On Behalf of Soviet Equestria

The Crystal Empire was a staggering empire. The royal family - gluttonous and ignorant of its commoners - scrambled at the helm, but couldn’t manage to steer clear of disaster.

Overextended and mismanaged, the Crystal Empire had been steadily crumbling for years. Discontent led to the rise of Soviet Equestria, and when the dust settled at the war’s end, the imperials had lost more than a third of their territory, watching helplessly as it broke off into the various Soviet republics and the Princedom of Emeraldavia. The post-war Crystal Empire was plunged headfirst into turmoil as the Reds sat back and laughed. Aggravated commoners took to the streets. One of the princes was ousted. Another was murdered. The remainder of the royals scrambled for the vacant throne, backed by their respective regions of the Empire. For a time, it seemed that the Empire was bound to split into a number of independent dukedoms. In the midst of the chaos, a unicorn by the name of Sombra took the throne and crowned himself king. He vowed to restore order in the Crystal Empire. But all he did was consolidate his own power. For years, he ruled as a ruthless tyrant. Canterlot had been displeased with the former imperial royal family, but Sombra was infinitely worse. Just as  Soviet Equestria had done, he wrote off Canterlot Entirely. He claimed that the Empire was his alone, and he answered to no superiors.

Canterlot was naturally outraged at King Sombra’s oppression of the crystal ponies. The final straw was his intention to instigate another war with Soviet Equestria and Emeraldavia to take back the Empire’s lost territory. Celestia and Luna leapt into action. They fought, defeated, and banished Sombra to the ice of the Arctic North, but not before he placed a curse on the Crystal Empire, causing it to vanish into thin air. Soviet Equestria and Emeraldavia, however, remained untouched.

From the moment the war with the Crystal Empire ended and the treaties were signed, the Soviets isolated themselves from the rest of Equestria. Border checkpoints were sealed and guarded. With the exception of ponies on official Party business, it became nearly impossible to enter or leave the Equestrian Soviet Socialist Republics. Party rhetoric grew steadily more intense, condemning Canterlot and instituting a “purge” of internal saboteurs and dissidents that threatened the gains of the revolution.

Vladimir Orlov, first premier of Soviet Equestria, became ill several years after the war. When he passed away, a mausoleum was constructed on Victors’ Square in Stalliongrad, where his body was preserved and put on display in recognition of his accomplishments as a revolutionary and a leader. To some, he became something like a god. Statues to Orlov were erected everywhere. Countless institutions bore his name. His publications and agitation material were held in the same light as law. Orlov’s portrait hung in every classroom, office, and library. But despite the massive personality cult, the continued progress of the revolution - the expansion of Soviet Equestria - would die with him.

The subsequent premier was not interested in the addition of new republics to the coalition. Instead, he focused on the development and safeguarding of those that already existed. The purges accelerated, and a secret police force was instituted to root out and eliminate dissidents. The Party became increasingly more powerful, and began seeping into nearly every aspect of life. Connections with key members of the Party brought a pony many privileges. Quarrels with the Party could be a death sentence.

Somewhere along the line, Emeraldavia was bullied into joining the Soviet coalition. It was the sole post-war instance during which a new republic had been declared. Prince Emerald-Ingot, seeking to avoid trouble, agreed to the annexation without much of a fight. He remained a figurehead in the Emeraldavian SSR but had no legitimate power. He had to answer to the Party, and was forced to abandon his title of prince.

Soviet Equestria persisted in the absence of the Crystal Empire, but it grew distant from its roots. The workers’ paradise, housed in a society without classes, slowly began disappearing. The controlling Party, acting as a class all its own, continued to consolidate and assert its authority. Centralized industry and planning sometimes led to shortages of food, clothing, or building material. The secret police became more aggressive and intrusive. All the while, the republics were shut out from the rest of the world. The Party insisted that Equestria was a land of oppression and inequality. On the reverse side, the rest of Equestria viewed the Soviet republics in a similar light, with the Party as the oppressor. Rumors passed in both directions across the border, but neither the Equestrians or the Soviets truly knew what life was like on the other side.

Then, the arms race began.

Soviet ingenuity would produce far more than just the tachanka. A number of other devices and weapons were developed over the course of time. But after Soviet scientists discovered how to isolate and culture the virus responsible for a devastating disease known as Equine Infectious Anemia, the abysmal relationship between Stalliongrad and Canterlot took another nose-dive. The Soviets developed a rocket capable of delivering a hefty payload of the Equine Infectious Anemia Virus. In a smug telegram to Canterlot, they claimed that they could infect the entire city “in mere minutes” if their sovereignty was threatened. At first, the princesses believed the telegram to be a bluff. But informants confirmed the existence and readiness of the weapon. Two years later, Canterlot developed its own identical rocket. The Party surmised that Canterlot’s spies were responsible, but it was also possible that a Soviet turncoat had leaked the technical specifications of the rocket to the outside world in exchange for a generous reward. The truth was never known.

In retaliation, the Soviets built another. Then Canterlot built another. So Soviet Equestria produced another five. And Canterlot built another ten. Superiority kept bouncing back and forth as EIA rockets were continually constructed to outdo the enemy. Soon, nopony knew what to think. There were enough weapons to infect everypony in Equestria more than ten times over. And EIA was incurable, persisting for life if contracted. That principle alone - the idea of Mutually-Assured Infection - was supposed to stop either side from actually utilizing the rockets, for fear of wiping out all of Equestria. But great fear persisted on both sides of the borders. It seemed that the entire world was only moments away from sickness and eventual death, hinging entirely on the willingness of Canterlot or Stalliongrad to “press the button.”

Decades passed since the war. Hard times fell upon Soviet Equestria. Dissent began to spread, much as it had blossomed in the Crystal Empire long ago. The masses were fearful of Mutually-Assured Infection. They no longer trusted the Party, which now had earned a reputation to match that of the imperials before it. The lines that defined dissent and sabotage became blurry. The authorities cracked down on everything and everypony. Material shortages became even more prevalent as the Soviets funneled everything they had into the EIA programme. Nopony knew who to trust, and nopony knew what tomorrow would bring.

Diving headfirst into this problematic chapter in Soviet history was the newly-elected premier. The Party had elected a moderate, Mikhail Geldichev, the pony that appeared to have substantial support of the commoners. He sought to reverse the decadence of Soviet society, hoping to avoid an imperial-style collapse that seemed to be just over the horizon. He was like no other premier before him, working to decrease (though not eliminate) the centralization of the Soviet system. He scaled back the secret police and their unrelenting purges. He frequently sparred with the Council of Ministers as he worked to decrease the controlling influence of the Party, arguing that it was slowly replacing imperial tyranny. But Geldichev’s most revolutionary actions were taken when the Crystal Empire abruptly returned after years of non-existence.

It simply… appeared. The Crystal Empire was back in Equestria, though it caused little worry in the Soviet republics, as it was apparent that Sombra’s curse had not been entirely lifted. The imperials were still plagued by their tyrant of a king. But the strange circumstances took another abrupt turn when Soviet informers relayed a fantastic story back home to Stalliongrad. Apparently, six young mares, under the guidance of Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, managed to end King Sombra with a legendary artifact known as the Crystal Heart, and just days after it had reappeared. The curse had been lifted, and the Crystal Empire was restored. The Party claimed that the Motherland was destined for another war.

But rather than reinstating the old royal family, Canterlot selected two new faces to lead the imperials.

Prince Shining Armor and Princess Cadance were given the reigns of the reborn Empire. They of course were royalty, but had no connection to the imperial royal family. When this news reached the desk of the Soviet premier, Geldichev made a momentous decision, one that characterized his era of reform. It was the most daring move ever made by Soviet leadership. If the Crystal Empire was given a fresh start, Geldichev believed that the ongoing rivalry between the Party and the princesses could and should also begin anew before Mutually-Assured Infection destroyed the entire world. He proposed that the Soviet borders should re-open, and that cooperation with the new Crystal Empire, as well as the whole of Equestria, should begin. Despite popular support, the premier faced substantial opposition from members of the Party, but over the course of several weeks made his case and set the gears in motion.

Celestia, Luna, Cadance, and Shining Armor were invited to Stalliongrad for an official state visit to discuss the future of relations between Soviet Equestria and the crown. For the first time since the treaty conference decades ago, two entirely separate and silent worlds had bridged the gap between them. Geldichev, initially fearful that his outreach would be ignored, was ecstatic when he received letters confirming all attendances.

Instituting the visit was Geldichev’s boldest act. But the fact that he was able to strongarm the Party and make it happen proved that the Soviet system and ideology were changing. The masses’ calls for change were being answered. The premier’s new policies began an era of openness and reconstruction of policy.

It was the era of Ponystroika.

*    *    *

For the first time in months, the crowds on Stallions’ Prospekt were not coordinated protests.

Most had never before seen royalty. The only ponies that remembered imperial Stalliongrad were the elderly - those that had been young during the revolutionary times that ousted Duke Saphirov III. Since those stormy days of the distant past, royalty had never again set hoof in Stalliongrad. Until now.

When they were spotted in the sky, the crowds grew silent. The musicians of the Red Army brought their instruments to life, playing a old processional tune that was a staple of the functions at Canterlot castle. It was one of countless pieces of music that had been banned by the Party in years long gone.

They came in three chariots that floated almost effortlessly through the crisp morning air. Princess Celestia was first to arrive. Her chariot touched down on the eastern half of Stallions’ Prospekt, pulled by the armor-clad guards of Canterlot castle. Flying in and landing behind her was Princess Luna’s chariot. And then came a refulgent, gemstone-studded carriage, pulled by a number of imperial guards. The recently-wed prince and princess of the Crystal Empire were waiting inside, looking out at the awestruck crowds, knowing that countless pairs of eyes were just as intently staring back. A number of other guards brought up the rear, gliding down and landing in the street, forming lines before, beside, and behind the chariots and carriage. The procession then continued on hoof toward Victors’ Square - the heart of Soviet Equestria.

Stalliongrad had changed greatly from the old imperial days. The high-rises of communal apartments in the distance were something completely foreign to the outsiders and could be found nowhere else in Equestria. The facades of the oldest buildings at the center of the town were breathtaking but weathered. They had fallen far from their younger days when they still stood on the soil of the Crystal Empire. The air in Stalliongrad seemed welcoming, but at the same time it was pervaded by a grave sadness birthed by years of unrest. The ponies in the streets, however, so perfectly resembled the masses of the revolutionary days: uncertain of the future, unsure of who to trust, and tired. Yes, that was the most profound feeling that Princess Celestia could sense. The whole city just seemed so… tired.

When the chariots pulled into the square, the soldiers’ instruments transitioned into another tune - a variation of the anthem of the Crystal Empire, the first march ever to be banned in Soviet Equusia. There was premier Geldichev, watching from the balcony atop Orlov’s Mausoleum on the west end of the square, waiting to receive his guests. At his sides were representatives of the other republics. Geldichev was nervous. His thick overcoat and woolen hat did little to fight off the chilly winter air, but he was still sweating bullets.

“The day has finally come,” Geldichev muttered shakily. He lowered his head and crossed the balcony with the representatives following along behind. As he climbed down the staircase of the mausoleum, Princess Celestia stepped off her chariot onto the stone blocks of the square.

Luna, Cadance, and Shining Armor remained by the chariots, and the representatives from the satellite republics waited by Orlov’s Mausoleum. Only Mikhail Geldichev, premier of Soviet Equestria, and Celestia, Princess of the Sun, proceeded toward the center of the square. They met and stopped before the statues - the stone carvings of the soldier, metalworker, and farmer. The crowd surrounding the square watched in silence as the two ponies - supposed to be ideological enemies - greeted each other beneath the brassy notes of a lively march.

“I not can thank you enough for meet us today in Stalliongrad,” Geldichev said to the princess with a weary smile. His Equestrian, while understandable, was not perfect. “I was told that… how you say… much of Canterlot was fought you on this decision.”

“If we listened to everypony that told us not to meet here today, nothing would change,” Celestia answered.

“This is true. But I thank you regardless. For put aside the past.”

Celestia towered over Geldichev, a tan unicorn in a dark overcoat that hid his cutie mark, the seal of the Equusian SSR. He seemed to be as tired as the masses around him. And he had an excuse to be tired - his time as premier came during some of the most tumultuous days the republics had ever seen. She could see the fatigue in his eyes. Soviet Equestria was plunging headfirst into another uncertain time, just as it had done in its earliest days. But Geldichev was spearheading it all. And it was taking its toll on him.

“It’s been a long while since I’ve spent time under that roof,” Celestia said. She turned and looked past the statues at the glistening, golden hammer and sickle on the building that dominated the square. “The last time I was here, it was still the Sapphire Palace. But it seems like only yesterday.”

“Time is funny thing,” Geldichev remarked. “It moves quickly. Years pass in blinking of eye. But sometimes it slows, and minute feels like hour.”

Celestia watched the crowds that surrounded the square. They barely moved, barely breathed. They were her subjects, but they were not her subjects.

"Are you ready?” the premier asked, motioning with his head toward the Hall of the Council of Ministers.

“Of course.”

Premier Geldichev motioned to his associates waiting by the mausoleum while Celestia waved to her sister and the newlyweds. The band continued to play as Celestia and Geldichev, side by side, proceeded past the statues at the center of the square. Their respective entourages trailed along behind them. At the west end of the square, the Red Army paraded toward the Hall of the Council. On the east side of the square, the royal guards did the same.

Thousands of eyes watched the pair proceed toward the steps. They were braving the frigid air of a winter morning just to see the short procession. The fillies and colts were bursting with excitement. They had never seen royals before - royals had been nothing but names in heavily-censored history textbooks. Indeed, they had never even seen an alicorn before, let alone three in the same place. It was almost unreal to see wings and a horn on the same pony. The degree to which Celestia dwarfed Geldichev, the most powerful stallion in Soviet Equestria, seemed so odd to them.

Princess Celestia and the premier climbed the steps, but stopped before the grand doors of the hall. They turned back to the square. All around them, the weathered buildings of Stalliongrad stretched toward the sky. The masses watched them from the edges of the plaza and from Stallions’ Prospekt. The band had finished their tune now, and the instruments fell silent. At the base of the stairs, Princess Luna, Princess Cadance, and Prince Shining Armor stood right beside the representatives of Belequus, Trotterstan, Mustangistan, Grazerbaijan, and Emeraldavia. They were waiting for the pair to enter the hall.

“Are you ready?” Celestia asked Geldichev with a smile.

“Well, that depends,” Geldichev said with a weary smile of his own. He looked up into Celestia’s eyes. “Do you still think that Soviet Equestria should be a subject of the Crystal Empire?”

Princess Celestia shot Cadance and Shining Armor a quick glance out of the corner of her eye.

“No,” she responded. “That was… a different time.”

“Then on behalf of Soviet Equestria, I welcoming you to Council.”

The instruments of the Red Army began playing again, this time a legendary Equusian march, “The Farewell of Stallionka.” Everypony in Soviet Equestria, regardless of their age, knew that song. So they began to sing, quietly at first, but steadily getting louder until the entire square erupted in a choir of voices that accompanied the shining brass of the Soviet musicians.

Celestia and Geldichev waved to the crowd before disappearing through the doors of the Hall of the Council of Ministers. The motley of royals and Reds at the foot of the stairs followed them inside.

Somewhere, on the outskirts of Saddlestopol, a lone unicorn in ragged clothes sits on an empty crate, playing an accordion that is slightly off-key. He sings a different song than the crowds at Victor’s Square. He sings of tragedy - a lost love. In Foalgograd, an elderly widow weeps at the base of her husband’s crooked gravestone. It is Nastenka - the same mare that Palominov had met at the train station those many years ago. And in Stalliongrad, not far from the Hall of the Council of Ministers, a beggar sits on the sidewalk by the Druzhinnik Bar. He has nothing to his name other than two bottles of wine. But nopony will buy it, for it has spoiled and gone bitter.

Soviet Equestria was envisioned as a new society, one that would eliminate the inequalities of the imperialist system before it. But even after decades of work - and a war that almost brought it all to the ground - this battle was still not over.

In much the same way, Celestia and Geldichev had a long, arduous fight ahead of them. Their meeting was a momentous occasion, but it was only the tip of the iceberg - the very beginning of much work that still had to be done. After all, they were trying to somehow reunite two separate, incongruent worlds. As to whether or not they would be able to do it... only time would tell.

The End