On Behalf of Soviet Equestria

As the minutes ticked by and noontime drew nearer, the hoof traffic outside of the railway station in Canterlot continued to grow as it always did in the late morning. But every set of hooves that passed by the doors of the train station brought with it another set of eyes that stared indecorously at the short, red stallion that waited there on the street, and he was getting progressively more nervous among the growing number of pedestrians. He was the single pony that wasn’t moving along with the hustling Canterlot locals on the street, but that alone didn’t make anypony single him out. The delicately embroidered winter hat, matching boots, and gold-trimmed black shapan – a long dressing gown with wide sleeves – that covered his body were the things that let everypony know he was a foreigner. Most residents of Canterlot had never seen such clothing before, for it was only produced by artisan weavers in the lands far north.

For Darkhan Dressazhanov, the city of Canterlot was a very strange place, and it was understandably so. He had spent nearly all of his life in his native Trotterstan, and in his younger days hadn’t the slightest inclination as to what a city truly was. He knew little more than his simple life on the steppes within his family’s yurt, a small one-room wooden home with a felt roof. Years later, he left his nomadic life behind and settled on the outskirts of Palominograd, the growing city in Trotterstan. But Palominograd was nothing like the gold-spired city on the mountain.

Dressazhanov had traveled to Stalliongrad several times in the last few years, and while he was indeed an outsider in Equusia, nopony made him feel like an outsider. The locals didn’t gawk at him while he walked through the streets. Instead, they offered to help him find his way through the unfamiliar setting. Equusia had always been a friend to Trotterstan, for they both shared the same disdain for the Crystal Empire. In Stalliongrad, a lone traveler from the steppes would have felt right at home, or at least that he was among friends. In Canterlot, Dresssazhanov was receiving stares and looks that told him he simply didn’t belong. On top of everything else, he spoke little of the local tongue, and couldn’t really argue otherwise.

The red stallion continued to wait there by the station in the winter cold, doing his best to ignore his discomfort. He stared at the spires on the mountainside that shined with the snow. He hadn’t seen anything like them before. Palominograd was a beautiful city, but it was humble by comparison to the royal city. Dressazhanov saw the birds that watched the street from the lampposts and roofs above, and it reminded him of the trained birds from his childhood on the steppes. Every so often, a tall top hat would obstruct his view, and he gaze would return to street level. It was but another thing he had never seen before – the dress in Canterlot. These tall cylindrical hats were odd to him, for they seemed to serve little practical purpose. Much the same were the suits, which appeared to have a very strange cut and set of cuffs compared to the formal attire of Stalliongrad and Palominograd.

“Look at this guy over here.”

The voice came from behind Dressazhanov, whose eyes went wide. It was said in his mother tongue from back home. He smiled and turned to find himself beside a brown pony in a winter shapka and grey overcoat with a little red pin on the lapel. It was none other than Alexander Palominov.

“What’s a lowlife like you doing in a classy place like this?” Palominov laughed as he threw his arm around his friend from back home.

“They kicked me out of Trotterstan,” Dressazhanov chuckled. “It’s good to see you. For a minute I wondered if they told you the wrong arrival time. I thought I was going to have to find my way through this city alone.”

“Relax, comrade. Mareinskiy and I will take good care of you. Here, let me take one of those bags.” Palominov said as he threw one of Dressazhanov’s bags across his back. Dressazhanov took the other. Then, Palominov extended his arm toward the spires and building facades and announced, “You’re finally here! The heart and soul of Equestria! The city of the two princesses! A land of glory. So what do you think?” Dressazhanov smirked and took a good long look around.

“I think I want to go back to Palominograd.”

The two stallions laughed as Palominov turned and led the way through the crowd by the train station.

“It’s nothing like being back home, that’s for sure,” Palominov sighed. “Heh. ‘City of the two princesses,’ they call it. They can keep it. Wouldn’t bother me if I never set hoof back here again.”

“It’s just that… everypony seems so... hostile. You know what I mean, don’t you?” Dressazhanov began. Palominov nodded with closed eyes. “I had to change trains at one of the exchanges over the border, and it was filled with all these ponies heading back to Canterlot, and they were watching me the entire time. And then I get all the way out here, leave the station, and it’s even worse on the street. Are they all really so cold to outsiders?”

“Of course they are. This isn’t Stalliongrad,” Palominov answered, looking about him as the pair made their way up the street.

“Waiting there alone made it worse, though. Made me stand out a lot more,” Dressazhanov continued. “It’s better now that I’m with you.”

Palominov started laughing so hard that he stopped in his tracks and started smacking at the ground with his front left. Dressazhanov didn’t understand what had been so funny.

“And what’s the matter with you?” the red stallion from Trotterstan asked.

“Ahah! ‘It’s better now that I’m with you,’ he says! Oh, that’s grand! Listen, comrade, let’s set one thing straight – you’re in worse shape now that you’re with me.”

Palominov stifled his laughter and motioned with his head to proceed onward. As they continued down the street, the brown pony explained himself.

“At the moment, everypony in Canterlot looks at you and they see a foreigner. ‘Oh,’ they’ll think, ‘he’s from the far north.’ They’re not going to welcome you with open arms, but they’re not going to chase you away down the mountain, either. But Mareinskiy and I…”

Palominov stopped briefly and smiled at his friend.

“They look at Mareinskiy and I, and they don’t just see foreigners. They see Reds. Dissidents. Communists. Traitors. They start thinking of all the ways they can run us out of town on a rail. Walking around with us will show you just how hostile these Canterlot locals can really be. And once they all find out that Trotterstan has opted to join the Soviet coalition, they’ll start looking at you all the same.”

Dressazhanov didn’t say anything in response. He only watched Palominov with an uneasy stare as they turned the corner and proceeded onward.

“What can I say, comrade? The truth is the truth. Mareinskiy and I… we joke about being celebrities now. After we came up here to talk with Celestia the first time, they started snapping pictures as we left the castle and we ended up on the front page of one of the local gazettes.”

“What was it like, Alexander Vladimirovich?” Dresazhanov asked, stepping around two oncoming pedestrians that weren’t paying attention to what was in front of them. “Your first time with the princess, I mean.”

“Disheartening,” Palominov groaned, shaking his head. “Celestia didn’t do anything. We brought enough of an argument with us to prevent her from outright siding with the imperials, but she didn’t say she’d enforce the peace. She just said she’d need to ‘do some thinking.’ So then we come up here again for a second audience, and stress the simple fact that there is no more time to deliberate. The crystal dogs are at the door, and it’s only a matter of time before they strike.  But, again, she said it was a ‘difficult situation’ and needed more time to think.”

A light snow had begun to fall as they reached one of the central streets of Canterlot. The castle was still a far way off. But as the pair continued onward, past the fronts of the stores, cafes, and houses, Dressazhanov noticed that some ponies weren’t simply staring in passing as they had done in front of the train station. There were some that stopped and watched Palominov carefully as he walked along. They were tapping their friends and family members on the shoulder and telling them to look, whispering quietly amongst themselves.

“The criers and the gazettes must have already mentioned something about today’s audience. Our friends in Canterlot seem particularly fond of me today,” Palominov muttered to his friend.

“That red pin on your coat doesn’t exactly help you blend in,” Darkhan Dressazhanov stated matter-of-factly. He looked at the little red flag-shaped emblem on Palominov’s lapel. The golden insignia of the hammer crossed with the sickle shined despite the sun’s hiding behind cloudy sky. “If you take that thing off, far fewer ponies would single you out.”

“Why would I do that?” Palominov snapped as he turned toward the red stallion. “Let them stare. Don’t think for one second that it bothers me, comrade. I’m glad they know who I am. I’m not afraid to show Party support outside of the Motherland. You already sound just like Mareinskiy. Telling me to tone it down. Telling me to act more humble. This situation doesn’t call for humility. War is on the horizon, lives are on the line, and I’m supposed to be a shrinking violet?”

Palominov was unaware of how loud he had been speaking in the end. Dressazhanov hadn’t expected such a response.

“Excuse me, Alexander Vladimirovich,” Dressazanov said, staring down at the paving stones. A few moments passed in silence as the two ponies from the northern republics continued down the street.

“No, excuse me, Darkhan Aslanovich,” the brown pony responded. “I’ve been tense over the last two months. I’m not exactly thrilled with how these talks have been going. You touched a bit of a nerve there, though.”

“Perhaps today is the day that things change,” Dressazhanov responded. Palominov again shook his head.

“That’s also something I’d expect Mareinskiy to say.”

“It sounds like you two haven’t quite been getting along lately.”

Palominov snorted and rolled his eyes.

“I just don’t understand his attitude. He keeps trying to tell me how different Princess Celestia is supposed to be from the rest of the royalty. He claims she acts in the best interest of all ponies in Equestria. Mareinskiy’s got this strange idea in his head that Canterlot does things differently than the Crystal Empire. If she’s so different, then why hasn’t she enforced the peace already? I don’t get what he sees in the Princess of the Sun. To me, she’s just like the imperial royal family. So far, walking on eggs hasn’t changed her mind. That being said, I’m not sure I want to walk on eggs much longer.”

“Can’t exactly say I blame you,” Dressazhanov responded.

A half hour passed as Dressazhanov and Palominov made their way through the busy center of Canterlot. The talked of the goings-on back home, and the memories of their first collaborations back in Stalliongrad. The revolutionary action in Stalliongrad was already over three months behind them, but Palominov recalled the stormy days as if they had happened only minutes prior. Trotterstan’s revolt had been more recent, following that of the Belequusia territory, which had exiled authority from the Crystal Empire and immediately thereafter declared itself a sister Soviet Republic, the Belequusian SSR. Trotterstan was right behind them, and the coalition agreements were already being reviewed and signed in Stalliongrad. Those members of the Party that were more supportive of the dialogues were hopeful that the spread of the revolt and the growth of Soviet Equestria would push Celestia toward intervention.

Dressazhanov and Palominov approached the Clydesdale Inn, the hotel at which the ambassadors had lodged during the previous night. There, waiting by the front doors, was Mareinskiy, speaking with another white pony that Dressazhanov had never seen before.

This white pegasus had very a very distinct looking muzzle with prominent cheekbones and a muscular jaw, and he stood on four broad, strong-looking black hooves. His mane was aberrantly short at the back, as was a common feature of ponies from the eastern republic of Belequus. Like Palominov, the white pegasus wasn’t afraid to make known his association with the Party, for he wore a red pin on the lapel of his black overcoat. The white stallion saw Palominov approaching and alerted Mareinskiy, who turned and motioned toward the approaching pair.

“Perfect timing, comrades. We just stepped out,” Mareinskiy said with a smile as he turned to the red stallion from Trotterstan. “Darkhan Aslanovich, I’m glad you could join us today. Your presence at this audience is a tremendous help to the cause. I’m sorry that we have to get straight to business… I know you just arrived in Canterlot.”

“It is no bother, Gennady Sergeyevich,” Dressazhanov responded. “With war now looming over Trotterstan all the same, it is in the best interest of the coalition to work as quickly as possible.”

Palominov cleared his throat and motioned toward the white pegasus in the overcoat standing behind Mareinskiy, who turned and realized his error.

“Oh, excuse me. It completely slipped my mind…” Mareinskiy mumbled as he turned back around to face Dressazhanov. “You’ve never met our comrade from Belequus, have you?” The red stallion shook his head. “As I figured. Again, excuse me. Darkhan Aslanovich, this is Ivan Ivanovich Furlongev. He was the chosen representative of the provisional committee of the Belequusian SSR.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Darkhan Aslanovich,” the white stallion said, nodding, as he studied the red stallion with his vivacious, blue eyes.

“I wasn’t aware I had much of one,” Dressazhanov laughed as he exchanged glances with Mareinskiy and Palominov. “Dare I ask what these two have been telling you?”

“Only good things, rest assured,” Furlongev answered. “I’ve been eager to meet the patriot from Trotterstan. You know, comrade, the look on Celestia’s face will be priceless when she learns that there’s a third republic in the coalition.”

“Don’t expect me to be the one to mention it to her. I don’t speak the language,” Dressazhanov stated.

“Relax, comrade. I’m illiterate beyond the borders all the same,” Furlongev sighed. “Gennady Sergeyevich and Alexander Vladimirovich here will be translating for us today.”

“I hate to cut the introductions short,” Mareinskiy interrupted, “but it’s getting very near arrival time. We should leave for the castle gatehouse now. Wouldn’t be good to keep the princess waiting.”

“As if she hasn’t kept us waiting on that all-important decision of hers,” Palominov snorted.

“It’s a fragile situation,” Mareinskiy rebutted as the group, led by Palominov, turned and marched onward in the direction of Canterlot castle. The snowfall was getting heavier and the wind was starting to pick up. “Though I think she’ll be a little more decisive now that the safety of another two entire republics is hanging over her head.”

“Assuming she has a conscience and a heart,” Palominov mumbled under his breath.

“With any luck, she will be,” Furlongev remarked as he shivered from the chilly gust. “I can’t say for certain that Manesk is ready for war.”

“Nopony is ready for war,” Mareinskiy said. “That’s why we’ve come to Canterlot again. So that there won’t be war of which to speak.”

Must be nice living on dreams, Palominov thought to himself. But aloud, he said,

“Or so we hope.”

*    *    *

The guard that had announced the arrival of the Soviet ambassadors stepped aside. Mareinskiy, Palominov, and their friends from the other republics began their procession down the red carpet to the throne, escorted by a soldier on either side. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, standing before the throne, watched them as they drew nearer.

“Sister, you told me we were expecting only two,” Princess Luna whispered.

“Before now, there were only two,” Princess Celestia responded, her voice laced with harsh apprehension.

The guards stopped a short distance from the steps of the throne’s pedestal and, like so many times before, the guard on the left said to the four stallions,

“Bow before Her Grand Royal Highness, Princess Celestia, she who raises the sun in darkest darkness, and before Her Grand Royal Highness, Princess Luna, she who lights our way under the cover of the night.”

The visitors did as they were ordered, though Palominov’s bow was slightly delayed. The soldiers took their spots at the base of the pedestal’s steps. Princess Celestia pawed at the floor with a slender forelimb as she said,

“Mr. Palominov. Mr. Mareinskiy. Good afternoon.” Her stare was concentrated on the red pin on Palominov’s coat.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” they answered.

“On this occasion, my dear sister was finally able to join us. During the previous meetings there were… other matters that required her attention,” Celestia informed. There were twinges of disapprobation in her voice “I see you’ve brought some friends along with you this time.”

“Indeed we have, Your Highness,” Palominov replied as he opened up the dialogue. “I would like to introduce you to our two comrades.” He motioned toward the white pegasus with the lapel pin that matched his own. “This is Ivan Furlongev. He is the chosen ambassador of the provisional committee of the Belequusian SSR.”

Celestia nodded.

“It is a pleasure, Mr. Furlongev.”

Nothing shocking about that, Palominov laughed to himself. You already know about the Belequusian SSR. Just wait until you find out about our other friend.

“Gennady Sergeyevich and I will be communicating with you as intermediates on his behalf, Your Highness,” Palominov continued aloud, “for he is not fluent in the Equestrian language outside of our republics.”

“I’ll not object to your speaking on his behalf,” Celestia retorted.

“We will be doing much the same for our other comrade, here,” Palominov went on as a smile formed on his face. Mareinskiy and Furlongev turned to face the red pony from Trotterstan. Furlongev bit his lower lip as he tried to stifle his anticipation. “His name is Darkhan Dressazhanov. He has traveled all the way to Canterlot from Palominograd of the Trotterstan Republic.”

“It is a pleasure all the same, Mr. Dressazhanov,” Celestia remarked.

For the moment it's a pleasure, Palominov thought. He faked a quick expression of shock and put a hoof to his mouth, slowly turning toward Dressazhanov.

“Oh, excuse me, comrade Dressazhanov,” Palominov gasped. “I misspoke.”

We can do without the theatrics, Mareinskiy grumbled in his head.

“I seem to have forgot,” Palominov continued, turning back toward Celestia with a raised brow, “that your homeland has a new name now.”

Celestia cocked her head and ran a hoof through the front of her mane as she narrowed her eyes. Luna watched Palominov with a concentrated gaze.

“Of course, I remember now that it was declared the Trotter SSR when it sought to join our Soviet coalition.”

Celestia’s eyes went wide as her ears perked up. The brown pony watched her stolid expression shatter into thousands of tiny pieces as shock and frustration from deep within manifested themselves on the princess’s face. Palominov found remarkable pleasure in it – he took it in like air and let it flow through his entire form. Princess Luna was watching Dressazhanov now. It was clear that, despite the language barrier, he knew what had just been conveyed.

“The Trotter SSR?” Celestia asked.

“Indeed,” Palominov continued with a smile. “It is the second imperial republic to join the cause. Soviet Equestria is no longer a single territory. Rather, it has become a… union… of Soviet republics.”

Celestia and Luna turned toward one another and then gave Palominov a long, hard stare.

“Now, Your Highness, if we may ignore my little mistake and proceed back into the matter at hand, comrade Furlongev and comrade Dressazanov would like to state their cases for the-”

The brown stallion didn’t finish his thought. He stopped and turned when the doors to the throne room were pushed open to reveal another of the castle’s guards.

“Your Highness, a herald has arrived and requests an immediate audience,” he called out.

“She’ll have to wait,” Celestia told the guard. “This meeting was arranged over a week ago, and these are serious matters that require our full attention.”

“She brings news from the Crystal Empire,” the guard added. The two sisters on the pedestal exchanged worried glances. Their minds changed in an instant.

“Send her in,” they ordered in unison.

The guard barely had time to do anything. He looked over his shoulder and started to say something, but a silver mare with a messenger bag across her back blew past him and into the throne room, huffing and panting. She glowed dimly with the remnants of the crystal hue that had begun to fade from her extended time outside imperial territory.

“Your Grand Royal Highnesses! On behalf of my liege, I bear black news from the Crystal Empire!” she shouted. All eyes were on her as she charged down the length of the carpet, halting just behind the Soviets. “The revolts have spread to Mustangistan! We’re fighting to regain control, but local dissent has outnumbered local imperial support! Worse, there’s a chance that the Grazerbaijan territory is also ready to take up arms, and we fear that the dissidents are looking to join with the-”

Her speech slowed and finally came to a halt. The herald hadn’t noticed it at first, but realized as she spoke that the four stallions before the throne were no ordinary guests. She saw Dressazhanov’s shapan, the long winter overcoats of strange cuts with the strap across the back, and finally the little red pins on two of the lapels, and had slowly pieced together that she was standing right behind the Reds. Eyes wide with surprise, she took a step back as her hind legs began to convulse.

“Oh…” the silver earth pony stuttered as she studied the four faces that were watching her. Three of them looked rather blank, but the fourth one – Palominov’s – bore a toothy grin.

“I have to say, I feel bad for these imperials,” Palominov said with mocking pity. He turned to the princesses, who now looked nearly as petrified as the herald. “This just isn’t their week.”