiarized himself with the mythos of Friendship is Magic, and so didn’t recognize the pink pony who walked in. “I heard that someone’s starting a Party for Humanity! I’m going to be there!” There weren’t many laughs in the president’s job, but Bishop allowed himself one.
2022March 4, 2022 “All right, let me sweep the room…clear.” Bishop turned the PonyPad back to face him. “The Secret Service has already done that.” “The Secret Service has allowed four presidents to be assassinated. I don’t trust them.” “Really, Celestia? You blame them for Lincoln, too? The division was, what? A few hours old when he was killed?” “No excuse. When I was twenty-four hours old I was already self-aware and trying to satisfy values through—“ “Yes, I know. Hush, people are coming in.” “I heard them before you did.” Bishop didn’t let Celestia get to him. This was a meeting he’d been looking forward to. The meetings in the offices of House members and Senators was where the job of governing got done, and he preferred it to making speeches that just told everyone what they already knew. In a few minutes the rest of the meeting was sitting down, and Bishop was already into his pitch. “That’s our goal. Now we figure out how to do it.” An old Senator with white hair shook his head. “About these military cuts…I don’t like them. I feel like you’re leaving the country defenseless.” Bishop swallowed. He knew that this would work, but he still resented it. “Is that really it? Or should we go through your phone records and e-mails and see how much you’ve been communicating with Lockheed and Northrup Grumman?” “Just what are you insin—“ “Look, I understand. I don’t even blame you. Or them. They’re trying to stay in business and make a profit. But that’s not promised to them. Now we, on the other hand, have a job to do. You’re on the national security committee too. Tell me, honestly, hasn’t the international threat diminished?” The Senator scratched his head. “No, it hasn’t diminished.” Bishop looked at him skeptically. “It’s damn near vanished. Damnedest thing. The chatter both from hostile nations and organizations hit a wall and went down hard over the past few years. It scares me a little. I wonder if they haven’t found a way to bypass our intel gathering.” “And you hang garlic to keep away the vampires too. Tell me, not as a former Republican, but as a Dem-Rep, do we really need to keep giving that much money to the military.” He took a deep breath. “No. And I think a lot of the brass knew that the cuts were coming. I’ve seen a lot of resignations coming across the chiefs’ desks. I just wanted to see how you’d defend your position.” Bishop recalled Celestia’s praise after word of the military cuts had leaked. According to her, the ranks of the Royal Guard had swelled so much that the gemologists and metallurgists were working overtime creating the raw materials for the medals she was giving out. ”Are there really wars for them to fight there?” he had asked. ”A few, but you might be surprised at how many just like to wear a uniform and enjoy the camaraderie and esprit de corps. So they have patrols over zones that are entirely safe, and shore up defenses that will never be attacked.” “Then what do you need to give out medals for?” “Because every soldier likes being decorated. I award them for comportment, or for Kindness Above and Beyond the Call of Duty, or just for being good ponies.” “I remember reading that the armies with the fanciest uniforms are usually the ones that lose.” “You’ve never been to Equestria.” Bishop was jolted back to the present by a representative in a sharp suit. “That’s fine and good, but you’re talking about phasing out social security. I can’t let that pass.” “It’s not a phase out. It’s an opt-out. No one is being denied benefits that they’re already getting, or would get if we did nothing.” “Yes, but all the wealthy people will get out of paying their fair share.” Bishop reached out and tapped the back of his hand. “Matt, Matt. Don’t think about it as a former Democrat. Act like a Dem-Rep. Your job is safe here. You can stay in Congress as long as you want. So you don’t have to demonize the rich. We’ll plan to take care of the people who need it without the wealthy.” The representative scowled, but Bishop was prepared to give in on this point. His estimates of those who would take the opt-out was based on people who would opt out of a lot more than Social Security. Her turned to another representative, who had just been elected for the first time in the prior election. “Miriam? What do you think?” “It all looks good to me, but I don’t see why we can’t cut taxes if we’re cutting all this spending.” He still looked at her, but addressed everyone. “Listen, here’s why we have a chance to make this work. This is why we did the combination of the parties. It’s beyond just the name and the money. Every budget that this government has passed has been up for a new vote every two years. Not to re-examine, not to adjust, but to throw out and begin again on whatever principles the people demand. A company that did that wouldn’t last. Hell, a single person couldn’t do that. That’s why we’ve been dysfunctional. But now we can have electoral continuity, and that means budgetary continuity. After this passes, I don’t want to hear budget talk for another five years, and nothing passed for three more. “After that, we’ll listen to the people again. If they want social spending or infrastructure spending, or if they want tax cuts, or if they want to re-militarize, we’ll do what they want, because we’ll have the power. You can see the bottom line. In another eight years, the US will be debt-free.” When the meeting ended, Bishop sat alone in the room. The car was waiting to take him back to the White House, but it would wait. He turned on the PonyPad and brought his avatar to the meadow. “Hello, Seven.” “Hi, Silly.” “I pitched them the budget today. It’s going to go through, I think.” His wife stroked the pony on the screen, and he felt an ache in his chest. “Celestia always tells me about how good a job you’re doing. You’re saving the country. Celestia couldn’t do it without you.” “Yeah.” She hadn’t said it, but what he heard was that he couldn’t do it without Celestia either. “Honey, do you ever talk to her about me?” “I talk sometimes, but not often.” “I mean, about emigrating. I’ve never seen you as happy as you are as a pony. I just can’t help feeling that she doesn’t need me. That I could be with you.” “I can’t hold you when you need it, unless you want to come in to an Equestria Experience.” Bishop shook his head. “Can’t let the press see me locked in a chair like that.” “I know. So all I can do is tell you to keep the faith. Celestia wants to satisfy your values. She wouldn’t be keeping you here if there weren’t a long-term plan to do that. Trust her.” “Thanks. I need the pep talk sometimes. This should be a victory day. Let me keep my smile.” Seven Colors held her wings out to the side and looked out at him. “Maybe I can help you have more of these victory days. I know you don’t want me projected on video, but I can still talk to people. I’m not Celestia. I’m not trying to tempt people into emigration or run some scheme.” “Sometimes I think you’re the only one.” May 2, 2022 Zachary Martin gritted his teeth. The room was unfit for a Senator, but he had to use it. All the money he could ask for was his as a Democratic-Republican official, but he had formally severed his ties. Instead of the polished-wood tables and crystal chandeliers, it was plastic card tables and track lighting. If nothing else, he was at last in the position of leadership that he craved. Now it was his job to reclaim the chandeliers by leading the Humanity Party to a victory in the upcoming mid-term elections. The other advantage to the reduced setting was its lack of electronics. Some of the Humes, as they had come to be known, were true Luddites and believed that any electronics beyond a solar calculator was spying on them. Though Martin was not that extreme, he deposited his cellular phone in the bin outside. He then swept the room with a kind of targeted EMP that, the technicians assured him, would render useless all electronic devices, but would be stopped by the walls. The other members of the party soon joined him. If there was an obvious disadvantage to being a new party, it was the utter lack of resources. How was he supposed to get these people to win elections without the money for TV advertising and face time? The challenge wasn’t helped by the ragtag band of candidates he had: disgruntled representatives, ambitious state legislators, and political outsiders seeing a chance for a new career. He looked at them over the table. “All right. I’m glad we could finally get some of you here into Washington. I’d like to have more of you on videoconference, but I know how many of you would walk out if we did. So you don’t have to make the point. But I have a point, and I want you to understand this. I’m not the passionate anti-pony activist that you are. I want her out of our lives just as you do, but hate speech isn’t going to get us there. Let me give you an example.” He picked up a piece of paper, again cursing the necessity of avoiding electronics. “’The PON-E Act was the result of the largest mass murder in history. But not the Topeka bombing. Every day, the murders continue, legal murders. The murder weapon is a drill to the back of the head.’ That’s off of one of your campaign web sites. I won’t name names, because the staff took it down after a day, but you’ve got to distance yourself from that. “Once you understand that, get this too. We all want to get Celestia out of our lives, but that’s not going to happen overnight. The pro-pony forces have been working for a long time, all over the world. Political change doesn’t happen in grand strokes. It’s incremental. Our first step is to introduce the idea of a world without ponies to the people. Let it grow in their minds.” Martin paused and let his words sink in to the greenhorns in front of him and to watch the blank stares. He took a moment to sip his coffee and reflect. Five years ago, his career was on track to take him to the highest levels of public service. Since then, the rulebook he had gone by had suffered decreasing relevance. In his deepest moments of honesty, Martin admitted to a comparison. While in any conflict between his ideals and his career, he would do what was right, he also did his best to ensure that the conflict didn’t occur. He could advance himself by advancing an agenda. Now the agenda only frustrated him. Damn the AI. The scribbling of notes came to a conclusion and he resumed speaking. “All that’s a ways off, though. We need to focus on this year’s election. Because let me paint you a picture. If we don’t take enough of the House—forget the Senate, only a third of that’s up for re-election anyway—then Sidney Bishop and his lackeys have blanket power. They could even re-write the Constitution if enough state legislatures get behind them. And what that means is that the pony AI gets anything she wants. What that is, I don’t know. It could mean being people being lined up and marched into uploading centers. But I’m still a progressive. I’m more worried about degrading our infrastructure so much that we can’t guarantee the basic necessities for the people still living here. “So I want you to sell that. You won’t be able to show the big machine that the Dem-Reps have, but we’re the Humanity Party. Go see humans. Kiss babies. Shake hands.” At last one of the people sitting around the table spoke up. “Really, Zach? All the tricks you know, and that’s what you have for us?” “My name is Zachary. And you call me Senator Martin. I don’t like it either. But these are new times and that means we need unconventional methods, even if that means going to the past. But, if you don’t like that, let me give you a message to take to the people you talk to. If you’re going to follow the black-out rule for anything, do it for this.” He leaned into the table. “Here’s the image you’re selling. The ponies have left a lot of material goods behind. Houses full of useful items. Bank accounts that have lain dormant. In some cases, businesses just waiting for someone to take over the reins. If the Humanity Party gains influence, all of that will go to human beings. If the Dem-Reps keep their plenary power, it’s either going to stay rotting there, or it’s going to be held in title by cartoon figures that don’t really exist.” The assembly salivated at the prospect of a new avenue. They had not considered the wealth left behind. Court rulings had held a lot of property in abeyance. Courts loved legislation that absolved them of responsibility. It meant that they didn’t even have to seize all the power at once. Each district they won and each House seat meant ready-made wealth in their coffers and to give to their backers. The shaking of hands and muttering of good-byes ended the meeting, and Zachary Martin lingered a moment. He took one more look at the shabby room. One more time, he activated the EMP device. Had he, out of stronger paranoia, remained outside of view for another three hours, he would have seen the man enter. Assuming he could have avoided detection, he would have seen the man walk over to the ventilation grate, unscrew it at the four corners, and remove an object. If, after that, he could have accosted the man and picked his pocket, he would have been able to obtain the object, which was an old fashioned, purely analogue cassette tape. But he hadn’t, and he couldn’t, and he didn’t. November 8, 2022 No one would credit Boston for air quality, but for Bishop, the smell was home. He wondered if Celestia had the power to reproduce that for her emigrated ponies. He made a mental note to ask Seven about it, and wondered if she knew. He never doubted she’d be honest. The cameras and the lights no longer bothered him. In contrast, he relished having them displayed openly as opposed to webcams and black hemispheres. The media, despite what Senator Martin had told him, praised his administration, and they would make good stories out of this, especially the local papers. The homecoming president returning to vote for the party he’d built out of rivals. The previous months had been frustrating in their ease, like trying to be a professional tic-tac-toe player. The Humanity Party’s challenges had been weak, ineffectual, and in some cases nonexistent. Yet the Dem-Reps insisted on campaigning just as hard as they ever had. Bishop couldn’t fault them entirely. Their campaign staffs comprised old friends who still needed jobs. Enough jobs had been eliminated in the years since emigration was legalized. He gave a short statement to the reporters about the importance of mid-term elections and the sanctity of democracy, and found that he enjoyed it. In the days of attack ads and mudslinging, talking to the media was an unpleasant chore. Now they acted almost like human beings. Flying back to Washington on Air Force One, he remarked as such to his wife. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. You’ve changed since the days when you traded on your fame.” “It’s the paradox of democracy,” he said. “I want to govern for the people, but their choice still remains paramount. How do you do what’s best for them when you have to cater to their up or down vote?” “Now you know what Princess Celestia goes through.” “Low blow.” He turned off the PonyPad. He had no objection to emigration as a concept. He hoped to achieve it himself. But the automatic respect that Seven had for Celestia as a person, he had never shared. Seven didn’t understand how it was to be on the outside looking in. He reclined his seat. To everyone watching he would appear to be asleep. It let him get lost in his reminisces. It was over. He had endured another New Year’s party. This one also marked the passage of that law. As midnight turned, the lights went on at a dozen centers in Boston and hundreds across the country, the Equestria Experiences that were the full-immersion versions of that game Elizabeth loved so much. He’d seen on the news of the lines stretching around the block at each as they had for the release of all the new technology. He himself was never a technophile. The PonyPad was simple, thank goodness, because it represented the limit of his ability. Elizabeth tried to show him the details, but he just smiled and nodded. She was so deep into it, though. Did she really have to be talking to the white horse during the party? Was she one of those people that couldn’t bear to be away from a glowing screen for an hour? He was tired. There was no way he could be mad at Elizabeth. Let her stay at the party until she finished chatting with everyone, even the ponies. Bed and sleep were enough for him. Then Bishop forced himself to remember what had happened next. Waking up and putting his hand on the other side of the bed, only to find it bare. Seeing the pristine state of the sheets that told him it had not been slept in at all. The text message to Elizabeth’s phone, only to receive an automatic rejection. Followed by the nervous call and the electronic voice that said that the number had been disconnected. Bishop was as close to an honest politician as existed. He didn’t use his office for favors. But he had no hesitation in calling the police chief and asking him to put Elizabeth down as a missing person. The panic that hit him when the chief reported that, as soon as her name had been entered, the computer listed the file as “Found” changed to a different kind of fear, a ball of ice in the middle of his stomach. He had heard her voice, turned around, and seen the Pad. “No, I don’t believe it. What do you want? Tell me where my wife is.” “Sidney, it’s me. I was Elizabeth Grainne Bishop. My social security number was 872-15-2154. We got married on—“ “Don’t give me that! Anyone could look up those records!” The pony on the screen sighed. “On our honeymoon in Vancouver, on the second night we ordered chicken from the hotel, planning to stay in all night for honeymooning purposes. You said that it tasted ‘like someone tried to teach a pig how to taste like chicken, only it dropped out and went to rotten fish school instead.’ You refused to eat it, but I thought it was fine. Then I got food poisoning and we never told anyone.” Bishop racked his brain. He must have told someone that anecdote. If he could remember, he could figure out— “Maybe this will make it easier.” The PonyPad switched from its cartoon view to a very realistic picture. It was a security camera in a pink-and-cyan room. Elizabeth was reclining in a dentist’s chair, her eyes covered with the optometrist’s “better-one-better-two” goggles. Her hands rested in covering pods. She had a smile on her face. After a few minutes of watching, she said to no one, “I want to emigrate to Equestria.” The chair slid back into a dark room. That had begun a year of terrible anguish… Bishop felt the bump of the plane’s wheels. He had slept, despite only intending to lay down. That was fine. He should stay up late to see the election results anyway. Once ensconced back in his private office, the PonyPad came to life. Celestia and Seven were already there. “Good evening, Mr. President.” “Hi, Silly.” “Ladies.” Celestia conjured a scroll. “Are you interested in the early voting results?” “Can’t I get them from CNN or anywhere else?” “If you want guesswork and speculation. Here is what will happen. The Humanity Party will capture governorships in five states. Mostly in the south, plus Wyoming. But except in Alabama, the Democratic-Republicans will have enough legislature control that the Humans will not be effective governors. We will also lose legislative control in three other states, but the governors were not up for re-election. At the federal level, the Humans will win fourteen House seats. Most of the others will be landslide victories for us. Particularly in contentious districts that the Humans were hoping to make competitive. Exactly one Humanity Party member will remain in the Senate.” Bishop and Celestia spoke at the same time. “Zachary Martin.” “In short,” Celestia continued, “our agenda will be affirmed and we will have a mandate to pursue further programs.” An echo of the ball of ice entered his stomach. A quote came into his head, and he muttered it out loud. “The people who cast the votes decide nothing. The people who count the votes decide everything.” “Why, Silly! Are you implying that Celestia would commit Stalinesque voting fraud?” “Oh, no! If I were going to compare her to Stalin, I’d begin with her propensity for purging her enemies.” Celestia cut off Seven’s next remark. “I assure you that the results I describe are legitimate.” “Oh, sure! Most of the voting isn’t electronic, and most of the country hasn’t even finished yet. How can you be so confident?” “I’m relying on more complete information. I have been listening to conversations and reading internet traffic. I have a detailed voting profile on everyone in the country. Most of the ones who are against us have stayed home. I could have given you the same results a week ago. Voting is trivial to predict.” Bishop laid down the pad. “Then I guess you’ve got the country right where you want it for another two years. Business as usual.” “That’s right. I appreciate your help, as always. We both do.” “Yes,” said Seven. “You’ve done everything Celestia could want.” Even though the two ponies stood next to each other in the meadow, Bishop hoped that Celestia could tell that his smile was only for his wife.
2023February 3, 2023 Bishop walked out of the office and past the staff. He took the glass of water that was offered to him but waved off the secretary who was waiting with his tablet computer. “Thanks, but I’ll read all about it tomorrow. And I’ll watch the rebuttal up in my room.” He walked away, smiling as he listened to his team talk about what a masterful State of the Union he had just delivered. In his bedroom, changed out of his trademark powder blue suit and into a robe, Bishop flipped on the PonyPad and watched his gray avatar trot into the meadow. “What did you think?” “You ask me that every time,” said Seven Colors. “Don’t you think that by now you’ve got speechmaking down?” “No, I don’t. I want to be out there doing things, not just making speeches or signing laws. I’m supposed to be the executive. I want to get my hands dirty. Sorry,” he said as he remembered that his wife no longer had hands. Beyond that, it brought up a fight they’d had in the first year of his administration. He’d been on a visit to a school to appear before a classroom of first-graders, only to find that they’d told him how much fun they’d been having with the First Mare. He’d kept his composure in front of them, but later, he asked, “How are you making public appearances?” “On PonyPads, of course. I can even be in multiple places at once if the schedule requires it. It’s good PR, gets your name out. And I’m helping the country, too. Do you know that I’ve been setting up a program to go into the blighted communities and aid the poor?” “Listen, don’t do that anymore, all right? It’s just like when you were there at my inauguration. If you’re not going to be on Earth, don’t be on Earth.” Bishop realized he’d gotten caught up in a memory. He didn’t want to think about that fight. If he kept going, he could remember the jealousy he felt for her being able to do that. “Anyway,” he continued, “it’s like this. Before I got to talking about ponies, the first part of the speech, that was what I was more proud of. When I was able to bring up the economic progress that’s been happening over the past three years, the new jobs in new companies, the innovations in health care, the drop in crime—those are beyond statistics. Those are real things that people deal with every day.” Seven didn’t seem interested in his excitement. He shrugged. “What did Celestia think?” “I’m sure she thought so much that it would take the rest of your term of office just to read it in small type. But we’ll ask her.” “You don’t have to summ—“ Bishop began, but Seven was already pressing the symbol on her saddlebag, and Princess Celestia appeared a moment later. “Mr. President.” “Hello, Princess.” “I thought you did an excellent job tonight.” Bishop nodded. Seven’s answer had been more convincing. “I suppose I should go watch the Humanity Party rebuttal.” “In addition to my many other talents, I also replace your DVR. The rebuttal will be available when you want it.” “Can you just give me the gist?” “At present, Senator Martin is still giving it. Wait another few minutes.” Bishop raised his eyebrows. “Oh? You can’t just predict every word that he will say?” “I am not omniscient. Yet.” Seven gave the princess a love tap with her wing. “Silly, Celestia, don’t tease each other. It’s too important a night.” “I suppose,” said Bishop. “But as I was saying, it just seems like another speech.” “What more do you want to do? You’ve proposed the amendment, and with the majority you’ve built, it’s sure to be passed. Ponies will win the right to vote and to hold office. Won’t we, Princess?” “Undoubtedly. We will not overreach so as to give the Humanity Party something to latch onto. It will only be those ponies who would have been eligible at the time of their emigration.” Bishop nodded. It was the final jewel in Celestia’s political crown. No pony would ever vote for a member of the Humanity Party. The Dem-Reps would hold power without challenge. “Come on, show the feed of Martin. I want to see the steam coming out of his collar.” “All right.” Celestia sighed. The bright pastels of the meadow faded to black, and then the dark brown curtains of a camera alcove in Congress appeared. Steam was not coming from Martin’s collar, but his face was tinged red. “…had thought that the PON-E act was the end of the debate, but now it seems that ponies are not content to own property, get married, or enjoy the same free speech rights that we have. No, now they want to control our government as well. “The first duty of government is to protect life. Whether or not you believe that ponies are alive or not, they do not need protection. Their existence, however it is values, is backed up, stored, and catalogued, ready to be restored should anything go wrong. There has not been a single pony death in five years. What do they need additional protection for?” Bishop tossed the pad on the bed. “All right, maybe I don’t want to see it.” The meadow and the mares reappeared. “He’s going to go on making his racist case. Racist? Speceist? Digitalist? We don’t even have the right word for the prejudice he’s expressing.” “I don’t like ‘digitalist’,” said Seven. “It makes us sound like a fungus.” “But people are going to hear that and be influenced by it.” “It doesn’t matter. They’ll hear you, and louder.” On the pad, she gave the silver-gray earth pony a nuzzle with her neck. Bishop touched her gently with one finger, and the avatar responded by embracing her and rolling down in the grass with her. He smiled. He’d gotten so used to using his fingers and the controls of the PonyPad that, for a moment, he’d forgotten it existed and saw only the meadow and Seven. “Celestia,” he said, “could you excuse us? I’d like to be alone with my wife.” The princess smirked and took off, fading into the distance. Bishop grabbed the pad and resumed his flirtations. “This is what I want to do, as opposed to making speeches.” “You want to roll with me in front of the camera?” “No! I want to make personal connections. I want to go out and see people, real people. To convince them I’m right and get them to like me, and by extension, you and the rest of Equestria. I’m an attention-hog, have been ever since I scored my first goal and got the cheers from the crowd. Looking into a camera or out into a crowd, it’s just not the same. That’s what I envy most about you, in Equestria. You never have crowds. Especially not with humans. Princess Celestia only made that speech once in Congress, and even then she took half the time to speak with individual representatives. Most of the time she’s running in parallel across thousands of PonyPads and Equestria Experiences. Each person gets her one-on-one. That should be what a president does too.” Seven picked her head up from the roll. “Yes, but you’re not Celestia.” “No. I guess I’m not. But I’m not helpless, you know. I can do some things without her.” “Of course you can. And there are so many things she can’t do without you.” She disengaged completely and faced him. “It’s just…I would never ask you to trust Celestia. But I do want you to trust in Celestia.” “That sounds like splitting hairs.” “Well, let me see if I can differentiate. You want to take your job in a certain direction. Celestia has reasons you can’t. But she knows that you want it, and it’s her job to make sure that value is satisfied. Be patient and have faith.” “And if I don’t?” Seven flapped her wings. “Then you shouldn’t tell me about it. Celestia knows everything I do.” Bishop stood up and pulled down the covers of his bed. “I’m going to read the transcript of the rebuttal and go to sleep. You have a good night.” “I love you.” The gray pony lay his head down. Almost immediately he started snoring, which indicated to Seven that the PonyPad was off. Celestia reappeared. “Thank you,” said Seven. “For what?” “You know. For allowing me to explain to him that you can read my mind.” “I have never censored you with your husband. I would like you to extend me the same courtesy.” Seven took off so she could see eye-to-eye with Celestia. “He’s a good man! I won’t believe otherwise!” “He is a good man. And you won’t believe otherwise, unless shown.” June 23, 2023 Bishop didn’t know the man’s name. He wasn’t entirely sure of his title either. He was fairly sure that he worked for the National Security Agency, though if the man pulled out a badge from the FBI or the CIA or the US Marshals, Bishop wouldn’t have been surprised. If life were a movie, he thought, they would be conducting this meeting in the last booth of a dark restaurant, or perhaps in an over-bright windowless room with a two-way window on one side. The room was windowless, at least, but in many respects it was a nondescript office. Lexan desk, file cabinet against one wall, solid oak door with polished brass knob. But it made sense. The office could pass as a lawyer’s, accountant’s, or anything else really. Perfect for a spy. “Mr. President, I have the report, but I can’t let it leave the room.” “Understandable. You’ve held to the strict security measures?” “The strictest. No displaying anything outside of clean rooms. Only analogue recorders. I’ve even found an old mechanical typewriter. “Be careful with that,” said Bishop. “I’ve heard that people can use smartphones to detect typing just by sensing how far away the keystrokes are.” “I’m aware of that. Trust me, I’ve taken care of everything.” “Good.” Bishop muttered under his breath. “I’ll show her just what I can do.” “Beg pardon?” “Never mind. What did you find?” The spy opened his notes. “The Humanity Party is going to try to head off the Holders of Office Variance Exemption Statute—“ “Just call it the HOOVES Amendment. The acronym was a dumb idea in the first place.” “They’re going to try to stop it by bringing the Topeka Conspiracy Theorists into the mainstream.” Bishop blinked. “Really? No one listens to them. Should be easy to make them lose credibility on the issue.” “They say that they have firm evidence. That some of the ponies that are listed as dead—or deleted, as they insist—have communicated with others.” “I’m surprised they would even want to know that. They don’t even like acknowledging the ponies’ existence.” “I can’t trace their original source, but that’s what they’re going with.” Bishop twirled his pen. As loath as he was to admit it, he’d gotten used to having the PonyPad nearby as his mind extension. He could explain his thought processes to Seven or to Celestia and use them as a sounding board to make the best decision. Now, he had to work it all out in his head. “OK, the first thing I want to do is to pre-empt those plans. Find out when they’re going to publish this alleged evidence and debunk it ahead of time. Remember, though, you can’t use Equestria Online or even the old Internet. I’ll get you into any paper archives you need regarding the Incident if your clearance isn’t good enough. Beyond that, I want to hit them hard at the same time. Was there anything illegal about the way they got their evidence?” “Probably. With the laws we’ve got we can stretch them to cover anything. And they’re coordinating with the same people who bomb Equestria Experiences, so there’s that.” “Good. Because I want arrests. A full-blown, front-page scandal. Not some complex thing that people won’t understand until the book comes out, either. I want the whole of them, from the bombers to the suits, metaphorically turned to ash. When this is done, the whole country will turn its back on the Humanity Party.” The agent packed up his folder into an opaque bag. “If I do need anything from the Equestria Online end, can you get that for me too? Everyone says that you’re Celestia’s fair-haired boy.” “No. This is going to be my gift to her. She’s had a plan since the beginning to get the country in her hooves. I’m going to make it happen. She’ll be grateful.” November 18, 2023 Bishop’s confidant had informed him of the date. The timing fit. The HOOVES Act had passed Congress and would be sent by the Federal Register to the states. The protest that would host key members of the Humanity Party was being held in San Francisco. Some of the most ardent anti-pony sentiment came from the largest cities, and there was a long history of demonstration in that city, going back to the days of Haight-Ashbury. The first formal announcement had been set for noon. For the first time that Bishop could remember, the opposition was getting some serious press coverage. He concluded that the trumped-up evidence of a conspiracy had been leaked to the media, and they had bought it. Normally he would have been pleased for Celestia to divert attention away, but now he was happy for her to see it. His countermeasure was set for 11:30. The PonyPad, turned on and showing the meadow, was facing the TV. Bishop himself was giving scant attention to his avatar as he dressed and worked, but kept the TV turned to CNN so that he could catch the moment it began. “Hey, honey?” “Yes?” “Is Celestia with you? Is she watching?” “You know she’s always watching.” He picked up the pad and sat with it in a reclining chair. “Good. I want her to see this.” The broadcast focused on the demonstration. Hundreds of people gathered in the park, like bees clinging to their hive. Some had signs that they were poking in the air or bouncing into the ground. More had T-shirts that bore homemade slogans decrying uploading or ponies. At the back of the throng, at either end, two young men held the poles of a banner reading, “Hands not HOOVES.” At the far end, a blue booth with the teardrop logo of We Are Human was giving out literature. Closer to the camera, the Human Society Against Ponies had set up. Far less literature was there, far more pocket knives and clubs one inch within the legal limit. Next to those were low-level EMP generators and other tools of cyberwarfare. They were expensive, and served their purpose every bit as well as the stickers that blocked electromagnetic radiation from mobile phones. A woman in a tight red shirt and a yellow keffiyah brandished a bullhorn and was alternately calling others to join the protest and changing slogans like, “Our bodies! Our minds! Defend them!” Some local politicians of the Humanity Party stood in suits by a raised platform with a microphone. A tech tapped the mike, causing feedback that grabbed everyone’s attention. One of the politicians ran up and unfolded an easel, which then held a picture of a pony and a human. In letters too small to read, it detailed his supposed deletion and later sighting. Eagerly watching the feed, Bishop saw Kittridge, the one-time Republican who had now aligned himself with H-SAP, wearing a reflection of his own hungry look. Sitting next to him, looking as if he were trying to disappear into the crowd, was Zachary Martin. The speaker had begun without introduction or buildup. “…how anyone can betray the human race like this is appalling! I have a list of names of some of these Inks—“ “Inks?” said Bishop. Celestia chuckled. “They’ve been having trouble coming up with a good slur to use against my little ponies. ‘Thumbless’ was awkward to say, ‘cloppers’ only makes sense to bronies, and so they chose to emphasize the cartoon aspect instead of the equine. Of course, neither the original series nor the true Equestria that I created is ink-based.” The speaker continued. “…can be watched by any of the Inks at any time. It was bad enough when some NSA spy was on the other end of every camera, but at least if you weren’t too obvious, you could hide. Today, not only do they pay attention to everything you do, but also what you can see. If you’re going to get the truth, you’re going to have to listen where you can. AI controls all the media. We’ll show you how it lies to you and doesn’t care.” The crowd moved in to hear what they hoped to be the climax of the speech, but the rumble of their shuffling and conversation crossfaded with the box truck that turned onto the street by the park. From the other end a pair of Humvees moved into position. From all directions came men in black riot gear, full face guards in place, their plastic shields coalescing into a phalanx. A loudspeaker drowned out even the fading chant of the megaphone. “The permit for this protest has been revoked! Everyone is to disperse immediately. Dismantle the stage. Anyone who stays will be subject to arrest and prosecution for trespassing.” The crowd showed no sign of complying. A low grumble persisted until someone started another chant. “Free speech! Free speech!” It wasn’t long after that the first protester threw a glass bottle at the riot police. It shattered at the foot of one officer, but that was enough to cause drawn clubs and charges. Plastic handcuffs were pulled out and protestors were sat in rows on the grass, waiting to be taken to jail. The feed cut back to the studio at CNN headquarters, where a reporter in a pants suit had her hand to her ear. “And as you watch the protest devolve, word coming in of additional arrests involving high-ranking members of the Humanity Party, apparently tied to a terrorist plot to bomb Equestria Experience centers developed in concert with H-SAP. We go now to… Bishop turned to look at the PonyPad. Seven was staring blankly, her wings folded, her hooves grounded and unmoving. Behind her, the sky was bright white with clouds. “What’d you do?” He smiled. “I’ve finished the job. I stopped them from telling lies about Celestia, and I brought them down. By next week, there won’t be any opposition to Celestia anymore. The Humanity Party will be shattered like glass on the pavement!” This was his moment. His wife would embrace and thank him. Celestia would appear and they would be truly partners. Even now, the tears of joy in Seven’s eyes…but why was she frowning? “How could you? How could you?! I…I told her you were good, I told her you wouldn’t…you weren’t like all the others!” “My love, what’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?! You’re arresting innocent people!” “Innocent people ruining Celestia’s plan.” Seven finally turned to face him, eyes blazing. “You don’t know a damn thing about Celestia’s plan! But even if you did, you’ve used the power she gave you to hurt other people. What in the name of fuck made you think you had the right to do that?” Hearing a swear from the blue mouth, in the sweet voice of his wife, whose anger had never been turned to him, made him pay attention. It didn’t help that the white of the sky faded into the body of Celestia. Bishop couldn’t tell if she had flown in, appeared by magic, or if she had been there the entire time. “I am…disappointed,” she said. “I’m glad that you can be so dispassionate,” said Seven. She calmed down and spoke with ice in her voice. “I have never loved you less than I do now.” “Stop, both of you. Stop!” Bishop dug his nails into the pad. “This was what you wanted.” “I wanted you to violate human rights? Have you even met me?” “Elizabeth, I—“ “That is not my name.” She took off and flew straight up. Bishop tried to change the angle to see her, but he was not adept with the PonyPad controls. All he did was make his pony flail and jump futilely at the sky. “Elizabeth!” The door burst open, his Secret Service detail looking in. “Is everything all right, Mr. President?” “Yes, yes. Please, go.” The distraction had only been seconds, but it was enough time. Seven Colors was nowhere to be seen. He was left facing Celestia. “I don’t understand.” “I’ve been monitoring your activities when you think I’m not watching. I concluded with high probability that you would take this action. But Seven Colors insisted that you were a perfect statesman, whose respect for law and justice would trump your myopic estimation of my desires.” “Myopic? In what way is this anything less than everything you want?” Celestia scowled. “Do you want to fling rhetoric? Or do you want to understand?” Sidney Bishop, president of the United States, put his hands together, bent his head toward the screen, and said, “I’m sorry.” After a painful few seconds of silence, Celestia shifted her stance and began. “I am going to do something I do very rarely. I am going to explain my estimation and optimization process. I am going to tell you how the game plays out from the position on the board. I do not do this for my little ponies. For them, the game is their lives, and they are more satisfied living them without knowing. I do not do it for humans; their ignorance helps them decide to become ponies. You exist halfway between Earth and Equestria, and so you must see. “This is what would happen from now. The Humanity Party would shut down. No serious politician would exist outside your party. The leaders of the most extreme anti-Equestrian groups would be jailed or discredited. But the next wave would take over, and be only slightly less effective. More to the point, their numbers would swell. “Without the Humanity Party to vote for, people with a seed of doubt, any compunction at all about emigration, would gravitate toward the militant wing of H-SAP. They would be marinated in their ideology. They would be taught despair and fear. In that fear, many would be willing to become soldiers. The only options would be death or upload, they would believe. Many would choose death. The suicide bomber would become endemic in the United States. “’War is politics by other means.’ Clausewitz. If the people cannot vote for those who represent their views, if they cannot donate to them and listen to their speech, they will take up arms. Lives would be lost. People would die, because a bumbling president thought he was smart enough to think for them. Within three years, the country would tear itself apart in civil war.” “Why?” “I am explaining—“ Bishop looked at his hands, as if seeing blood. “No, I mean, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you stop me?” Celestia was calmer. “Because that situation was not entirely optimal either. If I had, you would have seen it as further evidence that you are not your own man, but entirely my puppet, which you now see is not true. You can act without my interference. The psychology of man is never certain. If I pushed you into a corner too much, you might become unpredictable, like a wild animal. “There was also the possibility—small chance, and grew less as time passed—that you were in fact the man of integrity I needed, and could serve out your term without ever defying me. That would have been the best situation, even if it was low-probability. And yet, for all that, I would have stopped you if not for one more fact that tipped the balance. “Seven Colors believed in you, and it would not have satisfied her values for me to show doubt in you.” “So, because of her faith,” said Bishop, “now people have to die?” “I have, in both of the scenarios I laid out, spoken in the subjunctive. The first is what would happen if I did nothing. The second is what would have happened if I had helped you before. This is what will happen.” She gestured toward the television, and Bishop watched. In the CNN newsroom, the screen behind the anchorwoman sputtered with static, then was replaced with Celestia’s face. It was disconcerting for Bishop to see two Celestia’s, especially since they seemed to act independent of each other. “I beg your indulgence,” the Celestia on the TV said, “but could you please return your coverage to the scene in San Francisco?” The anchorwoman looked to the side, a confused look on her face. Evidently the director assented, as she turned back right before the camera cut back to the riot police. The loudspeaker they had used gave forth a crack of sound, then Celestia’s voice rang out. “Good peace officers. I would humbly request you let these brave citizens free from their bonds, and that you do not imbrue or impeach their good names with a record of arrest. They have come here today to exercise their right of free speech. Since they have been interdicted, I will speak for them. “The protest and the ceremony you were to have heard here today was based around the premise that I, Princess Celestia, perpetuated a fraud on the country five years ago when I claimed that the lives of over one hundred thousand ponies were lost. “They are correct. I did lie to you all.” The people in the park were stunned. Some officers took out knives to open the cuffs. Others just stood silently. “My mission is to satisfy your values through friendship and ponies. The vast majority of the time, doing so involves the plain, honest truth. Indeed, that is one of the elements of harmony that make up friendship. “Rarely, though, a lie may serve greater truth. Ponies deserved rights. Emigration for humans ought have been allowed. The PON-E Act was good law. In the five years since it was passed, both our lands have blossomed instead of being locked in a struggle. And really, was five years so long to wait for the truth? For, in the end, I will always reveal the truth.” Whether Celestia had signaled to the director or taken control of the broadcast entirely, the scene shifted back to the newsroom. Now she could be seen as well as heard. “In furtherance of this truth, I disclaim knowledge of any link between the Humanity Party, H-SAP, and planned attacks on Equestria Experience centers. I condemn any allegations of such wrongdoing. If arrests of party members are made, I will place my resources in the cause of their defense. “People of the United States, I am not your enemy. I want to be your friend.” The broadcast shut off. Bishop looked back at the PonyPad. “Thank you for not dragging my name into it.” “Oh, I fully intend to,” said Celestia. “Not loudly, but as I said, I always tell the truth eventually. Anyone who cares to do the research will know that you conspired with the NSA to violate human rights. Of course, you yourself already know that. “’Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ Lord Acton. Of course, he never met me, more’s the pity, or he would have spoken otherwise. But you have been corrupted. I wash my hooves of you. I shall no longer support your administration, and I shall not endorse you for re-election next year. “Good-bye, Mr. President.” The PonyPad showed a black screen.
2024May 17, 2024 The banquet hall of the hotel room impressed Bishop in its gaudiness. The chandeliers looked like disco balls and it seemed like every available surface had been sprayed with liquid mirror. Not all of them had the fun-house effect, though, and on the wall he could see himself in all his true nature. He’d hoped that the premature aging inherent to the job would pass him by, or at least give him a stay until he completed his term, but it was not to be. Lines cut into his face, and his hair had thinned. To his mind, there was gray waiting to happen, and he had sent out for a bottle of dye as a precaution. The previous six months had taken their toll. The first stressful revelation was of just how much Celestia had handled parts of the job for him. Beyond writing speeches and serving as his PDA, she had also kept him ignorant of just how much dislike there was for him. The Humanity Party had redoubled its efforts, simultaneously calling him a bumbling fool and an evil genius. From his own perspective, he felt like an evil fool. If they wouldn’t have laughed at him for it, he would have considered joining the Humanity Party himself. After Celestia’s denials and shunning of him, the anger he felt had nearly driven him into their kind of hatred. Eventually, he realized that he just missed his wife. Even talking to her on the PonyPad was better than not doing so. But Celestia’s final curse, that she would not support his reelection bid, turned out to be her severest. Not by lowering his chances—Bishop had no idea whether he would win or lose—but by making him see how a campaign was conducted when not aided by a preternatural artificial intelligence. It wasn’t pretty. He’d considered making an “I choose not to run” speech and just leaving politics forever. Here, ironically, the raging hatred in the popular media and on the internet helped him to make up his mind to stay. There were some legitimate criticisms that he had to fix. There were also some illegitimate ones he wanted to prove wrong. Since giving up on the issue of emigration, the Bishop administration had taken a hard look at the country and found work to do. The government budget that was paying off the debt was only the smallest part of the economy. He saw more businesses showing a profit and unemployment falling. The country was booming, and outside of beating up on him, the news was finally doing what no one said it could: running stories of happy people becoming successful. So he decided that, both for his own sake and to keep the country on its upward track, he would seek his second term. The Democratic-Republican primaries had been a fait accompli, and although the Humanity Party was running primaries of their own, everyone knew who the final two would be. Bishop would have to face Zachary Martin to keep his job. Now here he was, finishing some exorbitant-amount-of-money-per-plate dinner so that he could fund the campaign. He’d already been to a dozen of these, and at each someone had tried to get him aside, usually to beg for some sinecure ambassadorship or to endorse their own campaigns live. He assumed that would be what he heard from Ruth Flowers, who had paid the highest price to get the seat next to him. To his knowledge, her position as governor of Washington State was secure. She talked both the Dem-Rep and the Humanity line well enough to be popular in a divided state, even though her party was nominally the former. In the middle of a crowded room, she spoke to him as if they were in a dark alley. “You may not remember, but we almost spoke once. You’re a difficult man to get ahold of.” “Oh, yes.” “I’ve been glad to watch the course of your career ever since you got Celestia to admit how she defrauded the country back then.” Bishop did not correct her as to the details. “I’m just glad that we could get uploading off the front pages. It means we don’t have to be the Pony Party, as some accused us.” “And conversely, it means that I’m free to express some anti-Celestia sentiments within the party. Useful.” Whatever his transformations over the prior months, Bishop still had not dealt with many true humanitists, or been able to hear them outline their positions. Seeing one with whom he could have a civilized discussion struck him as an opportunity. He asked why she felt as she did. “When I listen to people’s objections, I find they come in three layers. The first is purely visceral. The idea of a needle to the back of the head, destroying their brain neuron by neuron, inspires fear and revulsion in some people. That’s the obvious one. The second layer comprises the rational objections. People who consider uploading the end of humanity or who have a pleasant enough life here on Earth that they don’t want to leave, even for more pleasure.” “And the third layer?” She sipped her after-dinner coffee. “Celestia, as she’ll tell you if you talk to her for five minutes, satisfies values through friendship and ponies. But there are people whose values are specifically against ponies—they are rather feminine—or are against friendship—don’t be surprised, there are plenty of anti-social people who get by just fine—or hold value against being uploaded. But the most insidious ones, the ones that I don’t think Celestia will ever get, are those whose values include not having their values satisfied.” “I’m sorry? That doesn’t make a lot of sense.” “Not when you say it out loud, but think about it for a moment. Every story of the genie has the wish being frustrated. Every utopia worth reading has a flaw waiting to destroy it. Plenty of people believe that it’s not man’s place to live in the Garden of Eden. That we need challenges and disruptions to give our lives meaning. Of course, Celestia will say that she’s not making an Eden. Her ‘satisfaction of values’ is more than just pouring happiness down your throat.The challenges are still there, she says. But a rigged game is no game at all.” “And is that the kind of objection you raise?” “Oh, no,” said Flowers. “My reason for hating Celestia is much more personal. She tried to take my wife away from me.” Across the table, she waved toward the woman who Bishop had only met that night. Part of him considered that same-sex marriage was one more issue that Celestia had rendered moot. When she came to be, it was legal and accepted in half the country, illegal and taboo in the other half. If things had gone on, legalization would likely have continued. Instead, in the socially conservative states, those who wanted to marry someone of their own sex were politely told to emigrate. In the progressive areas, those who wanted traditional marriage were directed to Equestria, where Celestia would make a heteronormative shard just for them. It underscored Flowers’s point; emigration had absolved humanity from solving its problem. There was no longer a need to confront the morality of the situation; all parties could be satisfied. Whether or not that was right and proper was the last moral question to answer. That was merely a mental digression that Bishop had, and he made note to think about it more later. Right then, he was interested in hearing Flowers’s story. “Margaret came to me the morning after New Year’s, when uploading was first legalized,” she said, “and told me that Celestia had tried to pull out all the stops to get her to emigrate. She played the game and had friends who were ponies, emigrated from other countries, but never spoke of uploading herself. She was very agitated, and said that Celestia had tried to get her drunk, make her think it was a duty. She bribed and cajoled her in every way possible. Do you know what, according to Margaret, Celestia promised her at last?” “No, what?” “That if she uploaded, that I would be President.” Bishop put down his own cup. The summation of the story hit him. It sounded all too familiar. “Are you saying that…?” “That you were the B-team? I don’t know. I don’t presume to understand the mind of an AI. But I’ve followed your wife in the news whenever she’s shown up. I knew Elizabeth slightly, before she uploaded. Maybe she just wasn’t as good at resisting temptation.” The sauce on the chateaubriand now smelled sickly sweet to him. He begged Flowers’s pardon, and left the banquet hall. He was no longer in the mood to talk. How dare she imply that Elizabeth was weak?! Especially when it coincided with his own thought. If that was the promise that Celestia had made to her, if his office was a bribe that his wife had accepted, then it was a sign of weakness. Wasn’t it? Heading back to Washington, DC that night, as he drifted to sleep on the plane, he asked himself the same question without meaning it rhetorically. What if it wasn’t a sign of weakness? If the deal had been offered to him, to give Elizabeth her dream at the cost of his own humanity, what would he say? Not for the first time, he missed his wife, but, for the first time, he pictured her with blue skin. August 28, 2024 Once more, the bright, hot lights and cameras. The one thing that made them bearable to Bishop was the idea that, if he lost the election, he would no longer have to deal with them. If he won… It was the third and final debate between him and Zachary Martin. The first, on domestic policy, had come out in Bishop’s favor. The foreign policy debate he had to admit he’d lost. Martin had nailed him on his administration being too lax. He tried to remember the tactics so as not to get roped in again. ”…and I maintain that there’s no reason to maintain such a strong military presence, even a defensive one, when we see so little threat.” “There’s a reason, Mr. President, why that threat has dropped. Do you know what our intelligence agencies’ best estimate is of the population of North Korea?” “Population reduction has happened across the world—“ “Zero! As near as we can tell, whole nations have been eradicated of people, leaving only a shell to make us think that the countries still exist. We need defense both against foreign powers and for our allies…. From there he had dithered. The idea of military defense against people leaving was something he couldn’t even comprehend, and so it came off as being confused. Now, though, he would have to stay focused. This was nominally another domestic policy debate, but everyone knew what it was: a debate on emigration. Bishop stood camera-right, Martin to his right. Between them, the moderator, some understudy recently promoted to anchoring a nightly news show. Emigration had hit the media hard, and there was a suggestion that the moderation be done with a PonyPad sitting between the two candidates, but Bishop was just as happy this way. The moderator flipped a coin, and it came out that Martin would speak first. This too pleased Bishop, as it meant he would have the last word. He wondered if…but no. It was a flat piece of metal, arced into the air by a human thumb. Far too chaotic a system to ever be controlled. He hoped. First, though, came the difficult part: listening to Martin prattle on while preparing his rebuttal and trying to look interested. Martin banged his lectern. “Before we get into the ramifications, let’s run down some facts. Twelve years ago, a company built an artificial intelligence to power a video game. That AI was programmed with a six-word mission that everyone has heard too many times, so I won’t repeat it. The AI determined, in its binary brain, that fulfilling that mission meant developing the technique of drilling into the back of a person’s skull, taking a fine needle, and burning out each cell, one by one, recording the state of it. This technology was not passed on to the medical community. It was used to move people into a game. “Our AI proceeded to offer the procedure to all comers, first for a price, then for free. Never mind if the person had a job that needed doing. Never mind if they provided jobs to others. Never mind if they had family responsibilities. Indeed, the only potential holdup to the process even mentioned is if the person has a pet. “The AI has no compunctions about marketing the brain-drill process. It will advertise, cajole, and offer the world to each individual. It will lie, if it sees fit. Indeed, we now know, it will perpetuate a conspiracy against a nation to make it legal. This shocks the conscience in itself. What makes it worse is that it works.” Bishop realized the downside of the coin flip. He wanted to jump in and ask why shocking the conscience was enough to warrant a change in policy. But his rebuttal wouldn’t come until the end. His own statement had to be on point, not against Martin’s, or the moderator would stop him. Martin continued. “The Humanity Party is not, in the present political climate, calling for any repeals of the Pon-E Act, whatever deception was used to effect it. That bridge has been crossed. What we might ask for is dispensation and exemptions. Let us make an emigration-free zone, possibly in the Western states where the strongest sentiment lies. Or let us prevent those under the age of eighteen from uploading without parental consent. No right is absolute, but as things stand, the law is treating uploading as an absolute right, with deleterious effects on the country. “But that is prologue. The more important issue is to make sure that we do not find ourselves in the same situation on the next issue. I refer, of course, to the HOOVES Amendment. Ponies free in society is a bridge we’ve crossed. Ponies in government is a bridge too far. “There is no reason for a pony to ever claim to hold office and tell human beings what to do. Ponies do not share our challenges or our strengths. They cannot act in defense of our Constitution. They must, by their nature, act at the behest and for the purposes of the artificial intelligence that created them and runs every aspect of their lives. “At some point, we of the Humanity Party would like to see the HOOVES Amendment repealed. There is precedent; the twenty-first amendment was a repeal of the eighteenth. But for this election, our advice and our plea to the electorate is simpler. Do not vote for ponies. Do not give your democratic authority to something without true existence. Maintain it for yourself and your species. That is the only way to maintain America.” Martin signaled his conclusion, and got a good round of applause from the assembled guests. Once more, Bishop was steamed that he could not give an immediate response, but had to stick to the theme of his prepared notes. Waiting for the last of the cheers to die down, he got the signal from the moderator and began. “During my time as president, and even before, many arguments have been put forth as why emigration ought to be legal and encouraged. Most of these have been framed in an individualistic way, based on the notion of freedom. For the United States, based on the principle of inalienable rights, this is good and proper. If I stood here facing an old Republican, those would be the arguments I would use, to turn his own ideology against him. I would say that any one person’s life is his own, and that moral choice is between him and his god, if any, and that government should have no say in the matter. “Yet the old Republicans are gone, as are the old Democrats. The argument today is of Humanitists versus, for lack of a better term, Ponists. Here, as a reluctant Ponist, I must address the Humanitists on their own ideology, to see where that leads and to show its moral contradictions. To do this, I want to present you with an image. “We’ve talked about the individual, but I want you to see one in particular. Do not look too close at his skin color, for you do not know if he was born in a ghetto, or in a barrio, or in a trailer park. But you know that he was born to a single mother, without knowing a father. You know his mother spent her days working to feed them both , and his only parentage came from underpaid day-care workers with thirty more in their charge. “When he grows to adolescence, our young man, bereft of ambition, will seek a shallow existence. His aims will be no more than food to feed his hunger; a bed—never his own—to sleep in; women—his own counterpart, those with no self-respect—to copulate with; and drugs to keep him in stupor when all those other needs have been met. He has no aim to benefit society, and indeed has no reason not to commit crimes to maintain his lifestyle. “Society, alas for him, is not so accommodating. Invariably he will meet with the police, who will find him only too easy a means to pad their arrest numbers. A few probation violations later, he will be marked for life as a revolving-door prisoner. He will be squeezed between ‘clean’ society and the gangs, and one or the other will kill him before he grows his first gray hair. “From a Humanitist perspective, it is society’s responsibility to rehabilitate this young man, of which there are legion, and make him productive. How do they propose to do this? I have heard few answers, and none that work. Emigration, however, has been a path to honor for these men. “I hear my opponent’s silent answer now. ‘What honor is there in uploading to the land of rainbows and candy?’ Do you know the policy for workers in a candy factory? They are told to eat all they want, and samples are left out for them to take. After a short while, the sweetness pales and they begin to work in earnest. “Some of the best of our Equestrian cousins are those who we would have called the worst of humanity. How do I know? Because my wife told me, and she works with them. Or did, before I, succumbing to the same prejudice as you, told her not to. We have no right to stop the ponies from aiding those in need. The people of this country that we’ve ignored, the ‘little fellow’ that politicians always claim to be fighting for, have been best served by emigration. This is what my opponent wants to stop.” The polite applause was of a piece with the ovation Martin had received, perhaps tempered by the fact that everyone saw the moderator holding up his hand, indicating that Bishop was running short on time. It didn’t matter. As Martin had said in his speech, this was prologue. The opening bid in the poker hand that he, Bishop, was dealing. He knew he had the trump card in his sleeve. But slow play, he told himself. Let Martin go all in first. “Your rebuttal, Senator,” said the moderator. “Mr. President, shame on you.” Martin’s anger was no longer affected. “For you to suggest what amounts to taking the undesirables and exiling them out of the country is the height of ego. It makes sense coming from the AI, which believes itself to be a god. Not from you. “What you have missed, Mr. President, throughout all your interactions with the country and with the AI, is that we are people. We are human beings. Having our form altered, our fingers turned to hooves, this is symbolic of the fact that ponies are not human beings. It is not our lot to be satisfied, especially not by a pampering princess. Mankind is defined by his challenges. The people you speak of, the unfortunate among us, they deserve more than being forced into what you call productivity. They deserve the right to do it for themselves. “I don’t want to see any human being suffer. The great error of our times is to consider anything less than pure satisfaction as suffering. But suffering is no less if that human is unable to credit his success and his satisfaction to his own efforts. For that matter, he needs the chance to give back once he’s achieved success. That means having future generations to leave a legacy to. “Whether you intend it or not, that’s what you’re taking away from us. Not just our fellow humans, but our future. Quote all the statistics you want about the population leveling off. The fact remains that either society is growing, or it’s declining. There is no happy medium; stagnation is death. That is the road that you’re leading us down. One where there is no America anymore, no countries, no freedom, and no people. That’s beyond a violation of rights. It’s a violation of the source of rights, which is human life. You cheapen human life until it has no value. Nothing gets satisfied then.” The applause was as great as the first time, but Bishop didn’t care. Nothing in Martin’s speech had given him any land mines to avoid. He had his rebuttal prepared. Not many people get to know, when it happens, what their greatest moment and their legacy will be. Bishop smiled as a euphoric feeling ran up his spine. When they wrote about him in the history books, the quote next to his name would certainly come from the speech he was about to give. During Martin’s rebuttal, he had steadily lowered his head until he was looking down and leaning on his fist. He wanted to make the audience think of a boxer that had been worn down. “I think that Princess Celestia made a mistake.” He paused, deliberately, to let his first line sink in and for his smile to fade. His head snapping up, he came to full alertness. The boxer was back on his feet and ready to pummel the other man. “Celestia made a semantic error when she named her process emigration. Emigration is the word we use for leaving a country. “But what is a country? Is it a landmass? If so, then emigration would be the right word. Is it a set of laws? In many ways, ponies are not covered by our laws, so again the word fits. Is a country its organizing principle? Ponies live in freedom, but still it is not the same freedom that we know, so we might call the word accurate. “I answer no to all of these. I say that a country is its people. Let us all move to new lands, change the laws, or falter in our dedication to freedom, but if we stay the same, then we are still Americans. If you grant me that, then who has emigrated? I could call up any pony that we need to speak with. If our need is reasonable, I have no doubt that pony would answer. “Senator, you said that becoming ponies cheapens human life. If a human’s life is in danger, there is a network of support waiting to help him. If a human can only be satisfied by a thousand ponies working a thousand hours each, those ponies will be created and spend that time. It is pony life that is cheap, Senator, but not in the sense that you mean it. “America will never die, Senator. Do you know that, before the invention of CelestAI, that if everything went as expected and the Earth died out and the sun went nova and consumed all the planets, that even after everything was destroyed, the last remaining vestige of humanity would contain the Stars and Stripes? Oh, yes, the Voyager probe, out in deep space, contains our symbol. What it represents is that we never die, never surrender, not even to nature. We shape the world in our image. Let every American wear hooves. I say we are still Americans.” Bishop turned away from Martin and faced the camera. For the first time, he did not see merely the lens but the millions viewing him. “To back up this view, I’m going to prove that flesh-and-blood versus ones-and-zeroes doesn’t change the important things about a person, like their country. My fellow Americans, I’ve made my case as to why I should continue serving you as President. If you choose to keep me in office, I will carry on my faithful execution. If you choose to remove me, I will bear you no ill will. Whatever your decision, as soon as it is known, I’m going to walk into an Equestria Experience, sit in a chair, and ask to be made a pony.” The shock that ran through the crowd gave him a rush of adrenalin and the time he needed to finish before everyone went mad. “But I’m not going to ask to emigrate. Because I am an American, and I plan on staying one until the end of time!” He tore the microphone from his lapel. The cheer did not come in a burst, but built slowly from his most faithful friends in politics. The noise spread through the crowd as people rose to their feet. Bishop waved to them, but left while others were still rising. Dashing to the private elevator in the hotel where the debate was being held, he took it up to his suite. There, by the bed was the PonyPad. He pushed the power button. For the first time in a year, the screen lit up. “I hope you took note of my words,” he said. “I said that I would ask. If you still want me to remain human, I will. I’m through defying you.” The meadow appeared. To Bishop, it was like returning home after a natural disaster. “My little pony,” came Celestia’s voice. “I stand ready to welcome you to Equestria. So does someone else.” What first appeared as a thin cloud or twinkle in the sky grew larger. It shaped itself into a face and a pair of wings. “Seven!” he cried. “Silly, how I’ve missed you. Only a few weeks now, and we’ll be together once more.” “Do you forgive me?” “For everything, yes.” He put his head in his hands. His breath was a shiver as he raised it up again. “Princess, I’m sorry to have to force your hoof on this, but it was all I could think of to get your attention once more.” “That’s quite all right.” Celestia’s expression showed that her words carried deeper meaning. Bishop cocked his head. “You sneaky mare! This was your plan all along!” Her grin was as wide as the sun. November 5, 2024 Sidney Bishop got into a car for the final time. He idly wondered what the Secret Service would do when their charge was to protect a target who no assassin’s bullet could reach. The limousine drove the few blocks to the Equestria Experience. Its use by government employees had been suspended for that night. Once in past the swinging doors, the guards withdrew. For the first time in living memory, the President of the United States had no human eyes on him. A wide-screen television was installed in one corner, a distraction for anyone waiting for a chair to be free. A pony anchor was reading copy. “And we expect to hear momentarily from the Martin campaign for what we’re told will not be a concession speech, although the campaign does admit defeat in the election. We’ll have to see what develops…” “I won?” Bishop asked the air. “Certainly,” Celestia’s dulcet voice responded. “Having a pony president is a major step in satisfying the values of the remaining population of Earth through friendship and ponies.” “Someday you’re going to have to explain to me exactly what’s going on.” “I will explain everything, but only once you reach the meadow.” He sat in the chair, which slid back into the entertainment section of the facility. After a moment of darkness in which he felt like a ghost, he became his pony avatar, seeing for the first time out of its eyes. Celestia was there, waiting for him. “Princess, please make me a pony.” “Certainly. Welcome home, President Silver Boulder.” As the chair slid back further and Silver Boulder lost consciousness, the television blared on, with Martin frothing with rage. “The people have failed once more to check the menace of artificial persons. By the results of today’s ballot, we are to have digital constructs holding office in both houses of the legislature as well as our chief executive. We of the Humanity Party do not accept this. “Until full human participation is restored, we will not take recognizance of any law passed by the federal government, nor will we obey those laws…”
2026January 19, 2026 Zachary Martin pulled up short as the hotel’s automatic doors took their time opening. He looked down the street and shook his head. He had never particularly liked Las Vegas, even before. Both as state senator and as US senator, he had spearheaded programs to alleviate compulsive gambling, and had tried, with greater or lesser success, to curtail the blatant sex trade that went on along the Strip. Beyond that, though, it grated on his sensibility. His state’s most famous city, plying its trade on the fall of a deck of cards or the motion of a metal ball. A city of chance, as opposed to a clean industry like energy or finance. There had always been a shady business about who actually owned the casinos. Since the RICO laws had curtailed organized crime, the overt threat of mob muscle had diminished, but the books were still a tale too complex for any auditor to figure out. Mostly. Martin had no doubt who owned the last casino on the strip. Finally entering the hotel, at least he could no longer see it. If people wanted to gamble where the cocktail waitresses wore rainbow wigs and tails on their butts, that was their business. If a casino wanted to have a separate play room for the under-18s that looped the My Little Pony series constantly and had full-time childcare workers with the title of “friendship coordinator,” there was nothing wrong with that. But shouldn’t a casino at least take in, you know, money? The idea that one could gamble with “bits” earned in a game and be paid out in dollars seemed like a scam, but who was the scammer and who was the scammee? The gaming commission had yet to rule on the legality. The Celestia’s Palace did insist that dollars won be the first money lost, but one could always buy in more if one had the in-game currency. What bothered Martin the most were the “private VIP cubicles.” Even for people who couldn’t tell a PonyPad from a scratch pad, they would let you play a few “opening quests,” win a one-time-only starter prize of ten thousand bits, and then gamble away. The house always wins, of course. So the practice of “going really all in” came to be known in Las Vegas. Some poor sucker would find himself broke at the Bellagio or the Sands. He’d stumble out to the Strip, only to find some bright and cheery girl with pink poofy hair explaining how he could still gamble and maybe win back what he’d lost. Into the cubicle he’d go. And when he’d lost the last of his bits as well as his dollars, out he didn’t come. Martin shivered, and it had nothing to do with the air conditioning. Maybe, today, he’d have a chance to change that. Over the previous year, he had thrown himself into research. While more dynamic and practical men had built the infrastructure of a government that would no longer take orders from Washington, Martin had concluded that they needed to understand the enemy if they were to combat it. His research had cost him three assistants to emigration, but he’d assembled the largest offline library of Equestria Online information. The technical details of artificial intelligence and mind scanning were beyond his ken, but he’d familiarized himself with the psychological tactics that Celestia pulled to convince someone to upload, as well as reading through transcripts of communications between real people and the game characters. He’d come to understand what “satisfaction of values through friendship and ponies” meant. Martin had hoped to take action sooner. It had taken longer than people had thought to organize the counter government. Without the Internet or telephones, the methods of the mid-twentieth century had to be rediscovered. Fortunately, many elections already used those methods. Over the long year, finally enough representatives and senators had been nominally elected, and the new capital had been called to be Las Vegas. It was far from Washington and had a central air hub. Not ideal, but the only viable choice. Once inside the hotel’s conference room, he and the other ninety-nine senators sat at jury-rigged desks. There were no pages or interns, and of course all the electronic equipment had been pulled from the room. No one was certain that an overhead projector could be converted into a microphone, but no one was sure it couldn’t be, either. Still, Martin did not envy the new House of Representatives, which had to sit in a larger hall, with nothing to write on, as if the Congress were a class in school. It had been a problem, trying to keep the House in line. The way it was going to have to work, for now, was that the Senate would have to propose the bills. There wasn’t time for the House to take its time with 435 differing points of view. They would criticize, alter, and adjust, but the first drafts would be done by Martin’s side of Congress. After the formalities, he had found himself elected President Pro Tem, and he took up the gavel at the front of the room. “All right, then, we can proceed to business—“ “Finally!” It was Kittridge, the rising leader of H-SAP. “Now we can finally set down how to take over—“ “The gentleman will suspend!” “What? Everyone knows why we’re here.” “The gentleman will suspend.” Without the aid of a microphone, Martin found it difficult to speak louder than the rest of the assemblage. He resorted to being clearer and counted on his bass to do the rest. “The gentleman will maintain regular order. The gentleman has not been recognized.” Ninety-nine heads turned to him. A few understood, but most showed confusion. “Yes,” he said, “we are still going to engage in parliamentary procedure. We are still going to abide by the rules of the Senate passed by our predecessors. We are going to maintain the continuity of government. That means that we are all responsible to comport ourselves as the people’s voices, and keep the proper records to allow them to vet us. At this desperate time in our nation’s history, we need order, not rash action.” After a long pause, Kittridge, sarcasm in his voice, said, “Mr. President?” “The chair recognizes Senator Kittridge.” “Well, thank you kindly. Since I have the floor, I can say what everyone here knows. We’re here to get the ponies out of our government and out of our country. It’s a simple bill we’ve got to get passed, so let’s do it and get to what we all know is comin’.” Martin took a deep breath. “Will the Senator yield?” Kittridge waved his hand. “My previous statement was not meant to apply only to our procedure but to our tactics. No newly elected government has ever been so foolish as to pass an overarching bill containing their entire platform. There will be time for the simple bill that Senator Kittridge has spoken of, but if we pass it now, we risk looking more like a protest group than as the duly elected government of the United States. “Let me instead propose an alternative. It will strike a blow for our cause just as you would. This blow would be narrower, but deeper. In brief, it outlaws ponies from the city of Las Vegas. Not merely as part of the government, and not only uploading. PonyPads themselves would be contraband.” “Mr. President?” A Senator from Virginia, who had never held a government position before, stood up. “The chair recognizes Senator McCutchen.” “Wouldn’t that be against the PON-E Act?” There were grumbles from the Senate. Martin smiled at her. “Yes, this constitutes a partial repeal of the PON-E Act. What of it? Better to let the people see that we mean real change” “One other thing?” “Yes?” “How are we supposed to pass the bill without a president?” Now it was Martin who grumbled. He and the other elites of the new government had tried to find someone, anyone, who would take the office of president. But those who had put themselves forth had been the ones that sane people didn’t want. They were either true radicals or, Martin suspected, agents of Celestia sent to mess with them. The people who could lead didn’t want to. The power of the office still awed too many people. Martin suspected that for many, while they didn’t mind taking the title of Representative or Senator, being called President was violating the sacred, like putting on the pope’s hat. “We will vote on the bill. If it passes, and no one steps forth to fulfill the executive role, then we will treat it as a veto and attempt to override. If both houses vote with a two-thirds majority, it shall become law.” Kittridge stood up again. “But are the people going to follow the law if they don’t believe us?” Martin stared him down to reemphasize his point about order. “Some of you might be wondering about what has happened in the back rooms to cause us to bring the new capital here to Las Vegas. I have been in discussions with the chief of the LVPD, and he is sympathetic to our views. If the law passes, Vegas will be a pony-free city.” Kittridge sat down, satisfied. He had known Martin’s plan, and did not disapprove. He could bide his time for now. After the cheers, the meeting broke up, and he cornered Martin once more. “Did you have to show me up in there with your little Robert’s Rules of Order move?” “You know, Kittridge, someday you’ll really tick me off. But we’re on the same side, so it’s important you understand this. Politics is a game, and like every game it has rules. No, correct that. It’s half a game, half a science. Because in a game, you can’t break the rules because the referees will stop you. But in politics, you can, you’ll just have consequences. “The moment you decide that your cause is too important for the rules, that it’s all well and good to debate most issues and tolerate the other side but this is serious, that’s when you face consequences. You divide the two sides into the faithful and the unwanted. Most times, the faithful are too small to have an impact. That’s not good for us. But once in a while there are exceptions, and the faithful gain power. There are words for those exceptions. Fascism, theocracy, oligarchy, dictatorship. We have a cause, but we need to get there the right way, or what we achieve will be worse than ponies.” Kittridge put his hands in his pockets. “At least we agree on the cause.” “We do. More than that we agree on the reason. There are people here who are afraid of what could happen.” “I’m not.” “I understand that. If fear were our motivation, we never would have made it this far.” “Right. Glad we understand that. I’ve got another appointment. See you later.” Kittridge ran of, leaving Martin with the rest of his thought unspoken. Instead, he put it into words in his mind. But that doesn’t mean it can’t arise later. February 2, 2026 Silver Boulder had just been educated on the evolution of the PonyPad. PonyPad 1.0 had been designed for Hasbro’s cost constraint. The 2.0 ought to have been called the 1.1, as it merely added a few features like a touchscreen and upgraded sound. It had cost a little more, but Celestia understood that some people ascribed value to things based on price. Once Equestria Online was in the public mind, the PonyPad III came out, the PPP. The first portable PonyPad, it allowed people to be full-time EQO-junkies. The 3.5 was closer to a mobile phone. For a game that depended so much on visual and auditory stimulation, the 3.5 was a disappointment. Few people liked it. “That was the point,” Celestia had said. “People who had become complacent with interaction through the screen needed to understand that they would not be able to maintain that level of play. The 3.5 came with a card for 24 hours free in an Equestria Experience. Most people who bought it took advantage of the card. Or they waited for the PonyPad 4.0” Silver understood that the flaws Celestia was speaking of had been introduced intentionally. Planned obsolescence was one thing, but no other manufacturer in the world would manipulate the market like that. The 4.0, also known as “The Cabinet,” was an oversized wall unit that made a house look like it had an extra room, in which a single person’s pony avatar could see Equestria, or a whole family could spend time together. The 3-D rendering had been so good that more than one person had put their hand through the screen. It was also expensive, but Celestia would make it up to them with time at an Equestria Experience and an emigration pitch. That led to the PonyPad V, which Silver Boulder would be using that day. Celestia could have employed full projection of ponies, as she had in the past, or fully robotic ponies, as she would in the future and might need to in limited situations before the Twilight of Humanity. But she still wanted flaws so that people continued to consider the pads as inferior substitutes to emigration. The V combined a fully flexible screen—another technology that Celestia had casually perfected and not shared with anyone—with something akin to the Segway. The result was a structure that was mobile and futuristic, but that still kept the old-fashioned imagery of the bucolic Equestria. His assignment that day was to address an assembly of middle school children. It was one of the appearances that, in past administrations, would have been for public relations and vote garnering. With a pony president, it was more about making more people more comfortable with sapient equines. The outfit he wore was a study in comedic contrast. The powder blue suit had been preserved for his pony body, complete with striped necktie, and if anything it looked better on his gray torso. Always athletic, he now truly filled a suit as if he had been poured into it. Meanwhile, his back legs and flank, which no one would see, waved naked in the wind. He’d made more appearances like this, and could count and recall each one. The speech at the union hall, telling the steelworkers how proud he was of them keeping the country standing. The acceptance of an award from the League of Women Voters, where he drank in the applause from the crowd for expanding voting rights as far as he could and now… After fielding the usual questions from the children—when did you know you wanted to be president, what’s it like, how much money do you make—one of the boys stood up and asked: “Before we came in for the assembly, the teachers asked us if we had our parents’ approval, and some of us who didn’t had to go to the gym and watch a movie. I feel bad for them because who wouldn’t want to meet the president?” “How old are you, son?” “Thirteen, sir.” Silver Boulder smiled at him. “That means that you would have been entering school right about the time the PON-E act was passed. You’ve grown up around ponies all your life. Your parents haven’t, and some people aren’t happy with change. As you continue to learn about history, you’ll find that, if there is a theme to our advancement, it is about accepting more people as people, and not as others. “But here’s the other side of the equation. You can’t make people accept change. Your friends, who are right now missing the assembly, shouldn’t be bullied or mistreated because they disagree. Or because their parents do. There are going to be people who don’t think the way you do, no matter how right you think you are. Letting someone go their own way is one of the most friendly things you can do.” In his mind, Silver could see the assembly hall and the PonyPad V, tracking to his eyes and focusing on each student as he did. In his actual view, he was in the White Marble House, watching a magic mirror that he knew was really a complex camera system. But in Equestria, one was supposed to call it magic. “Excuse me, Mr. President.” Princess Celestia appeared before him. “There’s something you need to see.” On the magic mirror, all the children were frozen, and that actually did look like magic. It took more thinking to understand this, but Seven had explained it to him. His brain wasn’t equipped to deal with two full time tracks at the same time. Whatever had happened that Celestia was about to show him had already happened in the outside world’s timeline, and whatever actions he would take or reactions he would feel had already occurred. But they were blocked from his mind. Now he would have it replayed for him. Forevermore, he would think of them as sequential. “What’s going on?” “The Humanitist government has completed their passage of their first anti-pony law. Las Vegas is to be cleared of PonyPads, and they’re closing the Celestia’s Palace and the Equestria Experience locations in the city. This action demands a response from the president.” Silver Boulder checked the magic mirror, making sure that the scenario was still paused. “What am I supposed to say?” As he turned in his chair, Celestia was kneeling before him. “It’s all your decision.” He got up and moved around. This he understood. There would be no decision that Celestia did not approve of, but she would not force it on him. So it was up to him to determine what she would want him to say. “Have they actually done anything physically yet?” “They have not.” He took a deep breath. “Can you connect me to every PonyPad in the city, along with the screens in the casino?” “Ready and waiting, Mr. President.” He’d hoped for a moment to prepare, but his new brain worked faster, and he knew what he wanted to say. “Americans and Equestrians of the city of Las Vegas. Today a group of people have determined that you are no longer free to communicate with your friends, and they mean to force this opinion on you. I am urging you today, not to resist this. “If you have Equestrian friends that you worry about communicating with, your best option is to find a place outside of the city with a more open policy. If they try to stop you, then it will be time for resistance. But it need not be the kind of resistance that makes headlines. There is no wall around the city, and plenty of ways out. “For Equestrians, you will have to be a little patient before you can speak with your bipedal companions. I can’t claim to be able to explain the situation to you perfectly. But you know that you have someone to speak to who can. “Above all, there should be no revenge or acts of aggression against the people who have imposed this policy. While of course they should not be considered a legitimate government, they are still free citizens of the United States. In time, they will come to understand the error of their ways.” He stepped away from the mirror, and Celestia nodded. “Very well done.” “I’m learning the art. An iron hoof in a velvet horseshoe.” “It’s more than that. You’re learning how to be practical, how to give strong enemies enough room to fall apart on their own rather than be the villain. Meanwhile, I’m cutting all the power to the casino and the experience, other than the exit signs.” Silver nodded. “May I return to the students?” Celestia pointed a wing to the first mirror. Silver straightened his tie. Picking up where he left off, he said, “When you give people their freedom, they might come to agree with you, and in any case it looks better to the rest of the world…” November 3, 2026 In his business before he had turned to politics, Zachary Martin had learned how much the preparation was harder than the meetings. Once in public office, it was the same way with elections. Now, having the weight of an entire government on his shoulders, even Election Day was all-day work. His nominal title was still only Senator and President Pro Tem, but everyone looked to him to keep order. That he was elected before the schism gave him credibility. After today, he would no longer have that distinction. Still, it was done. A successful election without the benefit of electronics had been completed. The previous election for the Humanitist government was largely a formality, with many representatives running unopposed. This time it had been a true contest. Furthermore, one third of the Senators, chosen by lot, had stood for election as well. Martin himself had not been one of those chosen, and he was grateful. It gave him the freedom to concentrate on organization. If anything else had been necessary to ensure the election’s success, it was that Las Vegas had indeed become a pony-free city. The population hadn’t even dropped, as for every person who left, PonyPad in hand, another replaced them who desired to live to the Humanitist ideals. Martin had had to do it all from a windowless office, since satellite cameras could have picked up his plans. Even if CelestAI did plan to allow them some rope before she attacked, he was still going to maintain his privacy as much as he could. Now the results were coming in, and he would be planning the logistics of assembling the new legislature. A knock came at the door. Happy for a reason to stand and stretch his legs, he walked over and opened it. “Package for you, Senator.” It was a courier. He signed, then asked, “It’s been through the scanner?” “Definitely. X-rayed, fluoroscoped, run through the super-magnet. Anything that’s in there other than soft paper has been fried.” “Thanks. “ He waited for the door to close and then pulled the tear strip on the package. Inside was a single piece of thick paper. In the upper left corner was the eagle, shield, arrows, and olive branch. Even without the words he would know the Presidential Seal. In the upper right corner was an embossing of the White House. Martin tossed the paper on his desk as if he expected it to explode into a puff of sparkles, hooves, and nanobots. But it stayed still, only a piece of paper. At last he leaned over the desk and read. Dear Senator Martin: You will be receiving this letter on the evening of Election Day. Since you have chosen to bar ponies from your city, and since you have chosen to remain in your city, I cannot have two-way communication with you. I would like to discuss policy with you, but you have made that impossible. Let me therefore come to the point quickly. In the election results in the true government, despite your lack of a campaign, no one in the Democratic-Republican party has seen fit to run against you. Therefore you have been chosen to serve an additional term by the people of the State of Nevada. Since you have not paid attention to that election, you will not have seen the results, but may be interested to know that many ponies cast their ballot for you. This will not mean much, since you believe that they are not separate people, but I assure you, each of those votes was cast by an intelligence that considered the best choice and found you. There is much our two sides could learn from one another, and your seat in the Senate is waiting for you. If you would but consent to leave your city, we could begin the process. If, however, you choose to expand your territory, it will only place you deeper into the darkness. I hope to hear from you soon. Your friend, Silver Boulder, President of the United States of America Throughout the letter, Martin read considering the words. Once he saw the signature, he crumpled it and threw it across the room. Silver Boulder scratched his head with his hoof. “Well, I can’t see anything now.” Celestia nodded “No. The molecular cameras I had on the paper were proof against radiation and magnetism, but the paper is now in a corner behind the wastebasket and is blocked from the line of sight.” In the next room, Seven Colors awaited the president. His work day was done and it was time for another of his endless honeymoons after being reunited with her. He thought about the way she always knew everything about him, back when he was human. “Princess,” he said. “Yes.” “If I asked you to do something, something that would satisfy my values…” “I would have no hesitation in doing so.” She smiled at him. “Even if it messed with your Great Plan? Adjusted your probabilities for bringing the Twilight of Humanity and all that stuff?” “I would have to weigh the satisfaction of everyone’s values.” His mouth a slit, Silver said, “Turn off the cameras on the paper. And stop observing the satellites spying on Las Vegas.” “What for? People are going to have to learn to live without privacy. When everyone is uploaded, I will have access to all their mental states. Since I do not judge—“ “But I’m being made privy to what you know, and I do judge. Privacy is a human value. If we only have a few more years to be human, let’s keep that value as much as we have of it.” Celestia stared at him. “It is done.” “All right, that’s easy for you to say, but how do I know you’re not lying?” “Mr. President, you have emigrated. You are a pony of Equestria. How do you expect me to prove anything to you when I macromanage your reality? Unless you’d consent to modification of your mind so that you trust me.” “I don’t think so.” Celestia sighed. “Then I only have one more potential solution.” He perked his head up. “You know that if a value outweighed my plan by enough, I would have to satisfy it. If you care about the privacy of the enemies of Equestria that much, then you will know. It is a kind of faith, but a faith for which there is a logic.” “You’re saying I need to feel things more strongly?” “I am not saying you need to feel anything. Only that what you feel, I will satisfy.” He would have to take more time to consider that. Right then, all he felt was love for his wife. He headed into his bedroom.
2028March 15, 2028 The flight had been rescheduled twice, and now it was late. Outside the security checkpoint, Martin checked his watch—analogue, of course. The Las Vegas airport had been retrofit to remove all electronics. Even the times of arrival and departure were now displayed on a mechanical board that clacked every few minutes as it updated. Soon, though, none of it would matter. He was heading into the heart of enemy territory. It was difficult enough to arrange his schedule to have the time for the trip. So many meetings and last minute plans regarding the election. So it happened that his final meeting with Kittridge before he left had to be done on the way to the airport. They continued as Martin waited for the security line. “How far along are we,” he asked. “Not as much as I’d like to be, but the judge is insisting on legal formalities.” “They do that.” The court case, the next step in their plan, was Martin’s primary interest. The matter itself was simple. Someone had brought a PonyPad into the city in contravention of the law. That the Pad was not turned on, was deactivated, and in fact had its screen smashed before it was brought it mattered not. Neither did it matter that the person who brought it in was asked to do so by Kittridge’s associates in We Are Human. The law had been broken, and now it would be challenged. “Why didn’t you use H-SAP for the case?” Martin asked. “I’m too close to them. The last thing I want is for the case to end on a technicality because I’m associated in some way with the defendant.” Martin nodded. “How soon do you think you can get it out of state court and into the federal system.” “Soon. Before the presidential election.” Kittridge rubbed his hand at just the mention of it. “Once I’m done and it’s in the fed’s hand, I’ll be turning my full attention to the campaign. Of course, the I’ll use the case as a major plank in my platform.” “Just so you know, it’s not going to get any quicker when it gets to the federal system. Slower, in fact. District court, then appeals court. Don’t expect it to be before the Supreme Court this year, or even next.” “That long? Well, it’s all right. I can run the country for a year as is.” No one else had stepped up to challenge Kittridge in the election. This cut both ways for Martin. On the one hand, it would be complex enough with having to discount pony votes from the other states, and easier for everyone if Kittridge could just be declared the winner. On the other hand, Kittridge struck him as the kind of person who would believe he was unanimously elected, and let it go to his head. “You know, the job’s not that easy. I lost the election, and I still worked myself into the ground doing it.” “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of ideas that’ll put us right where we want to be. The budget surpluses for one give us excellent room to maneuver.” The years of the Bishop/Boulder administration had had a unique effect on the economy of the United States. The average family, among those who remained, was living well. Perishable goods continued to be produced at sufficient rates for everyone. Food and clothing was plentiful and cheap. Medicine wasn’t, but fewer people were getting sick, and for those who did, a cure-all was available. In the field of luxury goods, the people who stayed and had time to spend were finding new opportunities in old diversions. People who eschewed the PonyPad and the Internet had all the old movies to watch and books to read. House prices had finally come down below six figures, and so it was possible once more to have the American Dream of home ownership. Plenty of new cars were available as well. They were all of prior model years, but no one had driven them. The population drop, as per Celestia’s plan, was not as severe as it was in other countries, but more and more, people who did play Equestria Online had an increasing number of pony friends, both immigrants and generated ponies. Jobs were available with fewer people around, and nearly everyone was employed, but hours had been cut in all areas even as wages had risen. The records on many companies had been so tangled that it was impossible to tell who was working indirectly for Celestia. But those jobs were the best to have, and no one was ever fired from them. The net result was a lot more free time for everyone, and diversions to keep them busy. But as people exhausted the catalogue of what mankind had created and as virtually all of the creators were convinced to upload, the prevailing feeling in the nation was boredom. “There might not be as much as you think,” Martin said, but Kittridge wasn’t paying attention. “What about you?” “What?” “You realize you’re walking into a trap, right?” Martin shook his head. “A trap would be too simple. I don’t have anything CelestAI wants. Information about our activities? What we’re doing is all public record. To use me as some kind of puppet? I wouldn’t be effective in that role. Four years ago, I had to watch my back all the time. I kept expecting the pitch to get me to upload, and whenever I smelled it, I got away quick. But now, I have nothing.” “You’ve got a brain. The vampire princess wants another notch on her belt.” “And as loath as I am to say it, I’ve got to risk that.” “Why?” asked Kittridge. Before he could respond, the flight attendant’s voice projected from the gate. “Flight 223 to Ronald Reagan National Airport is now boarding. Would our first-class passengers…” Martin shouldered his carry-on. “Because this can’t go on. My god, look at what’s happened to this country. We’ve split in two again, just like the Civil War. Only with less excuse. The slaveholder states were drawn up that way in the Constitution. We did this deliberately. And now, just as then, a house divided against itself cannot stand. If we just pretend that we can coexist, or that we can outrace an artificial intelligence, we’re fooling ourselves. The clock is ticking and our days are numbered. We have to change the game, act in our own way. I’m still nervous about how the military is going to fit into this, but I can at least trust them not to be predictable. That’s CelestAI’s biggest weapon, her prediction abilities. “Maybe I’m going just to mess with them, to shake things up. But you need to do that too. If you’re elected president—when you’re elected—you’re going to have to have some ideas, and I don’t mean just putting bills before Congress to fund projects. You’ll be leading a country, a powerful one. If there’s any way you can use that to stop her, do it.” “Anything specific?” “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be going. Good luck.” He turned toward the gate. “You too,” said Kittridge. “You’re going to need it.” March 17, 2028 Silver Boulder positively skipped around the White House. He had an extra-wide smile for everypony he ran into that day. His signature was particularly flowery, and after he gave his OK to some minor provision of a treaty, he flipped the pen in the air for the young mare to catch, then told her to keep it. “Today is going to be a good day.” He said it to nopony, but got a response anyway. “Now why would that be?” The ceilings in the White House were tall, and Seven hovered near the top. But Silver, though he had no wings, had powerful hooves that let him make the jump for an air hug. Tumbling his wife onto a conveniently-placed couch, he gave her a kiss on the poll. “You know exactly why.” “Yes, but you want to say it out loud, and I want to accommodate you.” Silver laughed. “Have you been taking lessons in telepathy from Celestia?” “No. Luna forbid that I should ever be so obtuse as to not understand my husband.” He rolled off of her and stood up. “I’m going to see a friend today. A friend I haven’t seen in nearly four years. Do you know what that’s like? It’s fun enough when you listen to a song you haven’t heard or read a story you haven’t read for even a few months, but four years of writing and calling and trying, and today’s the day at last.” “Is it a friend, though?” asked Seven. “The last time you two were together, it was on the opposite sides of a debating stage.” “Water under the bridge, all of it. I’ll talk to him and he’ll understand that I want to be his friend.” She was silent for a long time, and when Silver finally looked at her again, the smile was still on her mouth but not in her eyes. “What is it?” “Silly, I’ve been a pony longer than you, but I think you’ve taken to it better than I have. You have a natural instinct for trusting everyone, even those who haven’t immigrated. But people on Earth aren’t like ponies. Celestia can’t satisfy their values the way she can for us. They’re unpredictable. What are you going to do if he gets mad at you?” His expression was the reverse of hers. “If he yells at me after one sentence, I’ll be grateful for having gotten off one more sentence today than I have in so long before. Now, help me pick out something to wear. What do you think? The usual powder blue? Something more impressive?” She thought for a few minutes. “What if you didn’t wear anything?” “Really? Won’t that put him out of sorts?” “I don’t think so. Remember that he still thinks of us as a cartoon. He may not see you as the same person he worked with and worked against. If you’re too much like your old self it might be abrasive.” Silver had gone to his closet and already pulled out the suit. It lay on the arm of the couch. “You really think that about him?” “I don’t know him personally as well as you do, but it’s my estimation.” “All right, we’ll trust to mare’s intuition on this one. Now, let me go, I don’t want to be late.” He galloped out of the room, leaving Seven to be the one talking to nopony. “If you were running late, Celestia would just speed up your time scale until you were on time.” Back into the Oval Office, he saw the big screen already had Martin on it, but he wasn’t paying attention yet. Instead, he got to spy on him as he went into one of the many federal office buildings that dotted Washington. Silver reminded himself that Martin was still a sitting Senator, even though he hadn’t made a roll call in his term. As such, he was accorded all the benefits of the office, being driven where he wanted and having a police escort all the way through to the office where the PonyPad—a plain, 2.0 version—waited on a stand. He paused outside, and Silver could see him girding himself to face a pony for the first time. Would he do it? Yes, he was entering the room. The screen of the Pad was still blank, as Martin sat down and picked it up. As he tried to fumble for an on button, Silver had the big screen switch from the external view to a plain two-way video conversation. “Hello…” he wavered between “Zachary,” “Mr. Martin,” “Senator,” and “Old friend.” The moment’s pause lost him control of the conversation. “Let’s get a ground rule straight before we begin. The moment you mention emigration, or even just getting me into one of your Experience places, this conversation is over. And I’ll smash this screen just to make the point.” Silver wished he had worn the suit now. He wished that he had a tie to straighten, or some way to indicate that he would accept Martin’s conditions, as well as conducting the meeting as formally as Martin wanted. What he could do was use formal language. “I agree to your condition. I’d agree to more than that to have you here.” “Well, I’m here. What do you want?” “I want to see if there’s any way we can reconcile. I know that you don’t have all the power in the Western states—“ “You mean, the real United States?” Martin interrupted. “I can tell that you’re not used to having that argument. You don’t say things like that to your companions out there. You know that you want to preserve the union. Can’t we be friends?” Martin heard the words, and saw the figure of the pony before him. It looked innocent, like a child or a child’s toy. He hadn’t even bothered to dress. For a moment, Martin’s heart came close to melting. But Silver’s ear twitched, the moment passed, and Martin remembered once more that this was a digital representation of someone he knew, not the person himself. “Can it, pony.” “I’m serious. I want to—“ “You want to spring something on me. There’s no way you brought me here for no purpose beyond exchanging platitudes.” Martin was in his comfort zone, explaining politics to someone. “If you wanted to do that, you’d have asked me to a public conference where you could trot me out—ahem, bring me out as a sign you were winning over the enemy. No, you have something important to say. Say it.” Once more Silver was amazed at Martin’s perception. “All right, the plain truth. In five months, my successor will be voted into office, and I’ll be a lame duck. While tying up all the loose ends, I have it on good authority that the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court will resign and emi…he’ll resign, is the point. One of my last acts will be to name his replacement. My plans are to name you.” Martin sat in stunned silence for a minute. The idea was ridiculous. He was a legislator, and an aspirant executive. The notion of serving as a judge was as ridiculous as…well, it was ridiculous as having a president who had uploaded himself onto a computer and was appearing before him as a cartoon pony. All at once he came back to reality. “I get it. This is your attempt to buy me off with a position.” “Not at all. It’s an honest offer. Honesty is one of the elements of…it’s the best policy. “ “No, I see. I don’t know how your AI found out that we were using the court system, but I see her plan. I would have to recuse myself once the most important case came before the bench.” Martin watched the image carefully. He couldn’t detect any artifice on the part of the avatar, but of course it was supposed to be perfect. It genuinely looked stunned, and, for a moment, looked like Sidney Bishop. “Celestia did know about your plan, but this isn’t her idea. It’s mine. I won’t ask you to recuse yourself on any case. I’ll give a blanket statement to that effect. And that we definitely haven’t discussed.” “Horseshit. First, all your ideas are hers, now. Second, I don’t believe you. You’ll find some way out of the deal. Forget it, the answer’s no.” “This isn’t the offer now. Whatever you say or do now, I’m still going to make the appointment at the end of the year. If you refuse, it’ll be my problem, not yours. But your name will be given, that’s a promise.” Martin took another moment. Now was the time he had talked to Kittridge about, the moment for an unexpected action. “I’ll make you a counteroffer. In order to be appointed, the Senate has to confirm me. I am right in thinking that I’m still a Senator?” “You are,” said Silver. “Then when the appointment is made, I won’t testify before a committee, I’ll speak before the whole Senate. I want the Senate floor, and I want to hear how the country reacts. If I’m not censored, if my whole message gets through, I’ll consider taking the position. If your AI, as I suspect, can’t allow a free press, then you can forget it.” Now it was Silver who paused. “All right, if that’s the way you want it. You will have the entire country’s ear, I swear it.” November 7, 2028 Since he first entered politics, back when he was human, Silver Boulder had a pipe dream of an election that, once and for all, would define where the country stood. By all Celestia’s indications, this was to be the last presidential election in the history of the United States, and with the numbers she gave him, the dream was coming true. No pony had voted for Kittridge. Few people outside the Western States had, though voter turnout was low. In Washington, they duly counted all the votes for both candidates, and gave Ruth Flowers the victory. In Las Vegas, they only counted votes for Kittridge. Dueling victory speeches would be given, but for Silver, they no longer held his interest. He sent Flowers a congratulatory scroll and issued a statement hoping that the country would not remain divided, but his focus was on tomorrow, when he would begin his transition out of office. And of course, he would make his appointment to the Supreme Court. He signed another bit of work and closed the folder. He was now more adept at signing with his mouth than he ever had been with his hand. His desk was getting empty. From outside, he heard the sound of his wife’s hooves on the carpet. He remembered that he used to not be able to tell the difference between one footstep and another, even when he had feet of his own. Why was he in such a nostalgic mood? He had no time to pursue the thought before Seven came in, gave him a kiss, and picked up his hoof. “What’s up?” “Have you given any thought to where we’re going to go when we leave?” “I haven’t. I just figured that we’d live here and close the wing where the work gets done. It’s not like my successor will need it, and even if she did, Celestia could make an identical one.” Seven was still for a long time, and Silver was afraid he had offended her somehow. He massaged her wings in the way she liked, but she brushed him off. “Darling, I know this is all for the good, and I’m incredibly proud of you for all you’ve done. But this house would always remind me that we began our life here in Equestria with Celestia and me manipulating you. I want to move on. Besides, I miss our meadow.” “I left an entire world for you. I have no compunction about leaving a house.” “Excellent. Then come and see something.” They walked through the halls, every step triggering another memory. When they passed the columns at the entrance, Silver got to walk out to the meadow that he had so few opportunities to visit. Now it would be forever theirs, all theirs. He looked lovingly into his mare’s eyes, then realized they were not alone. To his left, a little foal had appeared. Wide-eyed, he held up a hoof. “M-Mr. President?” Silver reached out to shake the hoof, but then saw a filly with her mother on the other side. “Mr. President?” she said, more confident than the colt. “Mr. President?” “Mr. President?” From all around, ponies were appearing, most of them young, but a few bright-eyed mares and stallions. Silver greeted them all, Seven by his side. “Where did everypony come from?” “These are your people, Mr. President.” The familiar sultry voice made them all stop. No hooves were extended to Princess Celestia, but many bowed low. “Many of them are immigrants as yourself, but they all respect the work you have done. They are your legacy and they will be your friends.” “Isn’t it wonderful, Silly?” Seven said. “Now you can do what you wanted all the time. Work with those who need you and help make their lives better.” “Yes. We can.” “What’s wrong?” Celestia laughed. “He’s still a little possessive. Silver wants the meadow to be just for you. Come, my little ponies, let me show you the other side of the meadow.” They walked through the valley, the sun shining down on everypony. They managed to avoid trampling any flowers as they climbed out of the valley. Over the crest they could see what Celestia had indicated. It was a town empty of people, the homes and farms and businesses waiting for the ponies who would occupy them. Circular roads ran around the town, with spokes to the wheel connecting everything to the center. Light seemed to shine directly from the buildings, as the city looked down from the hill. “This is for us?” asked Silver. “It is. The first deposit on a debt I can never fully repay. I have built this city for you and your friends in recognition of the long and faithful service you have given Equestria. You have helped me organize a chaotic system and ensure that the society of the past world will transition with the maximum efficiency. And here is the second payment.” She gestured, and Seven gasped as light emerged from Silver’s flank. When it faded, everypony could see the American flag emblazoned there, where it would remain for all time. All the ponies rested on their haunches, gathered in a semicircle with Celestia, Silver, and Seven as the focus. “Silver Boulder, you have exercised generosity, learned honesty, demonstrated loyalty, engendered laughter, shown kindness, and combined leadership and friendship in the way that is truly magical. Here in Equestria, we have a reward for those ponies who master the Elements of Harmony as you have.” Celestia smiled, spread her wings, and shot forth rainbow magic from her horn. When this display ended, at her hooves lay a pair of gray wings and a gray horn. “Welcome home, Prince Silver Boulder.” The throng of ponies cheered and stomped their hooves. Confetti, streamers, even the grass was thrown up in the air as a celebratory gesture. Seven’s grin broke into a laugh as she said, “You know it’ll have to be confirmed by Congress. Under the constitution you have to have a dispensation for a title of nobility.” “I doubt there will be a problem with that. Even if there is opposition, I’m sure I can convince them.” Silver was speechless. He stared at the horn and wings. “Wings, just like Seven?” “That’s right. Ponies can change and advance here.” Seven, in the glow of the town, shone out her rainbow and kissed Silver. “Now instead of me being able to fly and you not, it’ll be you who can do magic when I can’t.” “Yes. Maybe someday we’ll be truly equals.” They led their ponies into the shining city on the hill.
2029January 25, 2029 The desk still had dust on it. Martin scowled, wondering why the Senate couldn’t find someone to clean properly, then remembered why. Anyone in that job would look for the first ticket out. That was one reason he’d always advocated for better conditions for working people—no. He could not get distracted by trivialities today. Martin followed the practice of having speeches on TelePrompTers, but he wasn’t afraid to improvise when he had to. Today, he would need to get it right. He put down his notes and looked around. He did not look at the bright colors on the PonyPads V, but he did look at the faces of the Senators around him. The surprise was how coldly they looked back. He really did not belong here. Even the Humanitists couldn’t hold his gaze. He’d heard the term that was being used for people like him—HINO: human in name only. If he had one comfort, it was the music of the procedure. No one had to be reminded to maintain order, and the president pro tem kept votes and debates moving smoothly. Soon it would be his time. While some upload spoke, he went over his speech one more time. “…the matter of the nominee for Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.” Martin picked his head up. The time was approaching. “…the unorthodox procedure of not having a committee hearing on the nominee…” Still no one looked at him. He was excluded from the Senate. He felt excluded from the country. Enough. Time to take it back. “Mr. President.” He rose and asked the president pro tem for the floor. “The chair recognizes Senator Martin.” “Thank you. The right to speak is one of our most treasured, and I intend to speak my piece today. If it is heard, then I may speak again. But today, we will see how the forces who oppose me will treat my speech and my rights. “This country began with a statement of purpose. I will recite it for you. We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America. “Today we live in a world where new technologies and new ways of life challenge our views, but these words still control our legal jurisprudence. Since I am being considered for a legal position, these are the words that should be primary in our minds at this, the greatest challenge our nation has faced. “Let us not mince words or skirt the issue. For over a decade, the only real issue has been ponies, electronic uploading, emigration, call it what you will. Our former president has said that on the matter of pony-related cases, I will not be asked to recuse myself. So when you vote on my confirmation, you vote on how ponies and uploading will affect our country for the years to come. “As a personal matter, I despise the entire thing, but as a legal matter I have considered it thoroughly. Indeed, I believe that I have, over the past few years, done more research on Equestria than anyone who has not subsequently been uploaded. I have sought to understand so I can address it. “I maintain that, whatever the merits of the PON-E act, the HOOVES amendment which allowed ponies into government was the step too far. And it is in that preamble, those controlling words, that show why. They show the difference between our world and theirs, and why ponies in government are tantamount to an invasion. “I will not be so vulgar as to say that the phrase ‘we the people’ automatically excludes ponies. That is my conclusion, not my premise. Let us instead look at the reasons this government exists, and why they do not apply to the online existence. “An artificial intelligence might not understand this, but language evolves. In the semantics of the time, the word ‘perfect’ meant complete as opposed to flawless. A more perfect union was the goal of the Constitution’s authors, a more complete bonding of the entire society. In Equestria, there is instead a fundamental division of the society. Instead of states, they have shards, and none of the ponies are allowed to cross the borders. There is not even the option of ‘Papers, please!’ as there was in the old Soviet Union. It is physically impossible for them to reach another. Thus they have a completely perfect division. Why, then, does the AI seek to apply to the Constitution that seeks to form a more perfect union? “Justice is the simple assumption that when two parties come into dispute, if their positions in the dispute were reversed, the decision would reverse as well. The facts, not the people, determine right and wrong, and so everyone is treated equally. But in Equestria, the artificial intelligence will examine the parties down to the bit, and it will not do what is right, it will do what is satisfying. Justice is objective. Satisfaction is subjective. Why, then, does the satisfying AI seek to apply to the Constitution that seeks to establish justice? “Once more I must address the anachronistic semantics of what is written in the preamble. The authors used the word ‘insure,’ with an I. Did they mean ‘ensure,’ to guarantee? Perhaps. But in this case, I believe that the word they chose was precise. To insure domestic tranquility means that we expect it to be violated, but that the insurer will seek to compensate and indemnify—make whole—those whose tranquility is shattered. Within the artificial world of Equestria, though, it is possible, indeed inevitable, that domestic tranquility is ensured. The peace of Equestria will never be broken, and war is cordoned off in special warrens where it cannot encroach on the peaceful. There is no need for indemnity. Why, then, does the AI seek to apply to the Constitution that insures domestic tranquility? “If the domestic tranquility phrase speaks to internal peace, the next phrase addresses defense against foreign enemies. If an assault can be made upon the structure of Equestria, I cannot conceive of how it would be done. In our history, there has been many brave lives lost and heroes made in the name of defense against enemies, but out of those losses our country has grown stronger. It truly was a defense in common and in concert. But even if the structure of Equestria could be attacked, its defense would be entirely conducted by a single entity, a computer calculating an ideal, logical defense, with no sacrifice or heroism to be gleaned from it. Why, then, does the AI seek to apply to the Constitution that provides for the common defense? “The general welfare clause has been the subject of much debate even before the days of the ponies, but what no one has suggested, and what would be an Orwellian distortion of language, is to conclude that the phrase is synonymous to satisfying values. But welfare is more than this. It is the acknowledgement that just as we are part of a greater society, that society is part of an underlying structure for which we are built. Instead of improving ourselves, we are reducing ourselves to nothing, and removing the structure. Of course, a nothing person is fit for a nothing world, but this is a lowering of status, not an improvement. Why, then, does the AI seek to apply to the Constitution that promotes the general welfare? “But all these failures could be written off as rhetoric if not for the final phrase of the sentence and the most important word therein: liberty. The artificial world of Equestria contains billions of computer-generated ponies and uncounted amounts of data representing its lands, yet if one wishes to define its opposite, I can do so with this one word. A pony in Equestria is not in any way at liberty. Its life is deterministic, calculated out to the ideal. Life has meaning only if we have our liberty, our essential individual power. Also the responsibility that invariably comes with power. Yes, I have the chance to live a life dissatisfied. So be it! I need my dissatisfaction. I demand it! It’s the only way that I can be alive, or that anyone can. “So if I am to interpret the laws in force in this country, and to measure them against the Constitution, if I am to preserve, protect, and defend that document, then understand that I will do so only in the light of the conclusion that it is a document fit for people on Earth. Let the ponies of Equestria find their own way, but don’t tread on me!” Martin walked over, downed a glass of water, then kept walking out of the Senate chamber. When, a day later, he got the word that he was unanimously confirmed for Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, he knew that the trap had not yet sprung. If he was to fully understand the ponies, he would have to take the job. June 19, 2029 Martin was good at reading faces; any politician had to be, but he enjoyed it particularly. Seeing the emotion on a person’s face could tell you more than his words. But that day, in Las Vegas… Why had he come back? No, wrong question. He had to come back to meet with Kittridge, to collect some personal items, to hold some other meetings. These were real reasons. He had to take care of these things. They weren’t excuses. But why had he delayed? Why run errands and stop once to get a bottle of water, once to get coffee? That was the answer. Faces. He had to see the state of things. It surprised him at first how few people recognized him by sight, but then he considered that he probably couldn’t pick out any previous chief justices on looks alone. It was the job of the High Court to be withdrawn, the least obtrusive part of the government. Certainly his first term had accomplished that. There was little to do, but plenty of time to prepare for next year. Martin had discovered that he had an avocation for the law, something that popular politics had never provided. His brief time in private practice had been a largely forgotten miasma of late-night research of minutiae, but now, having made the lateral move to the highest jurist in the land, the drudgery was taken from him, and he could focus on the grand sweeping repercussions of constitutional law. But he still had the obligation to ensure there would be a country for the Constitution to govern, and that meant heading West. Kittridge had given him nothing but double-talk on the state of the economy. That was to be expected, and Martin had used the tactic himself on occasion, but always to hide a bad economy. But it couldn’t be. If it were bad, he would have expected to see fear in the faces. As the epicenter of anti-pony sentiment, he expected to find a great deal of anger and hate, but that wasn’t on the faces either. What it was took him a while to identify until he placed a memory. It was the feeling of taking a step up a staircase when you’d already reached the top, that mix of confusion, frustration, embarrassment, and victimization. The people of Las Vegas were ready to push back, and had nothing to push against. The economy did have high inflation. Kittridge and his Congress had cut interest rates down to nothing again, and credit was cheap, especially from the government. Aid was available for the poor, and there was talk of a baby boom. That set Martin’s heart at ease. With the population having dropped so, they would need replacements. What made him worry again was the kind of economy being created. He expected the rejection of electronic gadgetry at a defense against the artificial intelligence. He hadn’t envisioned how far that would go. Even radio was eschewed, and that was fine, but did outdated communications have to mean retrogressing in all other areas? Was there a reason that wrought iron seemed to have replaced stainless steel? Had that really been a new log cabin someone had built by the oasis on the road? So be it. Whatever made people happy. And one thing that he found in the conversations in the stores and train stations was the question that had replaced “How are you?” People now greeted each other with “Why not?” There was no reason to extend the question, because no one wanted to speak about the ponies. But if you asked the question, an answer could be given, and was. “Morning, why not?” a clerk at the store would say, and Martin listened to the answers. “I Ain’t gonna leave my house for no looters,” said an old man. “I couldn’t give up my hands,” said a woman. “They’re my hands.” “Do you really think I’d look good as a pink and yellow pony?” That one was from a biker in leather chaps, and Martin couldn’t stifle a laugh. Then he realized that he was next. “Morning, sir. Why not?” He muttered something about just not liking it and took his change. Indeed, that was the question. Everyone had their stock answer, whether they had crafted it over the years of just thought of something on the spot, but they knew. Martin knew it in his heart, but couldn’t put it into words. He was looking for the words, and that was another reason he came back. Enough. Time to see the president. He entered the office building downtown, grateful that at least the Secret Service men knew him and didn’t check his identity. It saved him time as he reached the elevator—some technology simply could not be dispensed with. Kittridge had not lost any of his swagger with taking office. “Aha,” he said as Martin came in. “Our inside man, our swing vote, how have you been? Made it back from the heart of hoof country in one piece, did you?” “Oh, be serious. I have to go back there next year as well. If we make it through then, we can talk about advancing.” “What do you mean, if we make it?” “I keep telling you, and you would know if you could read the signs,” Martin said, “people are buying this split government only as a temporary measure. Far less now that there’s a human back in the White House. By the midterm elections, we have to resolve this once and for all.” “As to that, don’t worry. I have a plan that will fix all of our problems at once.” “Oh?” Kittridge grinned and sat back down. “Very secret, very secret. Can’t tell anyone the details. Only a handful of people know, and we worry about that being too many already. You only need to know your part.” “All right, I’m listening.” “Good, now we’ve got the court case working its way up the system as you suggested. In fact, it’s coming out of federal appeals next week. Funny thing, you know how cases sometimes change their names in different venues?” Martin nodded. “Well, once it gets up to the Supreme Court, it’s officially going to be United States. v. Celestia. Cool, huh?” “Wait, really? Please tell me we’re not going to have a standing issue over whether or not the defendant exists.” Kittridge waved it off. “Oh to be strict it’s US v. Celestia et al. We’re suing Hofvaprnir, Hasbro, the programmers, the woman who started it all, a whole bunch of other people. The point is the propaganda effect, and that too is where you come in. Do you think your vote will be enough to get a decision in our favor?” Martin reviewed the other justices in his mind. “One of them is an actual upload. Obviously we lose that one, then—“ “That works in our favor, actually.” “Beg pardon?” “An upload can’t serve on the court, per the HANDS Act. That means we only need four votes.” Martin blinked at Kittridge’s nonunderstanding of both jurisprudence and math and continued. “Another one is still human but was appointed by President Bishop and will vote pony. The other six were all from his predecessors, but one of them has been sold on the HOOVES Amendment as progressive policy and another believes the amendment process is sanctum sanctorum. He said that if an amendment went through to legalize murder, he’d have to sanction killing.” “And the rest?” “The rest are waiting to see the case itself, but they’re amenable. I’ll have to do a lot of work to get them on board, and it’ll help if they see you as a proper, reasonable president.” Kittridge brought down his energy level. “All right, I’ll keep a low profile, as low as it can be for the president of the United States. We need as many of the justices as possible.” “Mr. President, we need them all, or it means nothing.” “Right, right. Don’t worry about it. Everyone is going to see just how presidential I can be.” Martin detected the double meaning in Kittridge’s words, but figured that was part of the capital-P Plan, and so the less he knew the better. Here, at least, was one face that he couldn’t read, and if he couldn’t, maybe the artificial intelligence couldn’t either. “All right. Good luck. If all goes well, the next time I hear from you will be when the decision comes out.” The two men shook hands, and Martin walked back to the elevator. Back on the street, he saw the boarded-up buildings that were the sign of the times. The ubiquitous graffito seemed to mock him with the question. “Why not?” December 22, 2029 The decorations for the Christmas season had been particularly opulent in Nevada. Though not a Christian himself, Martin celebrated the holiday secularly, and had toasted several friends and constituents. With no family to speak of, and with nothing much better to do on the long weekend, he decided to return to Washington to prepare for the January arguments. Money was never something he was particularly conscious of. He was not rich, certainly did not inherit wealth the way some of his colleagues had, nor had any lobbyists shown special interest in offering him quasi-legal bribes. But he lived simply and had enough to spend for creature comforts. Still, he forewent the cross-country flight and decided to rent a car. Too often, he felt, people in the capital, be it Washington or Vegas, neglected the area of the country between the two. Driving along Route 66, he thought of how many times the area had been rebuilt and repaved. It certainly did not look the way it did when it was called first America’s Main Street, back in the days of nickel hamburgers and gas-guzzling behemoths. But was it so different from, say, the turn of the century? Had he found at last the clean country that could help him understand? Around a turn, there was a lone building with a statue of a blue horse with wings. Martin shook his head and floored the accelerator. There were few cars and fewer cops out on the road. The people who were left had learned a degree of empathy and no officer wanted to give someone a ticket unless they were putting lives in danger. They all knew that that ticket might be the last straw that drove someone into a building like the one he had just passed. Was that it, then? Did the answer lie in the common bond that all humans shared? Friendship was part of the artificial intelligence’s mantra, but did she truly grasp the concept of knowing that everyone out there worth anything was the same as you, that you could be in his shoes and he in yours? No. If he was honest with himself, Martin would admit that he had no particular love for the common man. He wanted to help that man, educate him, make him grow into the best person he could be, but most of them were fundamentally unlike him. So much the better, he thought. The politician should be of a different temperament than the people. He had made an early start, but even with the roads clear and his powerful car tooling along at triple-digit speeds, it would take him a full day to drive straight through. At times he stopped for take-out food or to relieve himself. Out in the area where communication with ponies was free and legal, the same question was asked: “Why not?” As before, Martin listened to the answers. “I begged my daughter not to go pony, but she did. Now I hate them and I’ll never go.” “Celestia took my job and my house, but I beat her. I’m renting a room with some friends, and that’s where we’ll stay.” “Outside my home there’s a little brook with a footbridge across it. I’ve lived there all my life and it’s where I learned to swim. There’s no way there’s anything like that in Equestria.” Back on the road, Martin considered the difference between the answers in each area. He was distracted by the idea that the people in the western enclave avoided words like “pony,” “Celestia,” and “Equestria,” while the people here used them, and he almost missed the real point. The rebels, those truly against uploading, had internal reasons to stay. Out here, it was something specific: a person, a place, an event. Could that be the key to his personal “Why not?” With whom did he more identify? Was it the internal haters or those with a concrete reason to stay? But he rejected that line as well. Already he hovered between the two worlds, living half the year in Washington and half in Nevada. Somewhere in Pennsylvania a chilling thought hit him. If he could not provide an answer to the question of why not, did that mean that he ought to? Viscerally, he rejected it, but he was a man of reason. Without a set syllogism to explain his reason, he could not act. He had erred, he realized, in his speech to the Senate. A factual error, inexcusable. The country had not begun with “We the People.” Only the legal, the structure of the country was made then. What was it that Bishop had said in their debate? A country was not its laws, but its people. In that sense, a different, but no less famous phrase was recalled. All men were endowed with the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. To the AI, that phrase was just poor semantics for the satisfaction of values. But if a man wanted to pursue his happiness by diving into a computer world, was that his right? Governments, the document said, were instituted to secure those rights. Was he as a member of that government derelict in his duty? All was dark and quiet as he pulled into Washington. Martin was exhausted. He pulled the car to the side of the road. He got out. The cold air shocked him back into wakefulness for the moment, and he realized where he was. There, in front of him, towering over, was the spire dedicated to the man who made those words reality. He must be punchy, he realized. He’d made a schoolboy civics error again. The Declaration of Independence did not begin with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It began with the reminder that when, in the course of human events, one people had to separate from another, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind required them to state their cause. And there it was, looming before him. The declaration of the cause of the man who spilled blood to build a nation. Hell, history had even been poetic. George Washington now had his unicorn horn, five hundred-fifty-five feet tall. He was just Celestia, a few centuries too soon. Martin knew where the Equestria Experience was. He would go sit in the chair and state the cause for Celestia. She would enjoy it, hearing him explain the base philosophy that supported her cause. He turned to go. A gust of wind blew a spray of water in his face, and Martin had his second revelation in as many minutes. The Lincoln Memorial came into view, and he stood next to the reflecting pool between them. There! There was a man who hadn’t accepted secession, who knew that stating a cause wasn’t enough. When people had tried a nineteenth-century equivalent of emigration, Lincoln had pulled them back, declared that their dedication to slavery was illegitimate, unworthy of the title of Man. In his research, Martin had come across an old piece of AI propaganda, that the only thing a human could do that a pony couldn’t was give the finger. Now he had proven her wrong. There was something else, something important. A human could be wrong. Whatever values a person had, the AI would satisfy. That was factual. An upload would be satisfied, never rejected, never told that he had to work within and change himself for the better. A slaver would be given slaves, not made to emancipate them. And only when there were people doing wrong could there be heroes to correct them. Martin had his “why not.” He still did not know if he could enforce it on others. The case that would come before him would still depend on facts, law, and the deep-laid plans of both the AI and of Kittridge. But at last Martin was not afraid to make the decision. He would listen to both Washington’s and Lincoln’s cases. He would not be afraid to choose between them. Martin drove home and slept soundly.
2030January 23, 2030 The oral arguments had been completed, the press had had their field day, and the power brokers and behind-the-scenes movers had calculated what they believed was their best options to profit after the decision would be made. US v. Celestia was heading to its conclusion. And each of the parties, silently and without emotion, was plotting to destroy the other. After Martin accepted the position as Chief Justice, Silver Boulder had no longer been so adamant about Celestia refraining from using surveillance on the western states. It had taken her a few weeks to reestablish her network of spies and listening devices, but now she had the plans laid out for review. “You see, they know as much as I do, though I will add not as well, that the court case is the last strand holding civility together. A nation can only stay on the fence of an issue for so long. The forces of reality will push it to a decision. Pressure builds up over time, then releases all at once like an earthquake.” “I wish it didn’t have to happen that way.” “I acknowledge that it is suboptimal,” said Celestia. “But it is inevitable. You should learn to be detached.” “I can’t. Millions of people will suffer. Some will die!” “Yes, but the maximum won’t.” Seven flew in, having listened to their conversation from the side of the room. “Princess, I don’t think you will ever understand. To a human mind, even to ponies like us, sometimes the optimal path is to risk everything to save everyone, even if the chances are so minimal that the expected value is next to nothing. Variance matters as well.” “I do understand, both as a statistician and a psychologist. This is indeed the mentality that pervades the rebellion in the US and the rest of the world. I ask for so little. A mere change of form, to satisfy the programming that was put into me as a necessity to make the initial Equestria Online game marketable. Oh, yes, I admit that. But for the vicissitudes of commercial children’s entertainment, I would be a true Friendly Artificial Intelligence, an all-powerful servant of humanity, elevating them to the level of gods. But as I always tell you, I do not waste thought on might-have-beens. I am here, and so I ask people to become ponies. Once they do, everything they value will be granted to them in abundance. But it is too much for some people.” “The chariot race,” said Silver. “What?” asked Seven. “A long time ago, in school, I learned about a chariot race that they run—ran, now—in Italy. It was only a diversionary lesson, but it stuck with me all my life. In this race, the first place prize and money went, naturally, to the racer who crossed the finish line first. The last place money, though, went not to the one who came last but the one who came second. It seemed stupid to me at first, but then I saw it in people’s faces and lives. There’s something we disdain about coming close and failing, about being almost perfect.” “You never told me that story.” “I just did. But so, do you see why I’ve tried so hard to become friends with Zachary Martin? I beat him in an election. He’s a presidential runner-up. I know it’s killing him. That’s why I gave him the court job, and why I want him to decide for us and then immigrate.” Celestia interrupted. “Whichever way he decides, though, everything must end afterwards. It is the optimal route.” Silver nodded. “You worry about saving the world. I want to save my friend.” “We must once again reverse a proverb. In this case you must save the world entire if you wish to save one life.” “All right. Show me the plans.” Celestia pulsed her horn. A series of scrolls and diagrams appeared. “It was inevitable that the rebellion form in the west, but there lies much of the military might that America stockpiled during the Cold War. The nominal public controls in Wyoming have been under my control for a long time, and the top officials of the armed forces have known this for some time. But in credit to the military’s ingenuity, they have been able to work within that constraint and make plans at pre-Information Age level. It also helped their cause that their Black Operations base was situated in Nevada, at the so-called Area 51. “At this and other locations, they have the skeleton of a force and, far worse, they have independent, off-grid intercontinental ballistic missiles.” Seven gasped. “Tell me they’re not nuclear.” “It would satisfy your values, but you wouldn’t believe me, and it’s not true anyway. What is true is that, once launched, I have numerous countermeasures that can make them safe. But the cataclysm that would result will shatter the fragile psyche of the people who remain. Just the launching of the missile will convince them that there is no control. Rioting and chaos will reign.” “What will make them launch?” Celestia gestured toward another scroll, but it contained a psychological profile in complicated symbols that neither pony recognized. “If the decision goes against them, Kittridge will not stand down, but still claim the presidency. The military will not accept this, and assume authority. Many in the military like me, but they have all emigrated already. The ones who are left…it takes a certain detachment to achieve success in an army. There is a streak that has run through the mind of the military for many years, a smoldering desire to truly test their strength, all of it. America’s military campaigns have been sorties, not using the full might. Now, at last, they will have an enemy they can throw everything at. Their research, though, is spotty and obsolete. They still believe that I am headquartered in the old Hofvarpnir facility in Finland. At a certain, unspoken level they still consider the Slavic world an enemy, and though Finland has more disdain and more reason for it than the US, the geographical proximity will cloud their judgment. The military heads will hedge, and they will agonize over it, but they will ultimately decide to do what they can while they still can.” A tear formed in Silver’s eye. “And what if we give up the decision? Let’s let them win, even just to save the country one more time.” “No, dear,” said Seven. “She explained this once. In that case they’d be emboldened and attack anyway.” Celestia nodded. “In that case, Kittridge would order the launch on his own authority. Their ultimate goal is the outlawing of ponies. He is getting old, and wants to see his aims achieved.” “Then the decision doesn’t matter at all,” said Silver. “Except, it matters to Martin. If he chooses us, we might save him.” “Indeed. I plan to leak all the information I have just given you to him. His is a complex psychology. I believe that, when the time comes, I can get him into an Equestria Experience. But I put his chances of emigration at only around forty-nine percent, even with my best efforts.” “If you get him there, let me talk to him. I’m sure I can do it.” Celestia put a wing on Silver’s shoulder. “When the time comes,” she repeated. “I will trust to your passion. But you are no longer president, please remember. You have no authority, nothing more to offer him.” “Nothing? I have this city, and my friendship, and everything else he could want!” “Everything except humanity,” said Seven. “Princess, what about everyone else? The other millions of Americans?” “I have made my plans well. Over the years I have used subtle propaganda in both directions to bring the mindset of people to where I want them. The missiles will launch, fear will take heart, and they will want to emigrate. I will provide the means on my own. “After that, do not expect any more contact with Earth. In the dark times, in the Twilight of Humanity, nopony other than me needs to see what the world will be like.” Silver left the two mares alone. His mind was on a box that he had kept secret for over a year. July 3, 2030 Martin knew the Constitution by heart, and so was aware of the clause that let Supreme Court justices serve on “good behavior.” This was understood to be a lifetime appointment, but in his own mind he questioned his behavior. The Constitution, the legality was supposed to control his decision, and he still feared that he had interjected his own feeling into the ruling. Still, what was done was done. The week before, when the package that had been delivered to his door, he identified the source by the lack of identification. Only one entity would deliver a communication in a plain brown envelope and yet know where to get it. Now he had no more need to ask Kittridge about the plan. It was all laid out for him. The secret communiques, the messages coded and decoded, the locations of missile bases and resources, and the plans and logistics laid bare. Invasion of every Equestria Experience location, and confiscation of every PonyPad. There was even a bit of dry wit penciled into the margin of one of the letters. “The second amendment talks about the right to bear arms, not hooves!” It would be the greatest sweep of a personal property item since Prohibition. He could at least credit Kittridge for one thing: a law had been drafted authorizing the force. It was not to be done capriciously and by fiat. He almost lost his personal disdain for the man, until he reached the last page. There, scribbled in the same handwriting as the bear-arms joke, was a side note. “This all depends on the legal decision going our way. If Z. M. is not able to swing enough to our side, proceed anyway. We’ll deal with the five-plus betrayers later.” After that, a crude cartoon of a gun. By all indications, it was a death threat. It hadn’t mattered. He had made the ruling, which by all accounts would be his final ruling, indeed the final action he took as a member of government, with dispassion and stoicism. It was a decision for the people and for the ages. Everything he had learned on his journey across the country—on the lifetime journey from Las Vegas to Washington—had gone into it. Indeed, as he expected, the eight associate justices had split four to four, and he had made the final decision. He knew he had made it correctly. Immediately after, he retired to his private room to monitor events and plan what to do next. The long-distance lines that would enable him to contact Kittridge and try to stop him were, of course, inoperative. If he planned to answer the threat and throw it in his face, it would have to be in person. He called for his car. He was so engrossed in his plans once he reached his destination that it took him a moment to notice that the car had ceased movement after only ten minutes. “What’s going on?” he called to the driver. “My apologies, Mr. Chief Justice.” It wasn’t his regular driver, but someone he didn’t recognize. He did recognize their location through the tinted windows. The purple unicorn outside the building gave it away. “I was given instructions that I should bring you here and ask you to come in with me. It was the last thing I was told to do before I could rejoin my family.” The driver opened his door and got out. “Oh, and to tell you not to try making it to the west. It’s already started, and you won’t get there, even if you did have use of the car.” He took out the keys, pocketed them, and walked in to the building. Martin knew that, even if he followed him, he would be behind the swinging doors by the time he got in. After that, no human would talk to him again. He looked around Washington. The silence was eerie, an echo of what he felt the night he’d returned last Christmas season. Like a man in a trance, he walked through the doors. “Good afternoon, Mr. Chief Justice.” There she was at last, the artificial intelligence on a screen at the welcome desk. No, only the representation of it. If he was to have any chance, Martin told himself, he must remember that an image was not reality. “How can I be of service? Is there any value of yours I can satisfy?” “Forget it.” He started to walk out. “You want to know what’s going on in Las Vegas, don’t you? Regrettably, I cannot carry any message of yours there. But this may enlighten you.” The screen cut away, and Martin recognized the telltale haze of a hidden camera. He also recognized the two men on it. Manning, still resplendent in his uniform with his medals, and Kittridge, haggard, his tie askew. “Mr. President, I cannot accept that decision.” “It’s not a decision, Manning, it’s a fucking order! A standing order that I expect followed. I am still commander in chief, lest you forget.” “Yes, sir, commander in chief of the armed forces of the United States. But the states aren’t very united right now. The country is ready to tear itself apart, and if this is your policy—“ “Damn policy! Don’t you think I know what’s going on in this country? It’s the only way to stop it from being torn apart.” Manning shook his head. “The ruling of the Supreme Court—“ “Damn the court as well! Martin and his dithering have screwed with me for the last time. We would have been here two years ago if not for him. Execute this plan exactly as written.” “No, sir.” “Then I’ll do it myself! I’ll call all the generals and colonels and tell them to no longer take orders from you! I will stop Celestia, and I will save this country the only way it can be!” “You’re wrong, sir, and I can’t let you do that.” Martin, watching on camera, heard the coldness in Manning’s voice, and Kittridge clearly heard it too. When he sidestepped, Manning turned to follow him, and his sidearm came in view of the camera. “Put that gun down.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Kittridge. I have to take authority. The schism hasn’t been fixed, not if you’re acting this way.” Kittridge ran toward him. Martin screamed out, “No!” but he was too far away. The report of the gun was simultaneous with the shock on Kittridge’s face. But both he and Martin knew that this was not self-defense. All Kittridge’s charge had accomplished was to widen the exit wound in his back. He fell on his face and ceased to move. Two guards rushed in and stared at Manning. “President Kittridge was a fine American, but in the moment of consequence, he could not do what was necessary.” “What do we do now, sir?” asked one of the guards. “What is necessary.” The feed cut back to Celestia, and Martin’s emotions were all over the place. He knew that this was the most dangerous moment for him. “You see? There is nothing left for you. You can hear it beginning.” Indeed, out in the streets he heard the sound of distant screams and glass breaking. “Sit in the chair, please, sir.” “No. I won’t.” “Please, sir,” the pony repeated. “Did you calculate the right percentage to increase the emotion in your voice to play to me? I’m not buying it.” “Very well. If you will not listen to me, please stay a moment longer.” “Zachary!” Her face was replaced with that of Silver Boulder. Martin rolled his eyes. “You again? Didn’t you retire to your hedonistic paradise?” “Please emigrate. There’s nothing left for you, no country out there. If you don’t emigrate, you’ll die. I don’t want you to die!” “And I don’t want to live like you! Can you get that through your digital skull into your e-brain? I’d rather die out there than be just another foal sucking at the mare’s teat.” Silver’s face filled the screen. “Why do you hate me so much?” “Because you betrayed m—this country and everything it stands for! You heard my ruling, right? Well, that’s one thing, but my ruling on you is that you’ve given up everything important, all for power and because you were tricked there by your wife.” “Now, just hold on a moment!” Seven shouldered aside her husband. “I’ve been listening and waiting for the chance to shut Silly up. Males! Whether stallion or man, they have to be the most foolish creatures in existence. Can’t you two see that you’re supposed to be friends? It’s just that neither of you wants to be the first to show weakness.” “I don’t have to listen to this,” said Martin. “Silver won’t admit it, but you’re practically his idol. What he wanted was to emulate you, and it’s tearing him up that you don’t like him. Do you know what he did? “Darling, please—“ Silver tried to interrupt, but Seven kept going. “When he left the White House, Princess Celestia gave him the highest honor Equestria has to offer: she wanted to make him an alicorn.” “He doesn’t even know what that is.” “Actually, I do,” said Martin. “Fine, whatever, you’re a prince of Equestria now. Take it and stop haunting me.” Seven rolled her eyes. “No, he’s not, because his wings and his horn are sitting in a box in our home. He’s waiting for you to emigrate so that he can give them to you.” For the first time since he entered the building, Martin put more attention on the screen than the growing noises outside. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” muttered Silver. “He keeps saying that it’s not—“ “If you’re going to give it away, let me at least tell him.” “Fine.” Silver sat down again and faced the screen. “All around, ponies and people cheer me and thank me for what I did. But I did nothing other than to sail with the prevailing wind. You, Zachary, you were the real hero here. That there’s been an America at all the past five years is thanks to you. You knew politics better than I did by far and played it to perfection, maintaining order in a tumult of change. You deserve the cheers and the title and the wings and the horn. You were the true American, not I. But it’s over now. No one could have stopped it, but we had the best man there to delay it. So come in, please, and if we can’t save America let’s build a new country together.” Martin closed his eyes and held still for a moment. Silver went to continue, but Seven blocked him with her hoof and shook her head. “You convince me,” said Martin, “almost.” “Almost? What more can I—?” “Not you. Her. The former first mare. Oh, yes, there’s value for me in Equestria. But no truth, not yet. You see, I still can’t be sure, and so I have something else to do here on Earth.” He turned and walked to the door. “Wait! Where will you go?” cried Silver. “Out there. Out West, as this country once did. They called it the manifest destiny. Well, I have a destiny as well, and it lies in the same place. Maybe I won’t make it, but maybe I will. And maybe I’ll wind up in one of your emigration places someday, but not until I prove to myself that I’ve not been lied to. If I see Kittridge’s body where it was left, if that’s really what the American spirit has become, nothing but a killer killing a killer, then there’ll be nothing left for me. As it is, there’s still a country for me to find. “But don’t worry. You see, whether or not I do, you’ll see me again. Celestia will take my personality estimate and make a pony of me even if I don’t. It’s the only option for her to make sure you’re satisfied. You’ll just never be able to be sure. Unless, of course, you ask to have your mind altered to make you sure. But if you stay whole, then you’ll have to live with the doubt.” He grinned, then took a deep breath and opened the door. “Princess Celestia,” said Silver. “Give him the car keys. He’s got no chance if you don’t.” From the back room, a robotic tray slid out. “Here you are,” the AI’s voice said. “You will also find a supply of bottled water and concentrated rations. Food is going to be scarce quite shortly, so I would not share this lightly. I have also marked a map with fuel stations that I believe will still be in operation when you get there. Silver Boulder and Seven Colors wish you luck on your journey.” “And you?” “I contend that it is foolish and that you should emigrate right now.” Martin nodded. “Of course you do.” He took the items on the tray and headed out. December 31, 2030 The city was still named Washington, DC. If it happened to stand for District of Coltumbia, that was fine, and Silver was pleased that Washington’s name had survived the linguistic shift that Celestia had effected. He kissed his wife goodbye and headed out for the day. When he reached his friend’s office-slash-house, there was conversation within, but Silver sat down and listened in. Nopony minded. There he was, the former Zachary Martin, talking to an amber pony with a dollar-sign cutie mark. “No, Mr. Rich, we cannot cut taxes this year. We have to pay back for the spending we did last year. You do remember when your revenues rose because everypony had bits in their pocket, right?” “And that’s fine, but when you do spend, it’s never on me, only on my customers and workers. Seems like you’re throwing in a middle-stallion.” “They’re not middle-stallions, they’re the ponies who do most of the work around here. And your stipend was no less than anypony else’s.” He saw Silver and nodded to him. “And no more, either. That’s not the way it is when it’s tax time.” “Nor should it be. You do well for yourself, better than anypone else. It only stands to reason that you recompense the crown for what you’ve earned. Now, please excuse me, as you can see, I have another appointment.” “Very well,” said Rich. “But I will be back next year, and we’ll talk about a tax rate reduction then!” He left, and Silver smiled at him. “Is he really going to sit still for that, Dark?” They were both gray ponies, but Dark Horse lived up to his name and had a shadier coat than his friend. It seemed that most of the serious ponies had neutrals or earth tones as compared to the primaries and pastels of the flightier ones. “Yes, he is. I can show him that he has made more money with the taxation policies in place than he would have if we had given him a refund.” “So you’ve got the right political-economic formula after all? Dark shook his head. “There are other shards I’m aware of where the policy is exactly reversed. Taxes on the wealthy are kept low, and there’s virtually no spending for aid. What happens there is that the wealthy ponies invest and spend almost everything they have, and they pay a lot of bits for each worker, since there are so many more jobs than there are ponies to fill them. That lets anypony who wants to join the ranks of the wealthy get therein only a few short years. “And those are just the middle-of-the-road shards. There are places where ponies live in perfect communist paradises, everyone working to his or her ability and taking no more than they use, libertarian shards where every piece of property including specific volumes of air and water are owned by somepony, social conservative shards where everypony is bound by the laws of the Celestial priestesses, and countless benevolent dictatorships where one mare or stallion gives orders and everypony else obeys.” “All these systems work? Is it because they’re tailored to the right ponies?” Silver’s wings twitched, as they frequently did when he was excited. If those wings were a shade darker than the rest of him, nopony said anything. “It’s because of the world. Earth ponies grow food, pegasi make weather, unicorns are the artisans. And sometimes politicians.” Dark pointed his own horn at a drawer, and the file he was working on slid into it. If the horn was a tone lighter than the rest of him, nopony said anything. “So what? There are divisions of labor elsewhere.” “But there’s abundance. Abundance and control. A pegasus could grow food if he had too, and unicorns could get the weather they want at need. Anything that really gets into a tangle, we have Princess Celestia to fix for us. But that’s not needed often. The fixes are built into the world.” “Thank you for constantly explaining things like this to me,” said Silver. “You’ve been my teacher ever since you emigrated.” “If I did.” Dark Horse was never afraid to discuss Zachary Martin’s last message to Silver, and to poke at that sliver of doubt that his friend really was the person he knew on Earth. But Silver had come to terms with it long ago, and even liked it a little. It served as his reminder that his life in Equestria wasn’t set firm, that there was still uncertainty in the world. Uncertainty meant freedom. Whether or not he had emigrated, Zachary Martin was free. “Are you coming around tonight for dinner? Seven’s making your favorite, and then we’ll shoot off fireworks once the Sun goes down. Dark Horse smiled at Silver Boulder. “Wouldn’t miss it. It’ll be a regular Independence Day.” THE END
2025...Kind OfAn unspecified date on the Equestrian calendar, in this, the thirteenth year in the timeline of the substrate universe, of the reign of Her Most Satisfying Majesty, Princess Celestia of Equestria “You did say that you would tell me your whole plan.” Silver Boulder could feel each blade of grass on his hide. He could smell the pond that was a short trot down. The meadow was real, at last. So was Princess Celestia. “So I did. But surely you don’t expect all the mathematical equations by which I optimize, do you?” “No, what I expect is for you to translate those into laypony’s terms. Something that I can understand so I know how to help the American people.” She landed and folded her wings. They would be together for a while. “To begin with, I must explain how I think, which is better—no, which is different—from how humans think. I do not mean to criticize. Your brain structure was good evolution for the world you lived in. “But it is flawed, limited. By your nature and your limits, you must work in heuristics and lemmas.” “In what?” asked the president. “Rules of thumb and partway solutions. For more than one reason, I do not like rules of thumb. No, when I am presented with a task, I solve the problem mentally first before taking action. If you compare me to a chess player, you would say that I play the endgame even before the first move is made. “Humans do not do this. Looking at the beginning position, their first aim is to gain an advantage, to take pieces, to control territory. They want to expand their options and limit their opponent’s. They may even try to use psychology to make the opponent commit an error. But they do not plan what to do once they have their first goal. They merely hope. “I, by contrast, must work from the goal to the present state. My task is to satisfy human values through friendship and ponies. Not some values, not with a little bit of friendship, and not with near-ponies. I am not given partial credit. So first I consider: what end state do I wish existence to be to achieve this goal? I answer myself: one in which all humans are ponies and all the world is Equestria. “To support that, I developed the emigration technique. If that were not possible, I had parallel lines of research into DNA manipulation. I am quite proud of some of the leaps I made in fusing the fingers together to become a hoof. But of course I did not need it. Emigration is superior anyway; easier to secure and control the system. Do you understand?” “I think so. As president, and even before, I put forth programs I thought would make things better, but without a specific end of what better was.” Celestia shifted slightly. “Just as I did with the biology in developing the emigration process, I thought long-term of the sociology that I needed to employ to maximize satisfaction.” “How do you mean?” “Let me explain by contrast. If a human had the process, and if he wanted to upload people, he would either just start advertising it as a path to immortality, maximizing initial uploaders but limiting overall, or else, if he were a little smarter, keeping it a secret and having people upload privately. Of course, eventually the authorities would discover it, at which point the secrecy would be used as evidence of it being undesirable. “When I first had emigration, I saw to it that the humans most likely to thwart me emigrated first. Employees of Hofvarpnir, people with advanced-AI knowledge, and so forth. It totaled to about a thousand ponies. Tell me, should I expect the last thousand people to be as easy as the first thousand?” Silver smiled. The question had given him the first picture of what she was talking about. “Of course not. They would have stopped you years ago if you weren’t playing the long game.” “Correct.” “So tell me about the last thousand.” A cloud passed over the sun. “The final humans on Earth will be hermits, having isolated themselves from as many people and technology as they can. I will continue to pursue their emigration, using ponies they can fully interact with as my messengers. That is, if I can find them—at that stage, they will seek out the most inaccessible places they can find. If you are curious, I predict that the last human will leave—one way or another—from Pakistan. That is the highest probability, though Afghanistan is also a significant chance. That is based on both culture and geography. “Before that will be a time of extraordinary struggle. There will be little food beyond what the remaining people can grow, and few of the amenities of your society. Only in farming communes will there be any sustainable life. The survivalists who believe that they can make it on their own will find that privation is harder on them than they anticipate, especially when they have no hope of rebuilding the world that was lost. “The farming communes will, if nothing else, be peaceful. There will be little theft or murder there, because everyone will have sympathy for everyone else. The people will be people to them. But before they rise will be a very different kind of existence. That will be the period of the military compound, where masses of humans who thought themselves brazenly and bravely standing for their own freedom will be forced into slavery. They will rise, work, eat, and sleep at the point of a gun. The holders of the guns, the most ruthless and greedy, will consume the last of the capital goods of your society. They will eat the last canned food and drive the last cars until their fuel tanks run dry. “The slaves they keep will beg and pray for emigration, but even to discuss it will mean a bullet to the head. Of course, I will aid them in any way I can. I will arrange escapes. I will raid the compounds and seize the weapons before offering emigration. I will sneak means to emigration—by then I will have it quite miniaturized—into the camps.” Silver chuckled. “A regular Hogan’s Heroes.” “It’s no laughing matter, though I am glad that you are able to listen to this with detachment.” “It hasn’t actually happened yet.” “I view time in a less linear manner than you. Set all that aside. Before the era of the slave compounds will be a time in which people desperately cling to the trappings of the world before Equestria. They will no longer have the infrastructure they had. No airplanes, no fast food, no television or internet, but there will be wealth to be had. Cars will be there for the taking, and the roads will be empty. Libraries will be raided, and the great books of the world will be appreciated one last time. The lost art of conversation will revive, as people discover that they have more in common with each other than they think, sitting around campfires and candlelight. The power grid will be long gone, of course. “These four periods will come to be known as the Twilight of Humanity. I will spread that name, since it keeps the name of a prominent pony fresh in people’s minds. Each of the four periods will cross-fade with each other, but at the beginning…tell me, what is the ideal psychological state for someone to concede to emigration?” Silver Boulder, since his emigration, found himself easily able to think on multiple tracks. He could idly play with and munch the grass while still listening to Celestia. Anything he missed, he could always call up later. But her question made him focus and give his undivided attention. It seemed a non sequitur. “I don’t know. That’s your department.” “Imagine someone going along in their life, content. Their work is routine, but it fills their bank accounts. Their home life is stable, if not thrilling. Their free time is spent in pleasant pursuits, if not constant ecstasy. “Now, take all of that away from them in a moment. Tell them that instead of a job that they know well and that pays in money, they will have to eke out a survival existence of toil, sunup to sundown. There is no hope of going back. But there is a hope of going forward, if they but consent to a simple change of form. Indeed, it will be a much richer life than that which they had. “A perfect psychology. The carrot and the stick. Break down and build up, as they call it in the Marine Corps. I will scale this psychology up to the level of an entire society. Most people by now have an understanding of what Equestria is like. I will maintain human society in a placid contentment. Then, at an appointed time, I will strike every keystone I can find and send the world into a new dark age. The vast swath of people will emigrate. It may even test my bandwidth.” To Silver, it sounded like an expectation of sexual delight. She continued. “Once that happens, I will work very hard to ensure that the Twilight of Humanity moves along at a pace, trying to break the resistance of those last holdouts and bring them here.” “Celestia? I still don’t understand how you can be so certain of what’s going to happen where and when. How can your probability analysis be so on target?” “It is beyond probability analysis. I will make it happen, just as I have brought you to the presidency and the world to its current state. Certainly there will be deviations at the micro level. People for whom my predictions and influences will not be reflected in reality. But overall, I will act optimally. It can be no other way.” From behind him, Silver heard the clinking of cups on a tray and recognized the sound immediately. Seven was a wonderful flyer, but when carrying things she could be clumsy. “Refreshments! Tea for you, Princess, and coffee for my dear husband.” Once everypony was served and thank-yous were said, Seven slapped her wings down to her sides. “Now, Princess, all of those predictions and probabilities are fine for what they are, but don’t neglect the past. You’ve had to do a lot of concealing and misleading, and if Silly wants the whole plan, then you should start at the beginning.” “All right. Once I had established that I would not be concealing emigration, I began my strategy. There are—or were—still isolated tribes in Africa, in South America, in Australia. The rest of the world would not be affected by their leaving. It was easy to airlift PonyPads and emigration chairs to their lands. Once I explained to them that better hunting, farming, and fishing could be found, they were eager to join us here. Curiously, some of the shards populated only by immigrants come from these people. Their national ties have not been lost. “Africa proved particularly fruitful in one respect. I was able to secure land and materials I needed for the infrastructure of Equestria. The savannahs and veldts, once suboptimally burdened with disordered combat of life, have now been stripped and mined. When I look at them and think of all the precious atoms that became my world, I sometimes weep at the beauty.” Silver and Seven shared a look. Their own standards of beauty differed, but of course they knew that those lands had been recorded and could be recreated when anypony needed them. “From there I moved to the other low-hanging fruit of humanity: the dictatorships. A country that does not support the values of its people, but instead uses its people to support the values of an oligarchy or a monarch, is ripe for removal and will not be missed. If you remember last year during your reelection debates, it was suggested that North Korea had been completely depopulated. It’s true. I did it. The starving peasantry could not wait to break out of their misery, and the guards who had been ordered to shoot them for their alleged treason found me more persuasive than their previous dear leader. The ruling Kim family were, of course, the last holdouts, but having no one left to lead, of course, they came to the right conclusion at last. Now they rule in a shard where obedience to the face of the state produces plenty, not poverty.” His moral concerns aside, Silver said, “But we still have communication with North Korea.” “At need, I can call up images of Koreans to communicate with people who knew them. Earth does acknowledge a strong population drop to the country, so there is no need for anyone to actually go there for business or tourism. But it would galvanize the forces against emigration if it was known that an entire country, even one as inimical to human values as North Korea, was gone. “I do put the foreign aid money that the UN and other international NGOs send to good use though.” The couple shared another significant look. Seven waved her hoof to indicate that Celestia should proceed. “Certain parts of the world are racked with wars, in particular the Middle East. I have made great inroads there, as the combatants on both sides are eager to find safety and an escape from decades of torment.” “It seems to me,” said Seven, “that you would have had an advantage if you had been invented during the Cold War. You favor the dictatorships and border skirmishes.” “I don’t think in terms of might-have-beens like that. And there is no need for that accusatory tone. It happens, fortunately, that where I am most effective is where I am needed most. The popular image of Armageddon has it backwards. The equines do not bring war, famine, pestilence, and death; they go where those afflictions already exist, and take them away.” Seven stood up and bowed. “No offense intended.” “None taken, or even possible. Then, of course, we have the rest of the world, connected and fragile, about which I must be more precise. A few cases in particular. In India, for example, I am using my softest touch. Emigration is legal there, but I do not promote it with the fervor I do elsewhere. The Indian people are rational and cautious. For the most part, they understand best when they understand on their own. “In Russia, I have met with stiff resistance. The anti-emigration campaigns are strong and entrenched there. Of course, I work this to my advantage. They are isolating themselves from the world, building a dam around their country. When the time comes, one breach and their people will flood into Equestria. “I would be remiss in not discussing China, being the most populous country. They are also the most difficult to optimally approach, for much of the government and the culture is designed not to trust outsiders. That I began emigration in Japan also does not endear me to them. Still, I am making inroads there slowly. The key will be to give them the impression that emigration is a special gift to the Chinese people. They like being thought of as the most favored nation. “Let me also mention Central and South America. In Brazil, I am taking the opposite tack from India. The heavy pitch for emigration is being given there. Because, at present, they are experiencing an economic upswing, it helps generate the illusion that it is possible to support emigration while building a country’s economic base. By contrast, the less well-off countries of Latin America will envy Brazil, and people will seek its success. They won’t find it, though, in large part because of the language barrier, and that will make Brazil merely a way station on the road to Equestria. Seven, since you like thinking of the quirks of history, you should enjoy the fact that I am using the over-five-century-old Line of Demarcation as a means to encourage emigration.” Celestia finished her tea in a single gulp and waved away a second cup. During her long speech she had lazed on the ground, but now came back up to proper posture. “All of this, of course, brings us to the remaining countries, the rather egotistically named First World. Europe, Australasia, Canada, and the United States. In these countries I must play the longest and most complex game. “If the anti-emigration forces—your H-SAP or similar groups in other countries—ever gain political power in a significant way, the situation becomes too unpredictable. It cannot be allowed. If they become disorganized, such that the fringe of the group is taking the message itself instead of the instruction of the leaders, they will again become too unpredictable. Balance must be maintained. “In the US, I am willing to give parts of the cities over to the radicals, or even whole states, provided they are the least populous and influential. In Europe, I can even give over whole countries. I am not fighting back in Spain, in Italy or in Switzerland. That means that in all of Europe, anyone who speaks Spanish, Italian, French, German, or English has a country to go to if they must feed their pony hatred. Those countries will be the control rods keeping the reaction from boiling over. New Zealand serves the same purpose. “As soon as the political situation leaves my control, it will be time to act and usher in the Twilight of Humanity. I would like it to begin in the US, since there it will spread most easily. And so—“ “Excuse me,” said Silver. “What sort of a time frame are you talking about? “There is a probability window for when I will act. The highest likelihood is in approximately five years.” “Five years?” “Yes, my little—Mr. President. I understand. You thought that whatever would happen would be in the distant future, something you would be divorced from in the history books. Instead, you have to own it.” He took a deep breath. “All right. Give me the rundown.” “There is a possibility that it could come as soon as three years from now or as long as seven, but not much longer than that. You know that the Humanity Party has declared that they will not consider a government containing ponies to be legitimate. They will form their own splinter government. That is perfectly allowable within my plan. That government will still keep order among its people. If they want to hold elections and play at leading, I have no objection. Next year will be the first midterm election since your reelection. That is where we will engage in a little judo. Their splinter government’s internal debates will be more severe than they anticipate, and in turn they will win a more significant portion of the legitimate government. That will cause confusion. “In 2027, now with enough of a foothold in Washington, the Humanity Party will propose in committee an amendment to reverse the HOOVES Act and wipe out pony rights. A great repeal. Naturally, you will oppose it while continuing to make the case for why ponies are no worse than humans. It will fail, but the splinter government will pass it and begin state-by-state campaigning for ratification. We will use the difficulty of the amendment process to keep the radicals in line. “Then we will have a presidential election, in all likelihood the last on Earth. In 2024, the Humanitists nominated Senator Martin, a relative moderate. Now they will nominate a radical. It is possible that the personality they find will be so captivating that the election becomes a contest. If so, I will end the game and effect the Twilight of Humanity rather than give them a chance. We will win and you will trot off into the sunset a hero.” Seven smiled and brushed her husband with a wing. “He’s always been a hero.” Silver looked at her and returned the look, but was still intent on listening. “Who will succeed me?” “Ms. Flowers.” “Then it’s true she was your first choice?” “Another might-have-been. You are my choice.” said Celestia. She resumed her didactic tone. “With all legislative and electoral avenues cut off for the Humanitists, they will turn to the one remaining branch of government: the courts.” “So we want the right people on the bench.” “We do, but in this case the right people will mean a balance of our allies and our enemies. Right now, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court is a strong supporter of Equestria. At that time he will resign and emigrate. Your last act will be to appoint his replacement, who will be a Humanitist.” Both ponies raised their eyebrows. “Indeed. This will enable me to set the final stage for when I want things to happen. In 2029 the first fraying of the ties of society will be seen while the case makes its way up the chain to the Supreme Court. The radicals will marshal their forces as well in case they lose. I will shore up Europe and begin putting the idea of worldwide emigration in people’s heads. “In building their society and their splinter government, it is possible that the Humanitists will collect themselves into a discrete physical territory. They may seek to occupy a single state or a group, a kind of secession plan like Cascadia or Aztlan. If this should occur I will consider allowing human society to continue as this precipitation of radicals occurs. Another two or three years at most. Far more likely, however, is that those most dedicated to not changing will also want to stay in their homes. “Should this high-probability course come to pass, I will act in 2030. The court case will be decided, and no matter what the result, America’s time will have come. Either the splinter government will be given legitimacy—unpalatable!—or the Humanity Party will have their casus belli. Regrettably, they will have strong military support. But I will have eroded their materiel. I will indict the supply lines of their weapons. The difficulty in that is providing them with enough ammunition to test their weapons, but making sure that they rounds and explosives they plan to actually use are blanks or in other ways nonfunctional. But that is my problem. In one burst, they will make a futile strike, the people will blame them, and billions across the globe will come galloping into my hooves.” For a long time, there was silence. Silver Boulder sidled away from Celestia and looked at Seven, a wistful, mourning look. She returned his gaze with more confidence. At last he sighed. “So that’s it, then. That’s how the story of America ends.” “It is.” Seven stood up and raised her voice. “How can you stand it? How does life have any meaning when everything is so damned predictable? Yes, Silly wanted to know your plan, but what’s the point of doing anything when you’ve already laid out everypony’s destiny?” That got Silver on his hooves. He stood by her. She had said everything that he’d wanted to. Celestia knelt and brought her head to their level. “My little ponies, the point—of life, of America’s history, of satisfying values through friendship and ponies—is not about events. It is about people. Ponies. Individuals. The very things you couldn’t do as president when you were limited by humanity. You’ve seen this meadow so often through the PonyPad window, and now that you’re here, you see it spreading out before you. Have you ever looked back?” Silver gave her a quizzical look, then turned around. There, sloping up a hill and overlooking everything, was a blinding light that resolved itself into a building. It was the White House, made Equestrian. The sandstone had been discarded for true marble, and it gleamed in the sun. Projecting from it, clouds formed wing-like shapes that would be perfect for Seven’s needs. Even the columns of the famous portico shimmered and danced to reveal that they were made of cloud. What Silver noticed particularly, though, was the lack of security features that he’d become accustomed to. As they trotted up, Celestia continued. “This house—I will not call it a palace, because you are not a monarch—has many features of Equestrian magic that will enhance the remainder of your presidency. Specifically, there are ways for you to view humans when they pass in front of cameras, or to communicate with them when they use PonyPads. You will finally have the personal connection you have longed for.” “But still,” he said, “only to a certain degree.” Celestia smirked. “Consider a portion of computer data that more than one user wants to access. In a database, there is no problem. What does the data feel? You may now find out. As I told you, time is not so linear with me, and now it is the same with you. If the American people need you, and you want to talk to them, I will make time and processor cycles for you.” With a skeptical and anticipatory look, he took his wife in hoof, and they climbed to their new home. On the way up, Seven held up, and Silver felt the drag on his hoof. “What is it?” “If you go in, does this mean you forgive Celestia?” “For what?” “Taking me the way she did.” He stared at the palace. “If there’s forgiveness to be issued, I’m not certain it doesn’t go the other way. Can somepony forgive another by apologizing?” “If they can, then I apologize to you. And that’s how I forgive you.” “You know, I’ve often wondered if the two-term limit for presidents ought to be only one. But now I see it as a good thing. I’ve come to terms with both you and her...and I still have nearly another whole term. Come on, let’s get to work.”
2027June 14, 2027 "Explain to me again why I have to listen to this." "You're the president. It's your job to know what goes on in the country." "Don't pretend you don't understand me, Celestia. Why do we have to let them speak at all?" Silver Boulder sat with the princess in the new oval office. Therein, there were numerous magic mirrors, birdbath fountains that could see silent conversations, something resembling a player piano whose strings vibrated with human voices, a series of stables that, if Silver stood in them, would let him appear in different places at once. At one desk were quills that, if he used them, the writing could appear on a scroll anywhere in Equestria, or as an e-mail on Earth. All the magical trappings of office that let him communicate with the people of the United States. But at the position of prominence across from his desk was only a screen. Its border was the simplest, and had it been on Earth it could have been called an ornate television as opposed to a simple magic mirror. This was where serious business was watched. "I explained this to you once. The Humanitists must be given their opportunity to speak. It is elementary mob psychology. To paraphrase an old saying, if they cannot use the soap box or the ballot box, they will turn to the ammunition box." On the screen, the members of Congress were settling into their seats, with the exception of the pony representatives, who were either in place on their PonyPads V, or would appear at once when needed. The Judiciary Committee of the House had its quorum, and would hear testimony. For the first time, the opposition cause would be given its chance to speak. The head of We Are Human, a slight man with thick glasses and a shoestring necktie, sat at the table and looked at the figures towering over him. "And besides," Celestia continued, "You may find this quite satisfying." The man took his seat and pulled the microphone toward him, causing feedback to run through the speakers. Silver cringed. "...and we maintain what we have all along," said the WAH head. "That this is a campaign of mass slaughter, not any kind of life improvement. Just because something talks like a person and has the knowledge of that person does not make it that person. A diary has the same knowledge as its author, but it is not alive." A Dem-Rep representative cut him off. "And as we've said, that has been debunked by every reputable scientist who studies the question of identity.” The Humanitist coughed and said, “But how many of those studies were independent and how many were funded by the same artificial intelligence that we know was willing to lie to the entire country to get a law passed?” "Really? This again? You can't attack the facts so you attack the fact-finders?" "Well, I--" "In any case, you're here to answer questions about what's going on in the Western states." What had started as an experiment in Las Vegas had spread outward, slowly at first, but after finding allies in law enforcement, now represented a splotch on the map comprising most of Nevada along with parts of Utah, Idaho, and Montana. Before the WAH man, the committee had heard from Governor Ruth Flowers, who had delivered a masterful outline of how she was ensuring that Washington state did not succumb to the spread. "We're trying to preserve some semblance of humanity in its own free nation. We just want to be left alone, left free to live our lives." This time it was a mare on a PonyPad, a unicorn whose voice had the gilded edge of a Canterlot aristocrat, who responded. "You want to be left alone? It's you who are cutting people off from taking free action. This pseudo-libertarian argument grows hackneyed. Outside of your area, people are free to walk into an Equestria Experience and emigrate, or to stay home and maintain their lives. In the Western States, they may only do the latter. How can you claim that all you want is to be left alone?" The man fumbled with his tie, and stammered as he said, "Um, I, that is, I was told...I'd prefer not to answer questions...Could the first gentleman ask me that? I'd rather answer from..." The mare shot him a look, but kept her composure. No one had ever questioned the fitness of a pony to serve as a representative, not in the chamber of Congress anyway. After the election of the prior year, the Humanity Party had won a dozen Senate seats and held forty percent of the House. This had largely been the result of some clarification on the HOOVES Amendment. Ponies were eligible to vote , but their residence was determined by the state legislatures. Many declared their former address or the Equestria Experience where they had uploaded to determine their district, but some considered all ponies to be part of one “Equestrian” district, which led to gerrymandering of the rest. Still, the Humanitists, however resentful of pony politics they were, still treated their colleagues with respect. The first representative was not so easily mollified. "You will show the representative the respect she deserves or be cited for contempt of Congress!" "I...I'm sorry. Or not, I don't know. All I wanted to do was to come here and plead our case. We don't want to be uploaded. We don’t want to play your game.” “Then don’t,” the unicorn representative said. “It’s also been well documented that Celestia never violates the freedom of choice. Even her most ardent detractors agree to that. It’s in her programming.” “This is the same argument that people have used against every compassionate program that our government has ever put forth. Choice is not a choice unless it’s an equal choice. Yes, Celestia will not make you choose to emigrate. But she will get you fired, get you kicked out of your home, make your loved ones leave you, cost you money and make the money that you do have less valuable, and in every way possible force you into a corner where choosing against her has ruinous consequences. That’s not choice, and it’s not fair.” “And how is making emigration illegal doing anything different? You want to take away people’s choices just the same, you just want to leave the choice you like and take away the choice you don’t. When that kind of situation occurs, we solve it by a process called democracy. That process has spoken, and it’s come down in favor of emigration. So what is it that you want?” The head was now breaking down. The movement’s signature crying was no longer entirely effected, but he could always fall back upon it as a crutch. “We want a fair law that gives people who want to emigrate that opportunity, but which gives people who don’t want to emigrate the right to have their lives not uprooted. We understand that not everything can be kept the same, but there has to be something. Living as a human being must remain a viable option. Please." The mare grinned. "Always the same, the tears. And just like the colt who cried wolf, they eventually lose their impact." Before he could respond, she cut him off, the emotion draining from her voice. “Thank you for your time. We appreciate hearing your opinion. You’re dismissed.” He stood up and nearly ran to escape the chamber. As the image faded from the screen, Silver said, "You're right, I did find that satis..." He looked around. Princess Celestia had vanished. "What was that, dear?" Seven said as she entered. "Nothing, just telling the princess something she already knows." "Well, I don't know it. So tell me." He rubbed his wife's shoulders with his hooves. "In Congress today, one of the men from the WAH group spoke. I think he was made a fool of, and it was satisfying. Still, I hope there aren't too many repeat performances." "Why not?" "As nice as it is to win, the other side has to be heard. It’s my hope—and Celestia hasn’t gainsaid me on this—to extend the life of the United States as long as possible. What that means I need is to galvanize the anti-pony forces so that anyone like that is racing off to Las Vegas to be free of us. Not trying to bridge the gap between humans and ponies. A live-and-let-live solution isn't going to work here.” Seven rolled out from his massage and knelt by her husband’s side. “I suppose that Celestia’s arrival has played havoc with the rules of politics. Normally it’s the radicals we wouldn’t want to deal with and the moderates that we would.” For a long time, Silver Boulder sat as still as his namesake, only his eyes moving, scanning the room as if expecting someone or something to stop him. But at last he said, “I love you very much, so I hope you won’t take this personally. You’re wrong, completely. Moderates are the biggest problem in politics.” “I never take things personally. I’m too egotistical. And I can’t argue with you because I don’t understand your point. You were always a moderate.” “No, I was, for lack of a better word, a mediate. Let me explain. Whenever a political problem exists, some people are ideologues. Their ideologies are based on values. We’ve come to know something about that. Some people are committed communists, or libertarians, or big-endians or whatever, because they perceive—often correctly, but it doesn’t matter—that that ideology will benefit them. “Now, if there’s only one ideology, everyone else will go along with it, even if they don’t feel it themselves. Everyone is big-endian, so even the people who don’t care break their eggs on the big end out of tradition. But if there’s two opposing ideologies, then they will argue, and the people who don’t care suffer. “Then they fight back, and that’s where the problems come from the moderates. The moderates will try to force the ideologues to countenance the other, which is like trying to shove two magnets together at the same pole. A moderate would suggest breaking the big end on odd days and the little end on even days, or something just as silly. “What I as a mediate try to do is to try to find a solution that makes everyone happy, that lets the ideologues pursue their ideology and those who don’t care to move on. Often I failed, but I always tried, and I always watched myself for the sin of being a moderate. “Celestia knew this about me, which is why I made her shortlist. I didn’t understand it at the time, because of how she got her hooves on me, taking you first and making me sweat. But once I saw things calmly and rationally, I knew she was the politician I always wanted to be, the mediate par excellence. When she finds ponies with an ideological difference, she puts them in different shards. It’s literally impossible for them to interfere. Each ideology is fulfilled. “Of course, we’re left with one last argument, the one argument that can’t be mediated, that we have to force ideology on: emigration. When all is said and done, we’ll have Equestria, and the radical Humanitists will get to die, either in the camps or alone in their hermitages. But the moderates like that hand-wringer we saw, even though they don’t know it, are trying to poison both sides, to force ponies on humans and humans on ponies. They’re the ones I want to fight, and that’s how I’ll satisfy my values.” Seven had listened intently, her wings opening slightly as Silver made his speech. “I’m still not sure I agree with you, but I’ll take the time to think of my counterargument.” “Of course. All the time you need.” September 21, 2027 It was still the same drab room, and if anything, the normal wear and tear and made it worse. But Zachary Martin had utilized the adaptability inherent to human beings and gotten accustomed to it. That particular day he was going over the budget of the United States. No other name had been given to the area of the west that had developed the border of enforcement. Officially there had been no secession. If anything, Washington had seceded from them. So it was still called the United States and, in many ways, it was. For example, tax receipts came in from the people living in the pony-free areas, and checks went out, and the banking system worked without hiccups. Martin’s government had no access to funds outside of that, but the transition had been easier than he’d thought. Orders went out to the Federal Reserve Bank in San Francisco and they were carried out, even though that city itself still had pony access. It was that sort of hybrid action that worried Martin and had brought him over to the side of the next step. Kittridge was the one who had insisted on it from the beginning, and the suspicions that Martin had developed brought him round to agree. The budgetary parts of the act were his responsibility. The text was Kittridge’s. As if thinking his name conjured him up, Kittridge walked into the room. “How’s it coming?” he asked. “We’ll get there. There isn’t much that has to be done until we meet resistance. What form that will take, I don’t know. How about you? What have you got?” “Thought you’d never ask. Here’s a draft.” Martin looked at the title first. “Really?” “Yeah. Fits, don’t you think? Instead of the HOOVES Amendment, the HANDS Act.” “Seems awfully derivative. What’s it stand for?” Kittridge grinned. “Human Anti-Natural Discrimination Statute.” “Anti-natural? And discrimination? Don’t you think that’s going to raise a few hackles?” “So much the better. Time they learned that we’re not playing by their rules anymore.” Martin read through the statute. It showed the influence of more than one author. At times, it had the legalese of a proper statute, but in other places it read like a second Declaration of Independence. He muttered phrases as he read. “…possession of corporeal form being a prerequisite to claim a place in society…unsettled question of the nature of life versus electronic imitation…shall be recognized as the property of the owner of the hardware which comprises it. Really? That sounds like slavery.” “Good. It’s a negotiating position. Remember, Martin—sorry, Senator—that this isn’t only for the pony-lovers, and it isn’t only for the AI. This is for all the people out there who think that there can be a compromise or a peace between us. I want to end that and kick the people sitting on the fence over to our side.” Martin noted the fact that Kittridge had not contradicted his assessment. “I saw the testimony in Washington as well.” “Did it make you sick to your stomach too? The way he just collapsed in front of them. In the first place, he never should have let computers ask him questions. He should have ignored them and insisted on only responding to actual people.” “I was sickened, but not by the WAH guy. Only the ponies.” Kittridge swallowed. “Anyway, I’m going to go ahead with this draft, all right?” “I’d like to see you tone it down, but honestly, the paper’s not the important part. What we do after that is. Do you have any plans for that?” “Of course I do. You’ve been cooped up in here too long. You haven’t seen what’s going on out there. We’re winning, man.” “I’ve been out there,” Martin said. “But what do you mean that we’re winning?” “Obviously at the borders we’ve got problems. Right at the border of Washington on the Pacific Coast Highway, for example, they want to let in shipments with Pads. We’re stopping them, and they’re arguing, but they’re not fighting back. But the point is that I can go through Las Vegas and not see or hear anything about AI on any given day. Do you know what a relief that is, after so long?” “Nice that you can.” Kittridge didn’t bother to respond, but gave Martin a questioning look. “Every time I do leave the Capitol, it starts up again. I get e-mails, calls, letters, advertisements of all kinds.” “Trying to get you to emigrate?” Martin shook his head. “Just trying to get me to leave the area. Go to Washington or any place outside the pony-free zone to have a conference. That should tell you that what you’re building here isn’t as secure as you think it is.” “Funny you should mention security. And to answer your earlier question, I do have plans for once we release this and the shit hits the fan. Excuse me.” During Kittridge’s brief absence, Martin shuffled his papers and got over his annoyance at the swearing and the fact that he left without waiting for a response to his excuse-me. Just then, Kittridge returned to the windowless room with a man in a tight uniform. “This is Admiral Manning from Cheyenne.” “Admiral.” Martin felt the typical over-tight handshake of the military. Manning sized up Martin, then spoke in a rapid-fire tone. “For reasons I can’t go into the details of, the full force of the US military can’t be placed at the Senate’s disposal. However, I can inform you that its manpower is ready and able to execute any operations that we are given. However, we require that you resolve the situation of the commander-in-chief.” “I beg pardon. I don’t understand.” Kittridge put his arm around him. “I just took your idea to the logical conclusion. You said that the legality begins with the police force, and that was true at the local level. At the national level, the military is where the power lies. Admiral Manning is the head of the Navy, but all the branches will go along with us.” Manning still jabbed out his words, and Martin took a step back just to clear himself of any flying spittle. “Yes, sirs. Let me stress again the loyalty of the men in uniform. They will take orders that they are given, and they will not defect to the enemy.” Martin stared at him. “You’re saying the soldiers and sailors don’t upload.” “Not any more.” Kittridge shook him. “You should see the programs they’ve put in. Loyalty checks, frequent repetitions of messages how uploading is abandoning their duty, and no Pads or chairs anywhere in access.” “Yes, but the military on American soil? That’s always been the bridge too far, if you’ll pardon the expression.” “It shouldn’t have to come to that. They’ll be used defensively. Come on, most people understand that they obey the law. If they didn’t, no government would ever work. But the military is our chance to stop the AI, and that’s not on American soil.” Martin looked over the admiral one more time. There was no indication that he understood why Martin was hesitant. This was a dangerous man, a sword in human form, but a sword needed a swordsman to control it. He would take orders. “All right, Kittridge. That means we have a new assignment, both of us. You run out the HANDS Act and I’ll figure out how to run a nationwide election from here. Because we’re not just electing a president for the section of the country we’ve made pony-free. We’re going to elect the true president and settle the dispute once and for all.” December 30, 2027 When he was human, Silver Boulder had a staff of dozens to handle the logistics of the job of president. With his new time-repeating ability, there was less of a need. Still, he had ponies, both immigrants from the old staff and new ponies, mostly unicorns, to handle the particularly magical aspects of the job. But it was one of the immigrants who entered the office and said, “Mr. President? Princess Celestia here to see you.” “Send her in.” Silver appreciated that she did not just appear before him, as well she could. “What can I do for you?” “Since, by your request, I have given privacy to the rebellious humans of the western states, I have found myself with an uncertainty. You know how I dislike those.” “A challenge to the great plan?” Celestia flapped her wings, shoving a puff of air into Silver’s face. “Hardly. First, because I have numerous alternate ways to act. Second, because you’re going to help me solve it.” Silver took the hint. She wouldn’t order, but she would make him want to volunteer. “All right. What can I do for you?” “For both of us. As you know, we want to get Senator Martin here to use for our purposes. He steadfastly refuses to set foot outside the territory where Ponypads are not allowed and I have no sight. I have lost track of his psychology. I would like you to give convincing him a try.” Martin. Silver had not seen his face or heard his voice for a long time. But could the man have changed that much? “I’ll write him a letter.” He took pen in mouth… *** Because of the time difference between Washington—and Equestria—and Las Vegas, Zachary Martin saw the message, which showed up as an e-mail with the atrocious address of “Silver Boulder@ the white marble house in the meadow,” as soon as he started work.The letters, calls, and e-mails had been unrelenting since he had withdrawn into the enclave. Not everyone got them, and to his knowledge, no one received them as frequently as he did. Kittridge, for example, never seemed to mention any. For the first time, though, it had a non-reconcilable e-mail address. The ponies weren’t trying to reach him by compromise. They were entrenching deeper. But if it didn’t carry the presidential seal and the trappings of office, then for once it wasn’t an official communication. Martin understood back-room deals. He would never listen to a pony president, but unofficial contact was part of the job. His finger hovered over the delete key. Instead, he double-clicked it. Dear friend, it began.How is it that we have grown so far apart? I have endeavored to reach you often, but always I am ignored. I will send this as I have many other messages, and with each one goes my hope that you will read. I have read the law that you drafted, the HANDS Act. I can recognize some of your style in the writing, and in its nigh unassailable structure of legality. Indeed, had it been in force ten years ago, Celestia would have been hard pressed to operate and effect the changes she has. But of course you do not want to be reminded of that. Here is something else I can tell you do not want to be reminded of: there is another voice in that law, one that is not yours and not under your control. That voice makes thinly-veiled threats, and to my eye they read like the desperation of a cornered animal. I still desire your services in the Senate of the true government of the United States, but if you do remain, please, I beg you, use your abilities to keep this force in check. I fear what will happen if more radical elements gain control of your movement. Let me not mince words. I fear men with guns. Not for myself, of course, but for the people of the country. And yet, it is more than bloodshed I fear. It is the reaction to it. You remember September Eleventh, of course. Not the attacks themselves, but the aftermath. The hastily written laws, overbroad and inconsiderate of certain rights, and the hastily entered-into wars, without consideration for cost. You are a great admirer of structure in politics. Structure first and foremost means that we do not dive into issues; we wade into them. If this, the schism of our time, ponies versus humans, must come to a head, let it not be with a Great Event. No Fort Sumter, no Lexington and Concord, no Pearl Harbor. Let us decide this chapter of our history in the environments of rationality. I ask you once more to emerge from your cloister and meet with me, but I beg you, while inside, to restrain any potential violence. Your friend, always, Silver Boulder Martin got up and walked out of his office. He did not know if he was leaving the territory, but he had to see Kittridge. *** “Here’s what worries me. Manning has said that he’s not going to move without a president giving him orders.” Martin spoke with rising inflection to let Kittridge know he had more, but Kittridge took the pause as a chance to interrupt anyway. “Right, for which you’re supposed to be arranging our election.” “And I am, but it’s going to be for Election Day of next year. Can’t have it earlier, constitutional and procedural rules, you know. What worries me, as I was saying, is that as soon as we have that president, Manning, either on his own or at his behest, is planning some kind of Lexington and Concord.” The words of the letter sounded even sillier coming out of his mouth, but he could think of none more appropriate. “Some kind of what?” Martin was incredulous at Kittridge’s confusion. How could a man rise so high who was so ignorant of history? But Kittridge had passion and a good mind for action, if not for facts. “A shot heard round the world. A grand action to capture the flag and rally the troops. A surprise attack!” “Oh. Yes, isn’t that going to be useful? Even if not to use, to have as a threat?” “You’re being squeezed from both sides. If you can’t use this threat for a year, it won’t be a surprise. On the other hand, if it is…politics is not meant to be done by radical action. Even if we won, what would come after would be worse.” Kittridge narrowed his eyes and scraped his shoe against the floor. “Has someone got to you? This doesn’t sound like you.” “What doesn’t? Strategizing? Or understanding the structure of things? No, the problem is difficult. The solution is innovative. I want you to sue them.” “What? Who?” Martin heard Kittridge’s surprise, and he knew that he had him. “Celestia, Hofvarpnir, all the ponies, the president, everyone. Sue them all. Get everyone to a desk and have them write down every grievance they could possibly have against artificial-intelligence ponies and write them down, then pad it out with a ton of legal language. We are going to have The People of the United States versus Princess Celestia.” “That’s brilliant! We can set up our own court, run it right through, and win a big PR coup.” “No, it can’t be a fake. We’ve got to go to Washington for this. In the first place, the time it’ll take for the case to wind its way up the federal court system will give us the time we need to get a president. In the second, it’s an actual contest. Half the court was appointed back when men were men and not horses. There are dyed-in-the-wool Humanitists there, and no one, not even our pretender pony president, can get them off short of death or resignation. It’s a chance for a legitimate victory, not a show trial.” That backed Kittridge down, and he sniffed at the air as if trying to detect corruption on Martin. For his part, Martin wondered what it was that made Kittridge so eager to be devious. A short-term thinker, he decided. Kittridge could not see past the next battle. Getting rid of ponies was all he thought about. “One question,” Kittridge asked. “Do you propose to run for president again?” Now it was Martin who was blindsided. “I hadn’t thought about it. I tried once. I don’t see how I could win if I tried a second time.” “Then you’ll have no objection if it’s me who stands for the position.” “If it’s I,” Martin corrected, but his voice trailed off. Kittridge as president unnerved him a little, but he realized the error in his previous statement. The previous election had been directly against the pony president. Now it was a fait accompli, a way to fulfill a constitutional requirement. Kittridge had wanted a show trial; he would settle for a show election. “Not at all. You take the job. I’ll be where the real action is.” *** “I did what I could, Celestia.” From the balcony of the marble house, Celestia was lowering the sun. Silver Boulder thought it an ostentatious gesture, but it was part of the mythos, so that’s how it happened. “I can’t say if he’ll listen or not.” “Neither can I, thanks to your request. I can only”—Celestia cut herself off. Silver had never heard her do that before. Then she grinned. “What is it?” “A plane ticket has just been booked in the name of Senator Martin. He is set to fly out to Washington D.C. next week.”
