On Behalf of Soviet Equestria

by Misha Palominov

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe
Length: 38668

After the emergence of Soviet Equestria, two diplomats from the new republic are given an audience with a rather displeased Princess Celestia. As the war with the Crystal Empire rages on, relations quickly head south.

After a repressed territory in the Crystal Empire ousts its nobility and forms a Soviet Equestrian republic, two diplomats arrive in Canterlot for an audience with Princess Celestia. The two Soviets argue that Canterlot, as a superior, should order the Crystal Empire to accept Soviet independence and stand down.

Celestia's indecisiveness causes precious time to tick by, and war eventually breaks out between the Reds and the Empire. As the diplomats learn more about the situation, relations between Soviet Equestria and Canterlot quickly take a turn for the worse.

NOTE: This is (obviously) an interpretation of Soviet Equestria. If you think you'll have little to no interest in reading about a Soviet-themed state within Equestria, OR if you have little to no interest in the Soviet Union or Russia, I would highly suggest that you stop right here and go read something else rather than find yourself only a short way into this story and decide you ultimately hate it.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-07-02 17:15:32 UTC

Chapter 1: They're Counting on Us

The train was more than three hours behind schedule. The engineers could have made the long trip to Canterlot considerably shorter if they had gone directly south from Stalliongrad, but they didn’t want to take that risk, as many of the railroad exchanges in the south were controlled by the anarchists. And had the anarchists discovered a train with diplomats loyal to the Party, those diplomats – and most probably all of the other passengers, for that matter – would likely have been held hostage or executed. It was considerably safer to first travel west to Saddlestopol, a city that was completely loyal to the Party and the Reds, and to circumvent most of the southern regions of the territory altogether.

Had that train crossed the border a few months prior, it would have been leaving from the southwestern regions of the Crystal Empire. Now, that border belonged to Soviet Equestria, the new republic that appeared in the wake of the revolution in the Equusia territory. It was a tumultuous time. Disagreement between sects of the representatives at the Party Congress brought difficult days to Stalliongrad while bands of anarchists remained in control of many southern and eastern areas of the republic. Then, of course, there were a few small groups that were still loyal to the Crystal Empire, although the Reds and anarchists alike were steadily suppressing what little royalist support remained.

It was decided that dialogue with Canterlot was needed as quickly as possible. The new state was fragile, and the Party knew it was simply a matter of time until the Empire tried to re-absorb the republic before it grew too stable. For that reason, two recently-appointed diplomats by the names of Palominov and Mareinskiy were en route to Canterlot for an audience with Princess Celestia. Though already far outside their motherland on a hot, stuffy sleeper train that chugged along through the night, they still had another half-day of travel before they reached their destination.

Palominov and Mareinskiy met several years prior during their matriculation at the Stalliongrad Academy of Law. They had joined the Reds just under a year before the revolution and had worked with prominent members of the intelligentsia to coordinate protest action across Stalliongrad. They of course were among the crowd before the palace in Sapphire Square on that celebrated day when the masses rose up against the monarchy in a final, forceful push. Naturally, they were welcomed into the Party shortly thereafter, and they were trusted to handle relations with Canterlot.

They spent hours talking on that long train ride. Some conversation was weighty, and some was idle. Palominov decided at one point in the late evening that he was ready to sleep, though his friend made the choice to stay awake for a while longer.

Palominov slept for a couple of hours, but later was jarred awake after several meters of uneven track caused the train to judder. The sleepy brown earth pony rubbed his eyes and groaned as he rolled over in his bunk. The room was even warmer now that it was when he fell asleep, and he could feel a thin coat of sweat on his brow. The light in the cabin was dim, but Palominov still had to open his eyes gradually as they adjusted. He noticed that Mareinskiy wasn’t in the room.

“Huh. Where did he go?” Palominov asked aloud after a long yawn. Shoving the blankets aside, he sat up in his bunk and looked around the room. Everything was just as it had been left when he went to sleep – the documents on the table top, his suit on its hanger by the door of the cabin, and the two bags they had shoved under the table. But Mareinskiy had left.

Rubbing his eyes once more, Palominov climbed out of his bunk and slid the door to the compartment aside. Stepping out into the narrow hallway, he looked to his left, then to his right, and proceeded in that direction toward the rear of the train car. The only compartment that wasn't closed and locked for the night was that of the car’s blue-uniformed attendant, who turned to look at Palominov with tired eyes as he passed by the room. Through the window in the door that led to the junction between the cars, he saw the hind legs and tail of a cream-colored pony.

“There he is.”

Grabbing the handle with his teeth, he pulled the door open. In an instant, the quiet train car was flooded with the roar of the wheels on the track and a burst of chilly winter air. There was Mareinskiy, still in the suit he was sporting earlier in the day, with a lit cigarette in his mouth. He turned quickly to the opened door, smiled at his friend, and then turned back to the window of the train car. Palominov stepped into the connecting junction and pulled the door closed.

“What, you still can’t sleep?” Palominov shouted over the unrelenting racket of the moving train. Mareinskiy shook his head. “You should at least try to get some rest. You’ll be worthless when we get to Canterlot if you don’t.”

“You know how it is, comrade,” Mareinskiy shouted through one side of his mouth as he held the cigarette with the other. “You need sleep so you can perform well on an occasion like this. But you’re so nervous about the whole thing, you find that you can’t sleep.” He still hadn’t turned away from the dark window. “But then again, there’s more to it this time.”

The cream-colored stallion took a final drag and let the cigarette drop to the floor. He stomped it out and turned to his friend, motioning toward the door with his head. The two earth ponies proceeded back into the hallway, where they were again greeted by the suffocating heat of the train car. Mareinskiy led the way as they walked back into their compartment and slid the door shut. The two ponies sat on their respective bunks and sat in silence for a few moments as Mareinskiy undid his cuffs with his teeth.

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing that thing. Watching you sit there in that suit is making me feel even hotter,” Palominov groaned.

“The heat’s the least of my concerns. Too much else to think about,” Mareinskiy said as he stretched himself out on the firm cushion of his bed. “When did you wake up?”

“A minute before I went looking for you.”

Mareinskiy gazed blankly up into the bottom of the empty bunk above him, gently rocking with the movement of the train as it thundered into the night. A smirk was spreading across the cream-colored stallion’s face as he continued to stare off into space. Palominov took notice, and posed his question again.

“So what’s still keeping you awake?”

Mareinskiy slowly turned to look at his friend across the small room.

“Something struck me a few hours ago, just before you went to sleep,” the recumbent stallion mumbled. “It wasn’t anything you said. But it hit me like a brick wall.”

“And what’s that?” Palominov asked, leaning toward his counterpart. Mareinskiy, as usual, was very hard to read, and the brown stallion studied him carefully with a wrinkled brow.

“Back when I was a colt,” Mareinskiy began, sitting back up, “I always played around with my brother Pavel. I’m going way back, comrade. Back when I still lived on the outskirts of Maremansk.” He laughed a little and looked down at the top of the table between the beds. “We liked to pretend to do battle as knights. It was our favorite game. We’d take oaths, swear to protect the Breiyar princes, the whole nine yards.”

“Protect the Breiyar princes?” Palominov chortled. “Imagine that. Oh, how the times have changed.” Mareinskiy laughed along with him, but continued the story.

“That was back when sticks and twigs were spears and swords. And we took it so seriously, too. We really imagined that ponies from all over the land were counting on us – that our causes were just, and that it would be a grim day if we got poked with sticks more than we poked somepony else with our sticks.” Mareinskiy snickered and looked right at his friend on the other bunk. “Pavel and I… we’d tell ourselves that we held the fate of the Equestria in our hooves.”

Mareinskiy reclined in his seat and sighed, relishing in the happy memories as Palominov leaned on the end of the table. For a moment, there was no sound in the room other than the bumps and bangs of the train wheels beneath the compartment as they continued to traverse the track. But the smile slowly faded from Mareinskiy’s face as he once again brought his widening eyes to meet those of Palominov.

“Now, fate rests in my hooves again. And in yours all the same, comrade. But we’re not playing some child’s game. No, this is real,” Mareinskiy muttered. Palominov was silent. In an instant, the jovial mood was blown away, much like the weak flame of a tiny candle in a sudden strong wind. The cream-colored stallion’s hooves were trembling a bit as he thought about what he was going to say next. What he already said had left a foul taste in his mouth. “Everypony knows it’s a matter of time before the imperials make their move. Everypony is afraid of war. And they should be. For the weapons of war aren’t the sticks and twigs we remember from childhood.”

Mareinskiy stopped talking and rested his hooves in his lap. The look on his face was vacant, for while his physical form was sitting there in the stuffy compartment, his mind was elsewhere, trapped in some strange continuum between his childhood and the present.

“And you and I… we’re on this train, bound for Canterlot,” the cream-colored stallion continued, staring at Palominov and smirking nervously, “and everypony is counting on us to stop the war before it starts. We’ve been entrusted with fate of the new Soviet society, comrade. And to tell you the truth, when I think about that, I’m absolutely terrified.”

“And what am I supposed to tell you?” Palominov asked after a few moments of silence. “I’m as nervous as you are, comrade. Of course I’m nervous. Who wouldn’t be? But there’s only so much that can be done. Of course our comrades back home are counting on us. But they can’t expect us to work miracles. They don’t expect us to work miracles. And should worse come to worse, and if war will be tomorrow-”

“Don’t say that,” Mareinsky interrupted. “I don’t even want to think about what happens if worse comes to worse. The only thing we should be thinking about is what we’re going to do to ensure that worse doesn’t come to worse.” Palominov threw up his hooves.

“At this point, how much more can we do?” he asked. “We’ve prepared our case, and tomorrow we’ll speak our piece. Nothing we think about between now and the time we set hoof on the castle grounds is going to make any difference in the long run. It’s bad enough that addressing the royals is like talking to a brick wall.”

“And that’s where I’m hoping you’re wrong,” Mareinskiy stated, thrusting his front right toward his comrade. “This isn't like  anything we’ve done before. This isn’t what went down with Saphirov. We’re not dealing with the Breiyar princes or the Empire’s royal family. We’re going right to Canterlot.”

“And this is going to be any different?”

“I think it will. Half the Party’s constituents are hard-lining anti-monarchists that have written off all the royals, regardless of whether they’re old Breiyar nobility, the Crystal Empire’s royal family, or the princesses in Canterlot. But if you ask me, I think the Canterlot royals are a cleaner breed than the others.

“They’d tear you limb from limb in the middle of the Party Congress if they heard you talking like that,” Palominov muttered as he shook his head. It wasn’t entirely a joke.

“Canterlot isn’t like the Crystal Empire,” Mareinsky insisted, leaning across the table between the beds. “Canterlot is the true authority in Equestria, and the Crystal Empire is its impudent child. Nowadays, the Empire considers itself to be Canterlot’s equal, and the imperials think they can start doing whatever they please. Now, it’s time for Canterlot to put them back in their place. And that’s exactly what they’ll do. They just need a little push before they take action.”

“And you and I will be giving the little push, I take it.”

“Yes.”

Silence overtook the room as the two stallions stared at each other from their respective beds in the stuffy compartment. Canterlot was drawing nearer with every second that ticked by.

“Fine enough,” Palominov finally said, “I'll try to believe that for now. But if we don’t get some sleep before we get to the castle, we won’t have the energy to do any pushing.” Mareinskiy could only nod in agreement as he rose from his bunk and pulled of his jacket and shirt. He put his clothes on the hangar by the wall at the foot of the bunk. Palominov reclined on his bed without bothering to pull the covers back up, watching as his friend leaned over the table and extinguished the lamp that rested by the window. The room was bathed in darkness, save for what little light was coming in through the window. Mareinskiy carefully turned and climbed back into his bunk.

A few minutes passed as the two stallions waited in the darkness as the train bounced and rocked. Palominov eventually turned toward his counterpart and broke the relative silence. There was a question he had contemplated asking earlier, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep until he got it off his chest.

“Gennady?” Palominov asked.

“Mmh,” mumbled the cream-colored stallion.

“When you mentioned your brother Pavel… I was wondering… Is he working for the Party in Maremansk, then?” Palominov asked. The other stallion didn’t answer immediately, and Palomiov thought he might have fallen asleep.

“No,” Mareinskiy eventually sighed. “I'm sure he wanted to join them. Pavel was there with the crowds in the streets during the Maremansk uprising. But he didn’t make it out alive.” Palominov was mortified.

“Excuse me, Gennady Sergeyevich,” Palominov stuttered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t mind. You didn’t know."

Chapter 2: Red Diplomacy

Some of the royals sensed that something was amiss before the news of the revolution had even reached Canterlot.

It came with the change of season. Something had followed Mother Winter into Canterlot after autumn’s end. There was an unnerving sensation that fell with the snow and hissed with the rustling of the leafless shrubs. Ponies found themselves shivering not from the cold, but from a disturbance in the air. With every passing day, it had grown stronger, but nopony quite knew what it was… until the herald arrived from the crystal Empire.

It was almost inconceivable news. A whole region of the Crystal Empire had revolted against imperial rule – and arguably succeeded. The masses had risen up, rallied by a number of revolutionaries from groups that had remained underground in the previous years, and chased all imperial authority out of the territory. It began at the center of the largest city in the region, Stalliongrad, and radiated outward in the subsequent weeks. It was when all of the great cities in Equusia had been taken by Reds, anarchists, or peasants that the humiliated imperials eventually sent word to Canterlot.

Quite some time had gone by since the herald appeared before Celestia's court. Indeed, almost three months had passed since the revolution itself. But everypony remembered the news as if it had just been delivered hours ago. Practically overnight, the Crystal Empire’s Equusia became a household name in Canterlot. It had been declared as an Equestrian Soviet Socialist Republic by the new Congress of Soviets. Of course, the Crystal Empire refused to recognize Soviet Equestria as its own sovereign state, and instead affirmed that despite the disorder, it was still very much a part of the imperial patrimony. They didn't even call it Equusia. They called it Tondranka, a name that stemmed from the tundras that characterized much of the territory.

The Imperials assured the princesses that the unrest would be quelled in due time.

Publicly, the royals in Canterlot remained quiet about the issue. But there wasn’t much going on behind closed palace doors either, mainly because the whole situation was so unprecedented that nopony really knew what action they were supposed to take. The Soviets were butting heads with the Crystal Empire, but it seemed that there was no animosity toward Canterlot or any other city or region of Equestria. At the same time, however, it was no secret that the members of the Party had a strong anti-monarchist sentiment, and were glorifying their new state and its classless society. These views implied animosity toward Canterlot, even if it wasn’t outwardly shown.

Princess Celestia eventually received a letter from several Party officials from Stalliongrad asking for diplomatic talks. The royals found it particularly interesting that, despite their fiery rhetoric, the Soviets had formally requested an audience with the princesses in the traditional manner. After a short deliberation the audience was granted, and Palominov and Mareinskiy were sent from Stalliongrad.

On the morning of their arrival, Princess Celestia was staring through one of the many delicately-painted windows of the throne room at the castle grounds and streets below. Snow once again marked autumn’s end. A white blanket descended upon the cobblestones and golden spires of Canterlot, as it had done so many countless seasons before. It was again the time of warm hearth fires and cups of steaming tea, a time when ponies could see their breath before them as they walked along the boulevards. The mornings were still and quiet, for there were no singing birds to welcome the day. All the same, the nights were without the chirping of crickets, and the streets cleared before sunset as the townsponies rushed home early to escape the frigid tendrils of the evening air. On the surface, it was a winter like any other.

But, of course, things are not always as they seem on the surface.

“Your Highness,” said a voice from behind. Celestia spun around to face one of the guards. She was a bit startled, for she hadn’t even heard him enter. “The two ambassadors have arrived. They’re waiting in the vestibule.”

“Very good. Send them in,” Princess Celestia responded. The guard saluted and made his way toward the towering throne room doors as the princess sighed uneasily and walked toward the throne. The rhythmic clicks of her hooves against the white marble of the floor reverberated throughout the massive room, flying about and dancing off the columns and arches. Celestia climbed the steps to the throne, turned, and sat. The echoes were still fading as she waited, facing the doors at the other end of the long, crimson carpet that stretched from the throne.

That was the first time in what seemed like an eternity that the throne room had seen visitors from the imperial territories of the north. Historically, subjects of the empire would have sought audiences at the imperial court at the Crystal Castle. In the case of Equusia, affairs were handled by the local nobility, the Breiyar princes. For Princess Celestia, it was strange to meet with anypony from the imperial territories. It was even stranger to grant an audience to two ambassadors from a separatist republic of anti-monarchists. But those were strange times. That was simply the nature of the situation.

Celestia’s ears perked up as the doors to the throne room were opened. The guard that had left just minutes ago had returned. He stopped just a few steps into the room.

“I present, for an audience with Your Highness, the ambassadors of the Crystal Empire’s Tondranka – Gennady Sergeyevich Mareinskiy and Alexander Vladimirovich Palominov,” he announced, and then stepped aside.

In from the hallway proceeded the two Soviet diplomats, led by a royal guard at either side. The two black-suited stallions in warm winter ushankas progressed cautiously down the carpet, eyes wide with awe at the colossal dimensions of the throne room and magnificent stained glass of the windows that surrounded it.

“Look at the size of this place,” Palominov whispered to Mareinskiy. “This makes the Sapphire Palace in Stalliongrad look like somepony’s country dacha.”

As they drew closer to the princess, they found themselves equally as amazed by her size. They had known that, as an alicorn, she of course would have been taller than most other ponies, but they hadn’t expected her to be as tall as she truly was. It was intimidating for the two Soviets, who had never before addressed anyone larger than Saphirov III, the duke who had abdicated three months prior with the revolt in Stalliongrad, and even he wasn’t all that much bigger than anypony else. At the same time, Celestia hadn't expected the two stallions in dark suits and winter hats to appear so humble. She had anticipated something more in-line with the Canterlot's understanding of the outspoken, infuriated "Reds."

The guards halted and stopped the ambassadors a short distance from the throne. The one on the left turned and ordered,

“Bow before Her Grand Royal Highness, Princess Celestia, she who raises the sun in darkest darkness.”

Palominov and Mareinskiy extended their right fronts and bowed as the guards proceeded to the base of the throne, stopped, and turned to face them. A few seconds passed before Celestia finally addressed the Soviets.

“You may rise.”

Palominov and Mareinskiy both did as instructed, straightening up and briefly glancing at one another before they locked eyes with the princess. A tense Palominov was sweating bullets. He was to open the dialogue, as had been determined earlier. This was the moment for which they had been waiting. It had seemed like it would never arrive, but now as they stood there in the throne room, they wondered how the hours of discussion at the party congress and the monotonous day of travel had passed so quickly.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” the brown stallion began, stepping forward as his words rebounded through the air of the throne room. To Celestia and the guards, his voice was characterized by a strong, unusual accent. “I am Alexander Palominov. My comrade Gennady Mareinskiy and I have arrived today as elected representatives of the Party and its ministers. First and foremost, we would like to thank you, on behalf of Soviet Equestria, for granting us this audience. We are most appreciative.”

“And you are most welcome,” Celestia responded, nodding. For the two ambassadors, the expression on the princess’s face was extremely difficult to read. From all that they had heard about beforehand, she seemed uncharacteristically stern. It only served to make Palominov all the more nervous. “It’s certainly a change of pace,” Celestia continued. “It’s been a long while since the affairs of the imperial territories – especially those of your Tondranka – were brought to my court.”

A brief but uncomfortable silence followed that remark. Mareinskiy’s ear twitched the second she mentioned the name Tondranka. He apprehensively glanced at his comrade, who cleared his throat.

Alright, we both figured she was going to say it, Mareinskiy thought. Let it slide, Palominov. Don’t doom the whole thing from the start.

“Your Highness,” the brown stallion continued after briefly glancing at Mareinskiy, “the new Republic finds itself in a dangerous situation that’s growing more dire with every passing day. While we have not directly received any formal declarations or ultimatums from the Crystal Empire, we are completely certain that war is just over the horizon. There is probable cause. Imperial troop movement has been corroborated by scouts and external informers. All communication from the Congress of Ponies’ Deputies has been ignored by the imperials. We’re certain that it is only a matter of time before they make their move.” As he finished, Princess Celestia turned her head and raised her brow.

“The Congress of Ponies’ Deputies?” she inquired.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Palominov replied. “Perhaps you know it as the Party Congress. They are one and the same.” Celestia nodded and looked past the two ambassadors at the door on the far end of the room.

“You’re certain that the Crystal Empire intends on waging war?” was the princess’s second question. Mareinskiy and Palominov exchanged glances again.

“Well… of course we are, Your Highness,” Palominov answered carefully. The question was strange to him, and he hadn’t expected it. In his mind, she should have already known the answer. “Because the single demand they have – reincorporation of the Republic – is unimaginable, and will never be accepted by the Party or its supporters. Naturally, if they’re to get what they want, their only option is to try to take it by force.”

Celestia curled her front left and let it drop to the ground. She was still staring off toward the back of the throne room.

“And your Party Congress in Tondranka sent you here to request an intervention,” the princess said with a raised voice. Palominov’s eyes narrowed.

Mareinskiy’s ear twitched again as he looked at his counterpart. Don’t say anything, he begged Palominov in his mind. She did it again, I know. But it isn’t worth it. Pretend you didn’t hear it. Please.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Princess Celestia asked as she stared right into Palominov’s eyes. “You’ve come to request an intervention.”

“The Crystal Empire is ready for war,” Palominov continued, fighting back his aggravation. “And war is a tragedy. With war comes destruction and death. Warriors will perish in battle, but the blood of the innocents is spilled all the same. If the Empire attacks, the sons and daughters of Soviet Equestria, ready and willing to fight for their motherland, will throw everything they have against the invader.”

Mareinskiy’s and Celestia’s eyes were locked. The two guards were watching the brown pony all the same as he stared up at the alicorn above him on the throne. Palominov was still nervous, but at the same time he had fought back his nerve with his words.

“But if we can avoid tragedy,” the brown stallion went on, “if there is a path we can take that is free of destruction and death, we would prefer to follow that road. The Crystal Empire has but one superior, Your Highness. That, of course, is Canterlot. We indeed do stand before you today to request an intervention. For you are the only one who can order the Crystal Empire to stand down. At this point, only Your Highness can prevent the unnecessary losses and tragedies of war. The imperials won’t listen to anypony else.”

Celestia held her hoof to her muzzle as she contemplated what had just been said. Mareinskiy stifled a smirk as he nodded gently in approval of his comrade’s delivery. A short while passed in silence.

“Mr. Palominov, Mr. Mareinskiy,” the princess began, lowering her hoof, “you both realize that this puts me in a very difficult position, do you not?” The two stallions were silent. “You’ve requested that I prevent what you’ve labeled an unnecessary war. But to do that, I must take years of cooperation and trust with the Crystal Empire, who has sworn allegiance to Canterlot, and push it all aside.” Celestia’s attention kept moving from Palominov to Mareinskiy and back again. “Moreover, you’re asking me to intervene in the defense of ponies that have ousted their legally-appointed duke, condemned the royal family of the Crystal Empire, and, indirectly, affronted my own reign and the authority of Canterlot.”

The stillness that ensued was not one of shock or disbelief. The Soviets had of course anticipated a response of such a nature. Palominov watched Mareinskiy out of the corner of his eye.

The stage is all yours, comrade, the brown pony thought as Mareinskiy took a breath, swallowed and stepped toward the throne.

“Soviet Equestria does not intend to affront your reign, nor does it intend to affront the authority of Canterlot, Your Highness,” Gennady Mareinskiy announced. Celestia shifted in her seat and gave the cream-colored stallion her attention. “The Crystal Empire is the enemy of the Party. In truth, the only ones who have defied Canterlot are the imperials themselves.”

Princess Celestia was watching Mareinskiy with suspicion now. She did nothing but blink several times as she repeated in her mind what she had just been told.

“Is that so?” she asked. “Would you mind explaining this claim of yours, Mr. Mareinskiy?”

“Well, Your Highness, simply put, the imperials have been doing as they please for some time now. The nature of their actions and conduct has diverged from that of Canterlot. This is particularly true with respect to the imperial attitude toward non-crystal ponies within the Empire’s borders. I’m sure that Your Highness would consider their activities inconceivable.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I must stress the Crystal Script,” Mareinskiy continued with a wave of his hoof before pausing and raising his brow. “You are aware of the publication of Saphirov’s Crystal Script, Your Highness?”

“I am.”

“Was the Crystal Script ever presented to Canterlot? Have you ever been given the chance to read the Crystal Script?”

For the first time in the entire conversation, Celestia’s stern expression weakened. She closed her eyes and briefly stretched a wing before responding,

“I have not.”

That’s what I was hoping you’d say, Mareinskiy thought to himself as he suppressed the sigh of relief that was trying to spread across his face. Looks like the Script never reached Canterlot. There’s a gamble that paid off.

You got lucky, Mareinskiy, Palominov thought as she turned to look at his comrade. He was equally as pleased.

“The Crystal Script characterizes Duke Saphirov III for the tyrant he was,” the cream-colored stallion stated. “And Saphirov himself is a reflection of what the Crystal Empire has become. It is an unprovoked decree that forced assimilation and rendered us powerless. The unreasonable demands in the Script are but one of the many factors that justify the actions of Soviet Equestria and the declaration of our sovereign state.”

“Your Highness,” Palominov spoke up, “the Crystal Empire has looked down upon us for years. They’ve treated us with the utmost disrespect for as long as anypony can remember, and why? Because we don’t act like ideal imperials? Because we don’t shine like crystals? Those seem to be the only conceivable reasons, for we never once raised so much as our voices to imperial rule. But they continually spoke down to us. They let us know that we were second-class citizens in the pecking order. Now, I must ask you... Has Your Highness ever done anything of that nature to any of your subjects? Would Your Highness even think about taking such action? I’m sure the answer is no. But that’s precisely what the Empire has done and will continue to do. They no longer act within the scope of your expectations or your authority. They do as they please.”

Mareinskiy turned to his right and referred to the small bag he was wearing on his back. “We’ve arrived today with copies of the Crystal Script and a number of other orders and decrees that most probably were never sent to Canterlot for approval. They of course have been translated from our mother tongue for the convenience of Your Highness. These documents demonstrate just how independent the Crystal Empire believes it is from the true authority in Canterlot.”

Princess Celestia was deep in thought. Relations with the Crystal Empire were not what they had been in previous years. Exchanges and dialogues had become substantially less frequent. While she had known of the appointment of Duke Saphirov, Celestia’s approval of the movement was never sought. She could not help but give some credence to the argument presented by the Soviets. But there was one thing about the whole situation about which Celestia was still suspicious. The last thing Mareinskiy had said… about the true authority in Canterlot…

“I find it strange that you condemn the Crystal Empire for acting independently of the ‘true authority.' Your Party is doing much the same,” Princess Celestia rebutted. “Why should action be taken against the Crystal Empire and not against Tondranka?”

Blast, she said it again… Mareinskiy thought, as he quickly looked over at Palominov, who fought to bite his tongue but was clearly losing the battle. Let it slide, let it slide…

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Palominov began with closed eyes, “it’s not called Tondranka any longer. 'Tondranka' is the name that the imperials used for our Equusia.” Mareinskiy’s gaze jumped back and forth between the princess and his comrade. “But now, even Equusia is no more. It has become a Soviet Republic.”

Palominov opened his eyes again and looked up toward the throne. The guards, who before were staring straight ahead toward the other end of the room, were watching him now, as was the princess, who shifted slightly in her seat.

“You’ll pardon me for misspeaking,” Celestia said softly. “Old habits die hard.”

It’s alright, it’s alright, Mareinskiy said to himself, taking a deep breath as Celestia watched Palominov with a concentrated stare. Unsurprisingly, the princess wasn’t exactly thrilled by the ambassador’s correction.  He didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing inherently wrong with what he said. Because it’s true. All he did was state a fact.

“I’ll ask again,” Princess Celestia said. “Why should action be taken against the Crystal Empire and not against the… Equestria Soviet Socialist Republic?” She strained to force those words out of her mouth. “It is rather obvious that your Party is no friend of the crown.”

“The Party has no quarrel with Canterlot. Its members direct their rhetoric toward the Crystal Empire.” Mareinskiy affirmed. “Throughout our history, the alienation and suffering have stemmed from the Crystal Empire alone. We harbor no ill feelings toward Canterlot, and it would be senseless if we did.”

Mareinskiy and Palominov could not say for sure whether Celestia was satisfied with that answer. She stared off again at the doors to the throne room behind them with a blank expression on her face. For an unnerved Mareinskiy, the silence was particularly grating as he stood there, waiting for Celestia’s response. He had lied right to her face. It was premeditated, of course, though in the end he hadn’t been mentally prepared for the pangs of guilt that struck him afterward. But what else could he have said? Certainly, the average Soviet citizen didn’t feel strongly one way or another when it came to Canterlot, but the Party was a different situation. How could he have admitted that half of the Party’s members had written Canterlot off entirely? It would have killed any chance they had for cooperation. And Mareinskiy was still hoping that successful collaboration with Princess Celestia would help mollify some of the Party’s hotheads in the long run. In his mind, he was moving forward on a lie that could slowly become the truth.

“Well then,” Celestia finally announced after a minute of thought, “given the peculiar circumstances and the nature of this situation, I cannot at this stage render judgment. But if you have both taken the time and effort to prepare the translations of the imperial decrees for me, then I should give them my attention. I can read through them with you in the library annex. I believe that’s a fitting decision for now. Would you agree?”

“Certainly, Your Highness,” Mareinskiy and Palominov replied together. Celestia nodded.

“The guards will escort you to the library. You can organize what you’ve brought with you, and I’ll join you in a short while.” Celestia turned to the guard at her left that had spoken earlier. “Take our guests to the annex.”

The soldier turned, saluted, and told the two ambassadors to follow him. Mareinskiy shifted the bag that rested across his back and joined Palominov, who was already a few steps ahead. The second guard followed along right behind them.

As they proceeded down the red carpet toward the door through which they had passed just a short while ago, Mareinskiy tapped his comrade on the shoulder and whispered in his ear,

“Couldn’t you have let it slide?”

“I let it slide twice,” Palominov whispered back. “Three times was too much. If she doesn't want to call it a Soviet Republic, fine. She can call it by its true name - Equusia. I refuse to hear the imperial name anymore. ”

“For a moment, I thought she was going to have us thrown out. You must realize how fragile this whole setup is, comrade.”

The brown stallion turned to Mareinskiy and smirked.

“And she needs to realize that times have changed.”

Chapter 4: Something Must Be Done

The Map Room of the castle’s library was in complete disarray. The table at the center was covered from end to end by a mess of documentation, ranging from law codes of the Crystal Empire to the letters and reports received from the heralds that visited the castle over the previous months. At one corner was a stack of articles from the Canterlot Academy of Political Science, and at another was a jumbled mass of Party newspapers that had been taken from Stalliongrad in recent weeks. Sitting face-up on the pile near Princess Celestia’s seat was a collection of reports on the most influential revolutionaries and affiliates of Soviet Equestria’s ruling Party, some with crude photographs that had been clandestinely taken, and some with crystal-clear facial shots of the Reds. A stack of books resting beside a table leg consisted of a political history of the Crystal Empire in fourteen volumes, as well as two books that contained specific information about governmental and social structure of the Southern Imperial Territories, some of which were now a part of the Soviet Equestrian Coalition.

Celestia had stopped scouring the papers on the table about twenty minutes prior. Now, she was simply sitting and thinking, all the while staring absorbedly into the map that hung on the far wall.

“The Crystal Empire” was written in elegant script in the bottom margin, and that’s precisely what it was – a carefully-constructed diagram of the imperial lands. It had been drafted ages ago, but had remained more or less completely accurate up until the recent events that had transformed life in the Empire and shaken Equestria to its very core. “Corrections” had been made, however – a hasty web of lines, scribbles, and labels now covered the painstakingly-drawn borders, markings, and designations of the original cartographer.

A bold, red line had been drawn around a large area of the map in the southwest. The encircled area had been adjusted several times and was intersected by lines that showed where the borders had been drawn before subsequent corrections. The first delineation that had been made was labeled as “Equusia – ‘Federative Soviet Republic.’” Budding out to the north of this outlined area was another zone marked in red, far smaller than the first. This second area was labeled “Belequus” by the original cartographer, but that text was covered by speedily-penned words “Belequusian SSR.” Budding out from the southeast were two more additions to the recently-added borderline, labeled Trotterstan and Mustangistan. Of course, they had since been re-identified as the Trotter and Mustang SSRs.

The cities that had been marked were surrounded by notes and statistics that had been added over the course of the recent weeks – dates of revolts, degree of imperial influence, presence of anarchists, degree of industrialization, population counts... Stalliongrad, Saddlestopol, Maremansk, and Foalgograd had been labeled most thoroughly. Manesk, Palominograd, and Tashkanter were less copiously annotated.

All in all, the territory outlined in red comprised a sizeable percentage of the entire map. It was bordered on the eastern side by two small regions that had been included by the cartographer, but recently highlighted with a yellow ink. The original labels – Grazerbaijan and Fetlockistan – had not been changed. Another region to the east – Emeraldavia – was circled in green.

The declaration of the Equestrian Soviet Socialist Republics had stripped the Crystal Empire of nearly a third of its land. If it continued to grow, the figure would steadily approach the 50% mark. And as Celestia stared at the map, concentrating on those disconcerting red lines, she could see them growing already, painfully remembering the days on which they were edited to account for Belequus, Trotterstan, and, most recently, Mustangistan.

The door to the Map Room creaked open. Celestia turned to find her younger sister proceeding through the doorframe, half cloaked in shadow and half illuminated by the flickering light of the candelabra that stood by the hinges.

“Sister,” Princess Luna said softly as she approached. The loud clacks of Luna’s hooves grew muffled as she crossed to where the wood of the floor was covered by carpet. “I think it’s best that you retire to your bedchamber. You’ve been sitting in here for-”

“I don’t want to know how long I’ve been in here pouring over all of this,” Celestia interrupted. “All the time that’s been spent has only added up to zero.”

Princess Luna dropped her head and watched her sister with concerned eyes. The Princess of the Sun was weary from contemplation. It had been the third straight day that Celestia had shut herself away to study the situation. It seemed, however, that she was no closer to rendering judgment.

“I don’t know what to think,” Celestia mumbled as she stood up from the seat. “For every fact that incriminates the Reds as a threat to the crown, there’s some piece of imperial history that shows just how disloyal the Crystal Empire has become. These Reds… they’re not entirely wrong.” Celestia had passed her sister now and stopped at the other end of the long table, staring at the photographs of the Party members. “The Southern Imperial Territories have been treated harshly for a long time now, and there’s no good reason for it. Duke Saphirov isn’t who I had perceived him to be in recent years. He is greedy and uncompromising at heart, and the rest of the imperial administration isn’t far behind him. All they want to do now is act in their own self-interest. When the ambassadors make these claims that the imperials see themselves as independents… it’s not as inconceivable as it once was.”

Celestia continued around the table and stood before the map of the Crystal Empire that hung on the wall, flanked on either side by delicate tapestries, into which were woven the image of the flag of many hues.

“But this isn’t simply the Empire’s problem any longer,” Celestia mumbled, shaking her head as she followed the red lines with her eyes. “They didn’t stand up to imperial authority and demand justice. The Reds have declared their own sovereign state. At first, their target was the Crystal Empire alone. But now, as they continue to grow, they’ve pitted themselves against us all the same. Or, at least, some of them have…” Celestia turned around to face the table and let her eyes rest on a photograph that rested at the top of one of the stacks of documents. Luna, standing behind her sister now, followed her gaze.

“And who is that?” she asked, studying the rough-looking stallion in the picture. Celestia waved her horn and lifted the picture into the air.

“He calls himself Orlov,” Celestia explained as she narrowed her eyes. “That’s not his actual surname. Nopony knows for sure what it is. He led the final revolt in Stalliongrad that pushed Saphirov out. He’s one of the most influential Party members and commands a great deal of respect. He’s also one of the most outspoken opponents of the crown.” Princess Luna added her own aura to the photograph and brought it toward her.

The stallion in the picture seemed stolid. His gaze was intense, and while he neither frowned nor smiled, he seemed to be thoroughly judging the observer. The name V. I. Orlov was scrawled across the bottom of the photo. It was written twice – first in the Equusian alphabet of Soviet Equestria, and again in lettering that Luna could understand.

“He’s among the ponies that are taking this mess beyond the borders of the Empire,” Celestia continued as she moved the picture to where she could again see it. “He speaks of an Equestria-wide transformation with its epicenter in Stalliongrad, in which everypony is to be awakened to their oppression and break free of the tyrants that subjugate them.” She turned her head toward Luna. “He’s made it very clear that you and I, sister, are the tyrants.”

“The claim has no grounds,” Luna retorted.

“Of course it has no grounds. And there are members of this Party that understand that fact very well.” Celestia let the photo drop to the top of the table. “It’s become clear to me that the Party of Soviet Equestria has two faces. Orlov is the one face. But we’ve seen part of the other face in Gennady Mareinskiy, the ambassador who you finally met just a few days ago. In him, we see the side of the Party that demands compensation for the wrongdoings of the imperials and nothing further.”

Princess Celestia turned to the map again and focused on the city of Stalliongrad at the heart of the Federative Soviet Republic as Luna responded,

“Then how can we conceivably support the one side without supporting the other?”

“That won’t be our problem. I fear that, very soon, there won’t be two sides to the Party. For they cannot coexist and form a coherent whole. Our informants have explained that Orlov is still gaining support. The Empire has informed us that the declaration of war is only days away, as you already know. When that day comes, everypony will side with Orlov. There will then be one face to the Party – the face that will never see eye-to-eye with Canterlot.”

“And should we enforce the peace,” Luna sighed, “we’ll only push the Crystal Empire farther away than they already are, and we’ll have a second situation on our hooves.”

“Precisely.”

“But sister,” Luna asked, looking at the map, “there is no time left to plan how we’re to please the imperials and the Reds. We’ll not be able to please both sides. But regardless, something must be done.”

“Without a doubt,” Celestia muttered, returning the gaze of Orlov’s photograph, “something must be done.”

Chapter 5: There Won't Be a 'Next Time'

When the war with the Crystal Empire began, there was not a single pony in the entire Party that implicated Mareinskiy and Palominov for its onset. The Party Congress condemned the imperialist “crystal dogs” for senseless aggression in a foolish quest to take what no longer belonged to them. The most radical members verbally tore Celestia and Luna to pieces before the convened congress, accusing them of heinous theatrics – that their impartiality was a fraud from the very beginning. Not once did any member of the Party singe out either of the diplomats for the degeneration and failure of the dialogues with Canterlot.

Regardless, it didn’t stop Mareinskiy from blaming himself.

On a grim morning in late winter, the citizens of the Equestria Soviet Socialist Republics began the day with an urgent broadcast over the radio. In the countryside and the great cities alike, the shaky voice of a nervous announcer relayed that the Crystal Empire had made their formal declaration of war. Upon hearing the news, Gennady Mareinskiy’s heart sank. Blaming himself for the dark days that were just over the horizon, he saw the war solely as the failure of his dialogue with the princesses. He had locked himself away in his apartment on that fateful morning and remained inside for three days, passing from states of apathy and lethargy to frenetic episodes of apprehension. It was only on the morning of the fourth day that Palominov and several of his colleagues from the Party Congress managed to coax him out. Palominov could tell instantly that he had completely fallen to pieces. Mareinskiy isolated himself for a mere three days, but after that short time he emerged as a pale, shaky, empty shell of a stallion that seemed to be twice his actual age.

Mobilization had begun in the weeks prior to the broadcast, but following the announcement it was forced into overdrive. A massive conscription campaign had already been in effect, but volunteers came forward to enlist in the three military districts of the Federative Equestrian Soviet Republic after the official declaration of war. Across the entirety of Soviet Equestria, the railway station platforms, barrack training yards and defensive blockhouses were filled with a heterogeneous crew of soldiers. In some cases, the new recruits were standing side by side with the seasoned soldiers that in earlier imperial days had taken vows to defend the Crystal Empire. Unlike the stallion-only legions in Canterlot and the Empire, the military districts of Soviet Equestria were made up of mares and stallions alike. There was even an exclusively-female Mares’ Death Battalion that was tasked with guarding the Hall of the Council of Ministers at the very center of Stalliongrad. The Death Battalion was something like the private defense force of the Party itself, protecting the first meetings of the Party Congress from fanatic anarchist groups shortly after the revolution. But it mattered not whether a soldier was a mare or a stallion, nor did it matter if they had served for ten years or ten days – together, they comprised the defenders of Soviet Equestria. And together, they would protect against the imperialist aggressors.

The Crystal Empire’s offensives began three days after the broadcast. The imperial armies made their advances on Maremansk and Folagograd, the two northern cities of the Federative Equestrian Soviet Republic. The three districts that comprised the Soviet Equestrian Red Army met and engaged. And as the Reds fought tooth and nail to prevent the Empire from entering the great cities, Canterlot remained silent.

It had been a week since the declaration. The fighting in the north had entered its fourth day as the cold steel of Soviet axes and sabers clashed with crystal spears. Brigades from Trotterstan were marching in from the east, but they had a long road ahead of them. The Belequusian SSR could only lend extremely limited support, as Belequusian soldiers had already engaged the Crystal Empire outside of Manesk. The Provisional Belequusian Soviet was fearful that Manesk would fall if an inordinate number of troops were routed to the Federative Equestrian Soviet Republic. Reports were coming in over the radio, but nopony really knew how true the broadcasts were. The notion of “information” itself had changed in the wake of the revolution. They heard what the Party saw fit for them to hear.

Gennady Mareinskiy could not bear to listen to the broadcasts. Every report made him feel unbearably nauseous. But regardless of where he was, he could not escape them, as they continued to play from every radio in every home, store, and bar, and of course within the Council of Ministers all the same.

The Party Congress had just been adjourned for the evening. Mareinskiy was the first to leave the Hall of the Council of Ministers – sometimes called the Sapphire Palace, as it was known during the imperial days – that evening. Palominov watched him from one of the upper-story windows as he sulked across the square before the palace and quickly disappeared from the center of Stalliongrad. Palominov had some business to settle with a few of his colleagues, and did not leave the Sapphire Palace for another half hour. Once in the square, he trotted down to the sidewalk along Stallions’ Prospekt and hailed the first troika he saw. The three ponies in the reins slowed their gait and came to a stop on the side of the road as Palominov approached them.

“Where to?” asked one of the drivers.

“The Druzhinik, on Coltirev Boulevard.” Palominov responded as he climbed into the back of the troika.

“Alright, then we’re off.”

There was only one place Mareinsky could have gone – the one place to which he always ran off when a firestorm was brewing in his mind. It was the Druzhinik Bar by the Foalgogradskaya Railway Station. It wasn’t exactly a stone’s throw from the square at the center of town, but it was certainly walkable. And Palominov would have taken the leisurely walk had he not feared that Mareinskiy was half-tempted to drink himself to death.

The three ponies galloped along, pulling the troika in tow down Stallions’ Prospekt, as the crowd and commotion in Victors’ Square were left behind. The streets were teeming with ponies that had left the factories and offices for the evening. But life on Stallions’ Prospekt was not as it once had been. The laidback air that characterized Stalliongrad’s late afternoon had become frighteningly tense in recent days. After all, nopony knew what to think. How much longer would the new Republic last? How many days were still left during which they could walk the streets without seeing the Empire’s soldiers on every corner? Was it simply a matter of time before Victor’s Square became Sapphire Square once again? Were the crimson flags that waved in the afternoon breeze soon to be replaced by the Crystal Flag of Many Hues? Nopony truly wanted to know. Members of the Party continued to assure that Soviet Equestria would emerge victoriously from the fog of war, but who knew how confident they actually were? More importantly, who knew whether young Soviet Equestria was truly prepared to defend against the continued onslaught?

Palominov pushed these questions from his mind as the troika rolled down the boulevards. He could think only of his last visit to Canterlot with his comrades. A firestorm all his own raged in his mind at the thought of Celestia’s cold stare from atop the steps to the throne. Again, she had done nothing to prevent a bloodthirsty Crystal Empire from raising the standards of war, and in doing so had turned Mareinskiy’s staunch optimism into a suffocating cloud of self-deprecation. If Palominov hadn’t written off the princesses in the past month, he most certainly had done so by the onset of the war.

The troika was heading down Coltirev Boulevard now, passing the massive, plain façade of Foalgogradskaya Railway Station on the left. A mass of brown-uniformed soldiers of the Kalmuk Military District were heading through the doors, no doubt to board a nonstop train to Foalgograd to reinforce the defensive.

“Well, here we are,” one of the drivers called back to Palominov as the three ponies that pulled the troika began to slow their pace. The troika stopped before a humble-looking bar that occupied the first floor of an old apartment block. A white sign hung above the wooden door. The paint was chipping, and the name Druzhinik was barely distinguishable. Palominov climbed out of the seat and pulled some of his stipend money out of the bag slung across his back.

“Much appreciated,” he said as one of the drivers waved her horn and took the money with her aura. “Good luck, comrades.”

With that, the drivers took off in search of their next fare. Palominov turned and made his way through the front door of the Druzhinik, uncertain of what he might find on the inside.

The bar had been in operation for as long as anypony could remember. It had opened many years ago, when Stalliongrad was still under the jurisdiction of the Crystal Empire. It was small and plain, but it was the first bar to open in the workers’ district, and naturally became a popular destination for the laborers of the city’s zavodi – the factories and workshops that produced everything from iron and steel to the wooden frames of the troikas. There were a good number of patrons inside, as was typical at the end of the workday. The clientele was diverse that afternoon. Two stallions in light-colored suits were seated at a table by the door. Two officers of militsiya were seated at another table toward the back, engaged in conversation with two mares in the soot-covered aprons that had undoubtedly come out of a plant just a short while prior. In the far corner was a couple talking quietly, the stallion blushing as the young mare across the table whispered to him with an inquisitive grin. An old musician in the far corner was perched on a tiny stool. A concertina rested in his lap as he sat with his back against the wall, watching the others around him. A half-filled beer mug was suspended in his aura, floating at his side. Seated at one end of the bar was a group of factory workers with brown-colored smocks, engrossed in a serious-sounding discussion as they took sips from their glasses. The bartender, a slender purple Pegasus with a flowing mane, was leaning against a wooden post as she followed the conversation.

And there, all alone at the other end of the bar, was Mareinskiy, hooves crossed over the counter, staring glumly at the glasses on the shelves behind the bar.

Palominov walked over and plopped down on the empty stool next to Mareinskiy, who turned, saw his friend, sighed, and returned his attention to the glasses. On the counter before him was a moderate-sized glass filled with ice and strong liquor.

“Looks like my little hunch was right,” Palominov mumbled.

“I guess I’m getting too predictable,” Mareinskiy answered.

“You’ve always been too predictable.”

The pegasus behind the bar put her discussion with the workers on hold and made her way to the other end of the counter.

“Zdravstvui,” she greeted. Palominov returned the salutation. “What’ll you have?”

“Nothing for me, devushka. I’ve just come in to babysit this one, over here,” he said as he gave Mareinskiy a light jab. The bartender smirked, but he cream-colored stallion didn’t move.

“Alright then, comrade. If you change your mind, let me know,” she said as she returned to her conversation with the workers.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” Mareinskiy grumbled, grabbing his glass in both hooves and taking a sip.

“No, but you do need to have your head examined,” Palominov retorted.

“I don’t need that, either.”

“Oh, believe me, you do. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.” Mareinskiy rested his head in his hooves. “We had to pry you out of that bed, comrade. And if we didn’t, three days would have turned into the whole week. You can’t – and won’t – hold a conversation with any of us, you mope around the council’s hall talking to yourself, and every time you hear the radio, you look like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. And then at the end of the day, you run off to the Druzhinik and drink like a fish. Does that seem even remotely normal?”

Mareinskiy said nothing.

“No. Of course not,” Palominov continued, “You’re cracking up.”

“You act like I’m supposed to wake up with a smile and dance down the streets every morning,” Mareinskiy finally sighed, still staring at the glimmer of the clean glasses behind the bar. “How am I supposed to do that when I know that it’s my fault that there’s a war raging in the north?”

“You didn’t start any wars. The Crystal Empire started this war.”

“But I could have stopped it. You and I, both… we could have stopped the war before it even started. Now, the Union is in jeopardy.”

“What have I been telling you from the beginning?” Palominov grunted as he slouched in his seat. “What will it take to get through your thick skull? Nothing we did could’ve changed Celestia’s mind. We could take a train to Canterlot every month for the next year, and the princesses still wouldn’t budge. We stand there before that throne and you tell me to tone down the theatrics, but you can’t see that the most elaborate theatrics are being practiced by Canterlot itself. From the very beginning, war was destined to be. It was simply a matter of when. If anything, we delayed it.”

“That’s not true,” Mareinskiy said as he took another sip from the glass. He sounded more frustrated now.

“Oh, that’s right,” Palominov laughed, throwing up his hooves. “I completely forgot! This whole mess was completely avoidable because Celestia is different. She’s not like the imperial royal family. She’s not like Saphirov. She’s a princess, rest assured, but she doesn’t act like it. She doesn’t have the faintest idea what self-interest really is. She didn’t help us, but that’s somehow your fault.” He paused. “Do you realize how idiotic that sounds?”

“The situation is as delicate for her as it is for us. Nothing like this has ever before happened in Equestrian history. Somehow, I can just feel that… somewhere, deep inside, she’s sympathetic to the Soviet coalition. How can she possibly turn a blind eye to everything that the Empire has done?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Palominov huffed.

“There’s no way she’ll let this war continue. Next time we go to Canterlot…”

“There won’t be a 'next time.'”

Mareinskiy’s eyes went wide at the interjection as he turned to Palominov. Around him, the murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses continued, but Mareinskiy didn’t make a sound. His mouth hung agape as he questioned what he had just heard.

“What?” Palominov asked him, leaning on the counter again. “It’s not like you’re in any state to go back."

“What do you mean there won’t be a next time?”

“I’m not wasting hours of my life on train rides to Canterlot anymore. It’s not worth my time. It’s not worth anypony’s time.” Mareinskiy was in disbelief.

“But…”

“Look. I was talking with Orlov and some of his constituents after you left the congress today,” Palominov explained. “They said they didn’t see much of a point in our continued visits to Canterlot, and I wholeheartedly agreed. So we did some talking, and we’re getting local assignments that will do much more than additional time in Canterlot ever could.” He paused, sitting up straight as he adjusted the cuff of his suit with his teeth. “That’s why I came and found you. I had to tell you that Orlov requested that we meet with him and several of the other ministers. Tomorrow morning before the Party Congress is reconvened. He wants to discuss the new assignments.”

Mareinskiy seemed confused, as if he didn’t understand what he had been told. He stared into his drink, listening to the dull roar of the crowd in the bar.

“And I should mention,” Palominov remembered to add, “that not a single one of them blamed either of us for anything that happened over the last few days.” The brown stallion gave Mareinskiy another jab with his hoof. “You’re the only one that’s blaming yourself, and you have to snap the hell out of it.”

Palominov turned his attention to the other end of the bar, where the factory workers were still talking with the bartender.

“It’s only a rumor,” one of the workers said as he pushed his empty class toward the inside of the counter, “but there’s talk of something big going on in Saddlestopol’. Somepony said they were working on something special at one of the factories by the port… supposed to be a giant secret, and all that.”

“Special project like what?” asked the one unicorn in the group.

“Apparently, they’ve been tinkering with something down there for a few years now,” the first worker went on. “It was some private project contracted with imperial funding. The Red Guards showed it to some higher-ups a few months back, and then the state decided to continue development because it was already half-finished.”

“Yeah, but what is it?” asked the bartender, taking the empty glass and placing it on a rack beneath the bar.

“No idea,” the worker replied. “I sent a letter to my brother – he lives in Saddlestopol’, house by the coast – asking him if he’s heard anything about it. I figured maybe he’ll be able to tell me something.”

“They’ve been cloak-and-dagger in Saddlestopol’ for years,” another worker remarked. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Palominov thought for a few moments, and then returned his attention to the sulky, cream-colored stallion at his left.

“Listen, if you want some time alone, I’ll leave you be,” Palominov said. “I’ve got a few things to do myself before night falls. But you have to promise me that you’re not going to drink so much that you start walking into walls later. We’ve got an appointment bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mareinskiy closed his eyes and put a hoof to his head.

“I’ll be fine,” the cream-colored stallion said after a few seconds. “And I’ll show up tomorrow. But I won’t like it.”

“I guess I’ll have to settle for that,” Palominov answered as he pushed his stool back from the counter and returned to all fours. “Just do me a favor, comrade… Think about what I said, and start paying it some mind before you tear yourself apart.”

He got a weak nod from Mareinskiy and turned to leave. But rather than head directly for the door, he took a short detour and stopped by the elderly stallion with the concertina on the far side of the bar. He tapped him on the shoulder.

“Play something to lighten the mood,” Palominov told him as he slipped him a small amount of stipend money. He pointed to Mareinskiy, still seated at the bar. “You see my friend over there? He needs it.”

With that, Palominov proceeded to the door and left the Druzhinik. The old stallion with the concertina watched him until he could no longer be seen through the front window. Glancing at the gloomy pony sitting alone at the end of the counter, he thought for a moment, and picked a song. He waved his horn, lowering his mug to the floor as the concertina was wrapped in his aura. It took a little while, but after a minute some of the workers at the bar recognized the tune that the old stallion was playing - "Springtime in Stalliongrad." They turned to face the musician and began to sing the lyrics, and after a while, even Mareinskiy gave the old stallion his attention and hummed along to the timeless tune:

So we all turn our eyes to the skyline,

as young wings bring the clouds of the springtime -

Looking up to the sky

where the pegasi fly

as they dance with the clouds and the sunshine!

They flew on by, and gave me a nod,

as they brought gentle breeze and the rains of the spring to dear Stalliongrad.

Chapter 6: The Victors' Square Massacre

The weeks that followed brought further uncertainty to the future of Soviet Equestria as Foalgograd fell to the Crystal Empire.

The brigades from Trotterstan never arrived to support the defense. They were forced to turn and march back home as the Crystal Empire moved on Palominograd, the large city at the heart of the Trotter SSR. The Empire had launched the eastern campaign shortly after the pro-Soviet rebels of Grazerbaijan had ousted imperial authority in the capital, Bucku. They were fearful of a potential Grazer SSR, and sought to separate the infant republic and Trotterstan from the federative capital in Stalliongrad.

Again, Canterlot was quiet, and the Empire continued its reconquest without any hinderance but the will of the defenders of Soviet Equestria.

The agricultural regions of Soviet Equestria, collectivized by the state in the previous months, saw the beginning of requisitions as food and other essentials were taken to the north to support Soviet Equestria’s most important objective - the liberation of Foalgograd.

The spirit of the Soviet ponies was tested more harshly than ever before. The end of the union of red republics seemed to be looming ever nearer, and everypony knew that if Soviet Equestria was reabsorbed into the Crystal Empire, the days ahead would be even more abysmal than the days before the revolution.

Far from the front, it seemed that Stalliongrad and Saddlestopol’ were the only cities that had thus far been spared the misery of battle. Unfortunately for Alexander Palominov, Gennady Marinskiy, the Party, and the ponies of Stalliongrad, distance did not necessarily confer safety. On a quiet morning in Victors’ Square, the epicenter of the revolution in Stalliongrad, they learned the hard way that in strange times, anything goes.

*   *   *

Gennady Mareinskiy and Alexander Palominov were no longer simply diplomats that worked in conjunction with the Council of Ministers of Soviet Equestria. In recognition of their work abroad in Canterlot and at home in Stalliongrad, they had been honored with an invitation to join the Inner Party as members of the Party Congress. Mareinskiy, of course, was reluctant to accept, still somewhat unable to come to terms with the situation, but after a few days of deliberation agreed to the offer.

They gave their input on the new constitution of the Soviet Equestrian Republics. It was to be published, ratified, and go into effect as soon as possible and would serve as the basis for the legal system of Soviet Equestria, establishing the Workers’, Soldiers’, and Farmers’ soviets. The system would only endure, of course, if the union persisted and wasn’t forced to again be a subject of of the Crystal Empire.

It was slated to be a day like any other. The Party Congress was but an hour away from reconvening. Nearly all the deputies and constituents had arrived at the Sapphire Palace and were settling the usual preliminary business, as well as inquiring as to the latest developments on the warfront and information from the provisional committees of the other Soviet Equestrian Republics. Naturally, Grazerbaijan was a primary concern.

Mareinskiy and Palominov had been waiting in one of the corridors of the palace’s third and highest story, talking to pass the time as they waited for Orlov and several other deputies to conclude their morning meeting.

Palominov was still as in awe of the palace’s interior as he was on his first day within its walls. Indeed, it certainly was a marvel to behold. Even the nondistinct hallway in which they had been waiting that morning was decorated and furnished to be as grand as the entrance hall and bedchambers (which, now, had been converted into offices, archives, and conference rooms). The base and head of every column was decorated with gold leaf and hunks of refulgent sapphire, the favourite precious stone of Duke Saphirov III from which his surname was derived. The delicately-painted ceilings bore images of the cosmos, of the countryside, and of mountains made of crystal. The floors were massive mosaics, some segments consisting of repeating patterns of precious stone, others depicting scenes of the empire’s most stunning buildings and locales. The Party considered the removal of these imperial scenes, but it was ultimately decided that alteration of the palace’s interior was an insult to the artists and architects that constructed it.

“Just imagine,” Palominov stated dreamily, “living here, and knowing that the whole place belonged to you and you alone. I can’t wrap my head around it. I simply can’t.” Palominov slowly paced across the floor mosaics, staring up at the paintings overhead. “And meanwhile, everypony else was struggling to get by as the tyrant shut himself away from the outside world and lived like this.” He turned to look at Mareinskiy, who was staring intently through one of the windows. “Imagine how Saphirov felt on the day when the protests met in the square. We saw that day from the street below. But imagine if we had seen it from the other side,” the brown stallion continued. “Imagine if we could have seen the final moments before Saphirov made his escape. Heh. You know, it makes you wonder… what did he think when he saw half of Stalliongrad take down the guards and start breaking down the doors? What I’d give to know what was going through his mind...”

“Careful what you wish for,” Mareinskiy stuttered. Palominov stopped and turned to face his comrade.

“What?”

“I don’t… Just… come over here and look.”

Palominov’s hooves clacked across the floor as he trotted to the window through which Mareinskiy had been watching the square.

Citizens were making way for Stallions’ Prospekt and clearing Victors’ Square as a sizeable crowd of ponies with black banners and flags approached the palace. The Mares’ Death Battalion was no longer standing at attention, but was cautiously stepping forward, forming a line that spanned the square, separating the Sapphire Palace from the advancing mass.

“Anarchists?” Palominov questioned as he put a hoof on the glass. “On top of everything else…”

Black flags hadn’t been seen in Stalliongrad for over a month. The anarchist groups had been suppressed in the wake of the revolution. It seemed now that the movement had been in a temporary state of dormancy, and was ready to strike once again.

As the two members of the Party watched from their window, one of the battalion's brown-uniformed soldiers stepped forward. She was shouting at the crowd with short, impatient gestures. One of the flag-bearers moved toward her and waved wildly, pointing to the palace, and then, with an elaborate sweep of his hoof, appeared to reference the group standing behind him. The angry crowd began to cheer and shout. The roar was audible even from the palace’s interior.

“Well, it’s not like the Death Battalion hasn’t put up with these idiots before,” Alexander Palominov grunted.

“But look at them… They’re armed, moreso than they’ve ever been before,” Mareinskiy countered.

The group continued to grow more riotous by the second. Palominov hadn’t noticed it before, but nearly everypony without a flag had some sort of weapon. Now, they were being brandished and waved around threateningly.

The mare from the battalion continued her shouting match with the flag-bearing dissident. Everypony else had cleared the square now as the confrontation continued to unfold. The angry stallion made another sweeping gesture and stomped as he grabbed the hilt of his own shashka in his mouth and drew it from the sheath at his side. The officer turned toward the battalion and barked an order, presumably for the soldiers to ready their own weapons. But before she could finish, the apparent leader of the anarchists lunged forward and stabbed the officer in the flank. He pulled the shashka from the wound and kicked her to the ground.

Mareinskiy and Palominov watched in disbelief as the fanatical mob shouted and cheered. The Death Battalion had their weapons at the ready now as the officer got to her feet and hobbled away from the anarchists, unable to put any weight on her left hind.

The leader motioned toward the palace and slowly proceeded forward as the group marched toward the Death Battalion and closed the gap.

“They’re mad. Stark-raving mad,” Palominov whispered as the anarchists met the soldiers and turned the square into a battlefield. The two sides tore each other apart as the anarchists struggled to enter the Hall of the Council of Ministers.

“After all this time… they’ve come back to try again,” Mareinskiy said in disbelief as he turned to Palominov. “It’s like we’ve gone back in time. To three months ago.”

“Yeah, but this time… it looks like they’ll actually storm the place,” Palominov spat. He tore his eyes from the scene in the square. “We’ve got to get out of here. Everypony has to get out of here. Now.” Palominov took off down the hallway as Mareinskiy followed behind. “We need to warn Orlov and his comrades!” he shouted. “They can’t see the square from his office!”

The two stallions raced down the hall toward the set of rooms that once comprised Duke Saphirov III’s bedchamber and private quarters, passing countless paintings and sapphire-studded columns. They heard some commotion in the hallway behind them but didn’t stop or turn around to see what it was. They thundered down the corridor and threw open the doors to the vestibule of the upper-story’s meeting rooms, much to the surprise of the Party members and secretaries that were conducting business.

“Quickly, comrades!” Mareinskiy shouted as he ran through the room, “Get downstairs and head for the rear exits! Anarchists are storming the place!”

Palominov threw open another set of double-doors as the frightened secretaries and deputies grabbed what they deemed necessary and tried to flee. With Mareinskiy right behind him, he ran to the far end of the hallway he had entered and made way to Vladimir Orlov’s office.

His gallop came to a stop at the door when he heard the smashing of glass from within the office.

“What the hell is this?” was the cry that followed immediately thereafter.

Palominov pushed the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He remembered that Orlov always locked it during meetings.

“Vladimir Ilyich!” Palominov called, pounding on the door. “Are you alright? Let us in!”

From within, something crashed to the floor as what sounded like an apparent struggle ensued.

“Alright. We’ll break it down, on three,” Palominov decided as he turned and got ready to kick. Mareinskiy took a stance by his comrade and did the same.

They counted in unison: “One, two… three!”

The two stallions jumped and kicked at the doors, but failed to break the lock.

“Again,” Palominov shouted. The struggle continued in the office as something else crashed to the floor. “One, two… three!”

The doors didn’t open, but gave a little more than the first time. Two more shouts sounded from Orlov’s office as something was thrown against one of the walls.

"One, two… three!” Mareinskiy and Palominov kicked again, the wood by the lock splintered, and the doors flew open.

A struggle had destroyed the office. Two bookshelves had fallen to the floor, a chair was overturned, papers and envelopes littered the carpet, and the porcelain desk lamp had been shattered. The massive window behind the desk had been smashed inward, as evidenced by the glass shards that littered the desk and floor.

At the left, a strange-looking pegasus in what appeared to be a tight-fitting grey robe was lying motionless on the floor beneath one of the shelves. At the right, one of the congressponies was curled up by the wall, seething as he clutched at bloody tears in his suit.

And there, behind the desk, was a white earth pony, Vladimir Ilyich Orlov, up on his hind legs, restraining another grey-robed, winged assailant while a second deputy of the congress was bucking and kicking him without mercy. When the intruder stopped struggling, Orlov let him collapse to the floor.

“It’s alright, comrades, we took care of them,” Orlov gasped to Mareinskiy and Palominov as he leaned against his desk, trying to catch his breath. He was winded, but at the same times seemed to be eager for more. His expression was as determined as it always was, and as he looked to the pegasus on the floor, he looked ready and willing to jump on him and give him another sound beating. Meanwhile, the second deputy quickly but carefully walked across the sea of broken glass and paper to tend to his wounded friend. “Nikolai Mikhailovich was the unlucky one,” Orlov added as he looked to the wounded pony on the floor moaning in pain.

"Vladimir Ilyich,” Mareinskiy called to Orlov, “we all need to leave the palace. There’s a mob of anarchists in the square and they’re trying to storm the congress!”

Orlov, chest still heaving, looked at the bloodied masses of grey robes on the floor.

“So, our kind guests were anarchists. As if we didn’t have enough problems, these degenerates have formed up again… But why would…” Orlov stopped mid-sentence and shook his head. “Why, all of a sudden, would they have…”

“Comrade Orlov, we have no time!” Palominov shouted. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

“And we need to get him to a doctor as soon as possible,” the deputy added as he tried to help his comrade stand. “Comrade Broncov is in rough shape.”

“Augh! Blyad’!” Broncov hissed. “Not from that side, that’s where it stings!”

“Sorry, sorry…” the deputy sighed. “Let’s switch sides… there. Now put a hoof over my shoulder, and let’s go.”

Orlov, meanwhile, had picked up one of the daggers that the grey-robed strangers had brought with them.

“Take the other one,” he said to Palominov with the dagger handle in his teeth. He pointed behind his desk. “The other one’s back there. Chances are you’ll need it.”

Palominov grabbed the second dagger, and the group made for the hallway, moving slowly to allow Nikolai Broncov and his helper to keep up as they left a trail of bloody hoofprints in their wake.

The group had made their way to one of the two rear staircases that flanked the ends of the hall. Behind them, another office door had been thrown open. They stopped and turned to find a deputy bolt into the hallway with another pegasus in tight-fitting robes flying after him. The pegasus took a dive and tackled the stallion as he fought to throw him off.

“Get Broncov downstairs and out of the building!” Orlov ordered as he charged the attacker.

“Alright,” Palominov shrugged as he began to descend the stairs. “It’s your funeral, comrade." He stopped on the first landing and turned to the rest of his group, still at the very top of the staircase. “You heard Vladimir Ilyich, let’s go, before we get trapped in here. This is the Hall of the Council, not my coffin.” Mareinskiy and the two deputies exchanged indecisive glances, but after a few seconds began down the stairs, afraid to look back at Orlov and the struggle in the hallway.

Palominov was already scouting ahead. He dashed down the hallway toward the main vestibule, dodging the other secretaries and members of congress attempting to flee. If the entrance hall was still clear, the group would be able to cut through to the main auditorium and slip out one of the rear exits.

The brown stallion galloped into the vestibule to find that the battle before the palace had devolved into shoving contest at the front door. Nopony was fighting anymore. The Mares’ Death Battalion had been pushed back and was attempting to close the doors of the Sapphire Palace, but the anarchists were shoving just as hard from the other side, beating back the battalion even further and preventing the doors from closing.

“Quickly, comrades, shut those doors! You’ve seen worse than these filthy, anarchist dogs!” one of the senior officers hollered over the chaos. The Death Battalion continued to push, but they were slowly losing ground.

Broncov better pick up the pace, or we’re all done for, Palominov thought as he turned and retraced his steps to his comrades in the corridor.

He charged onward as fast as he could, dodging secretaries and ministers that were making their way to the auditorium, but stopped short and almost tripped as a flaming bottle of oil, liquor, and turpentine smashed through one of the windows and started a blaze in the hallway.

“Blyad’, now it’s cocktail hour!” Palominov raged as he backed away. Further down the hall, his comrades had just rounded the corner. “Hurry up!” Palominov called to them. “Before the fire spreads!”

Broncov hobbled along as fast as he could as Mareinskiy and the second deputy tried to help him along. Fortunately for the three of them, the hallway was wide enough such that the blaze from the flaming cocktail hadn’t been able to entirely cut them off from the vestibule, but it continued to grow as they drew nearer and nearer. The flames crept up the wall opposite the window, slowly blackening a delicate painting of crystal ponies walking about a humble looking street studded with gemstones. One by one, the subjects of the painting disappeared as the wall was irreparably charred. Broncov watched the scene burn as his two comrades helped him past the blaze.

Palominov was in the vestibule again, watching with frustration as the Mares’ Death Battalion was losing more ground. The mob of anarchists was chanting “Down with the Party!” as it inched forward. From the front doorway of the palace, two more flaming cocktails were hurled through the air. They crashed to the floor on the east end of the vestibule, right behind the battalion’s right flank. The whole line shifted as the soldiers moved to avoid the fire, and their formation began to falter.

“V auditoriyu, davai!” Palominov yelled his group over the chaos. The four ponies retreated into the massive congress auditorium. There, the deputies were scrambling frantically to take with them from the desks and tables what they could before they fled the scene. Palominov and company made their way across the speaker’s platform where they could quickly pass to the far side of the auditorium without having to fight their way past the other congressponies in the maze of desks. They passed beneath the massive crimson flag that hung at the front of the room, embroidered with the golden emblem of the hammer crossed with the sickle.

Coming down the steps on the other side of the speakers’ platform, Mareinskiy and Broncov tripped and fell to the floor. Palominov, already at the doors on the far side of the room, sighed and ran back to help get them back on their hooves.

At the same time, one of the secretaries, eyes on the second-story balconies, screamed and pointed as a minister of the council was thrown over one of the balustrades, landing with a sickening smack on one of the desks below. Out from the same balcony flew two pegasi that wore the same tight-fitting robes as those seen on Orlov’s assailants. One of the pegasi dove for a deputy on the first floor while the second made a beeline for the large flag. She unsheathed a shashka and dove downward, slicing the crimson banner in two before coming out of her dive and tackling another member of the Party Congress.

Meanwhile, a deafening roar rang out from the vestibule, where the anarchists had presumably shoved their way through, finally gaining entry to the Sapphire Palace.

Broncov and his two supporters had made it to the far doors of the auditorium now.

“You three go first, and I’ll cover your back,” Palominov shouted. Nopony argued with that plan, as he was the only one with a ready weapon - the dagger he took from the pegasus in Orlov’s office.

The group of three proceeded down the corridor as quickly as Broncov could possibly move. Palominov followed, never turning his back on the doorway to the auditorium. He could see smoke from the doors on the other side of the room. The vestibule was engulfed in flames now, and some of the fanatic anarchists had pushed their way past the Death Battalion and into the auditorium.

They moved farther and farther down the corridor, and it seemed that they were going to make it to the rear exits of the Sapphire Palace. But each and every member of the group could think only of those ponies that were still inside that had little chance of escaping with their lives. They wondered how many other offices on the upper stories were visited by the strange, grey-robed pegasi, and how many managed to escape them. They feared for Orlov, asking themselves if leaving him on the third floor was the right choice.

They got the answer to that last question as soon as they escaped into the alley behind the Sapphire Palace.

Reinforcements from the kreml’ - the massive fort at the center of the city - had arrived to support the Mares’ Death Battalion and had the Sapphire Palace surrounded on all sides, as well as in the air. They were a mix of soldiers from the Yakut Military District and volunteer Red Guards. Behind their line of encirclement were the secretaries and deputies of the Party Congress that had managed to escape, and among them was Vladimir Orlov. Although his white hooves and mane had been bloodied and pieces of his suit had been torn, he seemed to be in relatively good shape.

“Relax, comrades,” Orlov laughed to the group after they made their way behind the Yakut line. “Most of it isn’t my blood.”

The center of Stalliongrad had been turned upside-down as plumes of smoke rose from the windows of the Hall of the Council of Ministers and the Yakut Military district, together with the Stalliongrad militsiya, had the square and Stallions’ Prospekt on lockdown. The green-uniformed Yakuts and motley Red Guards stormed the Sapphire Palace to round up the anarchists and eliminate those that refused to surrender.

Civilian brigades were doing their best to bring water to squelch the fires that raged at the front of the palace, through work on both the ground, with bucket handoffs, and in the sky, with rainclouds brought in from the periphery. Doctors were brought to the scene for the injured, and those with the most severe and threatening wounds were given first aid and escorted off to clinics and hospitals by troika. Broncov was one of the first to be taken from the scene.

Mareinskiy and Palominov were just thankful that they managed to get out alive. After all, not everypony in the Party Congress that morning was quite as lucky.

Chapter 7: The Weapon that Changed the War

Foalgograd had been occupied by the Crystal Empire for eight months.

The Reds coordinated a number of offensive strikes, attacking the captured city from the south. The Empire, ready and well-reinforced, crushed every advance and sent the Red Army back to the camps south of the city. Several efforts were made to sail into Foalgograd via the River Foalga, but the imperials fended off these attempts all the same.

The city on the Foalga was completely isolated from the rest of Soviet Equestria as the occupation forces from the Crystal Empire severed all ties to the outside. Telegraph lines had been cut, and sections of railroad tracks and bridges were destroyed. The Empire had established checkpoints on all routes out of the city to ensure that nopony could enter or exit without the approval of the authorities. The northern road was the only one that was to any degree traveled, as it connected occupied Foalgograd with the Crystal Empire and carried the imperial supply lines and heralds.

Support for the Party had naturally been banned in the city. Practically overnight, it became severely punishable to be seen in public with any Soviet paraphernalia. Communal apartments and stores were subject to random searches during which flags, pennant banners, revolutionary literatures and Party manifestos were seized and destroyed. Those ponies that were overly vocal about the imperials found themselves under surveillance by occupation soldiers, and such a designation was the proverbial “kiss of death.” Sometimes, it took only one public outburst for a pony to be placed under surveillance. If imperial officers spontaneously started paying regular visits to a particular venue, it was was a good sign that somepony was being watched and was bound to disappear within the week. It became a frightening reality to wake up in the middle of the night and hear screaming from down the hall, knowing that your neighbor was being taken away to a place unknown, most probably never to be seen again.

A handful of ponies managed to escape from the city over the course of those eight months, and their tales of life in occupied Foalgograd had spread like wildfire.  They spoke of the dangers of walking about the city at night. The soldiers of the crystal army would patrol the streets during late hours and rough up anypony they saw just for the fun of it. They said that others would simply walk into apartment blocks and take food and valuables as they saw fit. There was even a claim that entire districts of the city were being starved to either force their loyalty or punish them for dissidence.

When the ministers in Stalliongrad learned of these stories, they sent a cascade of fiery letters and telegrams off to Canterlot, once again demanding intervention, but this time on the grounds of heinous war crimes. The Crystal Empire denied the accusations, saying that it was all a lie, fabricated by desperate Reds in an attempt to sway the princesses. At the same time, the Empire pressured Stalliongrad to concede defeat, arguing that the fighting was simply prolonging the inevitable. They said that the Soviet republics were fated to be reabsorbed into the Empire, and that the Party’s ignorance of its own hopeless position was single-handedly responsible for the raging battles and loss of life.

Of course, Soviet Equestria never once had any intention of backing down. The revolution had made too much progress. Other imperial territories had joined the cause to guarantee their own independence. Substantial sacrifices had already been made. And now, something else had arisen to solidify the Party’s conviction.

The Soviets had developed a weapon that was about to change the course of the entire war.

*    *    *

Saddlestopol in the winter months was a city without color. The flowers and verdancy disappeared from the seaside gardens, and the skies were always grey. Winter never brought much of a snowfall, as Saddlestopol was the southernmost city of Equusia, the Federative Soviet Republic, and as such had the warmest weather. Instead, the wintertime brought miserable darkness and cold rains that could stretch on for days at a time. One of the most celebrated Equusian authors described it as a city that reincarnates; it dies each winter and is reborn again in the springtime.

But it was wintertime, and Saddlestopol waited once again for its new life. Half of the streets seemed to be made of mirrors. Covered with rainwater, they reflected everything around them. It was late, and with the exception of the main boulevard at the city center, the streets were quiet as everypony was tucked away inside where it was warm, hiding from the frigid embrace of Mother Winter and her cherished rains. And it was a shame that this was the case, for nopony in Saddlestopol was out that evening to watch as history was being made.

A line of troikas, each pulled by groups three of green-uniformed soldiers, thundered along, the wheels of their runners slicing through the puddles as they traveled down the lonely, rainy streets. They made haste for the warehouses by the southern docks, carrying a number of Soviet Equestria’s most influential military officers that had arrived in the city a short while earlier by train. The purpose of the visit was a state secret. Not even the conscripts pulling the troikas knew what was going on at the harbor. They were given a short set of instructions and told nothing more: ready the troikas at the train station, take the high command to the docks, and make the trip without asking any questions.

They were traveling along the avenue by the coastline and could see darker skies farther out over the waters. The strongest part of the storm had yet to come, and the ships that had been out at sea were returning to port. Among them was the Krasnaya Nadezhda, a cruiser that had been constructed a year ago, during the penultimate imperial days. It formerly had been called the Sea Sapphire, and was originally intended to be Duke Saphirov’s private ship. Her proud red flags snapped in the wind as she slowly proceeded home to her port of call. The troikas, however, were going to beat her to the docks.

When the guards saw the soldiers coming, they unlocked the gates. The convoy entered the dockyard and made its way to one of the warehouses by the seaside, chasing off the gulls that had been resting on the rails and fenceposts. Slowing their pace, the soldiers approached the massive, dull-colored building by the pier. A group of workers waited for them, huddled beneath an awning to keep dry. The supervising foreman, a middle-aged blue unicorn with a hammer and drafting compass on his flank, left cover to meet the troikas that had rolled to a halt a short distance away.

“Aha, molodyets! Just in time for the show, comrades!” the foreman called out to the soldiers, trotting toward the higher-ups as they climbed out of the troikas. A stolid-looking black stallion in a thick overcoat and matching woolen hat led the pack. The medals that hung from his coat - a mix of old imperial decorations and recent Soviet orders - clinked with every step as he approached the foreman.

“Comrade General Lusitanov! Sir, it is an honor!” the foreman said excitedly as he approached.

“No need for formalities today,” the General answered. “Let’s get straight to business.”

“Yes, of course!” was the foreman’s reply as he turned and motioned toward the workers that were waiting under the awning. “Alright, comrades! It’s time for the demonstration!” The foreman turned back to the general. His subordinates were standing behind him now, and the conscripts were removing themselves from the troika harnesses. “I wish we could have had better weather for today, but no luck. Heh, you know, if you live in Saddlestopol your whole life, sometimes you forget what the sun looks like. But don’t worry, I think we’ll beat the storm. And even if we don’t…The show must go on, as they say, and I can assure you it’s worth the wet uniforms.”

“Let’s hope,” General Lusitanov remarked as he followed the foreman back to the workers. “They’ve been speaking very highly of your group. If we like what we see, your entire zavod will be given the highest possible honors.”

The workers pulled open one of the warehouse doors, and as it slid aside it revealed an object of moderate size, covered in a tarp. Three workers fitted themselves into the harnesses to which it was connected and pulled it out into the lot. The General and his subordinates whispering among themselves, eying it with suspicion as it emerged from the warehouse.

To the high command, it appeared to be a regular troika, much like the ones on which they had ridden into the dock. It had three harnesses and wheeled runners. It even seemed to have the familiar shape under the tarp, save for something projecting up from the back end.

“It’s a troika?” one of the officers asked with pangs of disapproval in his voice.

“It was,” the foreman responded with a giddy grin. “But now that we’ve fitted it with our little invention, it’s a whole new animal. Just wait ‘till you see her! Okay, comrades, take it off!” Two more workers in soot-covered smocks grabbed the tarp with their teeth and revealed what was hiding beneath it.

The vehicle they uncovered was no longer a troika. The seats in the back had been entirely sawed-off, and in its place was a metal platform surrounded by short walls, upon which was fixed a strange-looking apparatus. Supported by three legs, its body was cylindrical in shape, with number of steel barrels poking out of one end, arranged in a ring. Jutting out from the side of the strange invention was what appeared to be a crank with a cup-shaped hunk of metal on the end. A horizontal wooden bar was fixed at the back.

“The audience holds its breath, the curtain rises, and there she is, the tachanka, the star of our show! And what makes her so special is the thing that’s sitting on her back - a crank-cannon. Commissioned over a year ago by the imperial administration, finished and perfected by the best engineers in the Republic,” the foreman stated proudly.

“A what?” one of the officers asked. The group of soldiers gawked at the small, simple-looking thing with confused stares. They had been expecting something far more grandiose and intimidating.

“This tin can on a troika is what we came all the way out here to see?” the General asked, his voice laced with aggravation. “Is this some kind of joke?” The foreman waved a hoof.

“Just wait… don’t say anything until you see a demonstration,” he told the officers.

Another group of workers emerged from within the warehouse with a few planks, a heavy-looking sack, and a massive piece of plywood, painted to look like the Crystal Empire’s flag of many hues. The plywood was propped up on the planks, and the sack was thrown onto the back of the tachanka.

“You need a team of two to work the cannon,” the foreman explained as two workers climbed onto the back of the modified troika. One reached into the sack, pulled out a rectangular hunk of metal, and inserted it into a slot on the top of the strange apparatus.

“Throw the clip in the spot on the top, just like that,” the foreman continued.

One of the stallions grabbed onto the horizontal wooden bar with his teeth and spun the thing around to face the propped-up plywood. The second worker rested one of his hooves in the metal cup on the end of the handle.

“One gunner grabs the bar at the back end and uses it to aim, and the other works the crank. Latitudinally, it can be turned to any position, and it’s hinged to aim up and down. She’s got substantial degrees of freedom,” the foreman said proudly. “And now, without further ado...” The foreman waved to the two ponies on the troika. “Alright, boys, show ‘em what she’s got!”

The worker with his hoof in the handle’s cup started cranking away, and a stream of bullets shot out of the cannon as the bores rotated. The plywood replica of the Crystal Empire’s flag was reduced to splinters as the two workers shot it full of holes. Every jaw was on the floor as the officers and conscripts watched the target get torn apart before their very eyes. They had never seen anything like it in their entire lives.

A resonant clank sounded, and the weapon stopped firing. The pony aiming the cannon yanked the clip out with his teeth and threw it aside. He dug his head into the sack resting on the platform, pulled out another clip, and placed it in the slot. When he grabbed the wooden bar with his teeth again, his comrade resumed cranking. Again the gun came to life with a metallic roar as it tore up the target and widened the massive hole it had created seconds ago.

“Ahah, now that’s what I call a show!” the foreman called to the gunners. “Forty rounds in every clip, and replacement is a cinch,” he added as he turned back toward the soldiers. He had to shout over the the wind as it continued to pick up. The officers couldn’t believe their eyes. The crank-cannon was like nothing they had ever seen before.

“This… this is incredible…” General Lusitanov stuttered. “This thing… is going to change the notion of war in ways I never could have imagined.”

“Inevitably, comrades, every good performance reaches its end,” the foreman announced with a raised eyebrow. “Alright,” he called to the workers, “bring out our ‘volunteers,’ it’s time for the grand finale!”

One of the engineers by the opened warehouse door called inside and waved his hoof. Three stallions wearing militsiya uniforms emerged from the doorway, pushing a large platform cart - the kind used to wheel ingot, wood, and other supplies into and out of the warehouses. But on that particular rainy afternoon, the cart bore some unorthodox cargo: three crystal ponies, tied up and shackled to the platform. The petrified looks on their faces made it apparent that they knew what was in store for them.

“A couple weeks back, the militsiya found a few saboteurs lurking around the docks.” the foreman explained. “They were caught red-handed at the shipyard and the telegraph exchange. Half of them got sent to the Academy in Stalliongrad for interrogation. But these three… Instead, we persuaded the commissars to do their interrogation right here and then leave them with us.”

Suddenly, lightning from across the sea lit up the entire sky with a brilliant flash of light, and after a few seconds, a magnificent applause of thunder followed. The worst of the storm was just a short while away from the city.

“Comrade General!” the foreman shouted as the wind continued to grow stronger. “It is the final act, and justice must be done. It is scripted that three imperialists will be struck down by the uncompromising force of Soviet ingenuity. The audience holds its breath as the end draws near... Would you like to do the honors?”

General Lusitanov eyed the crank-cannon on the troika with feelings that he couldn’t characterize. He thought the invention absolutely amazing, but at the same time it almost frightened him. By the looks on his comrades’ faces, he could tell that most of them shared this sentiment. After a few moments of hesitation, Lusitanov nodded and apprehensively approached the weapon. The worker that had been operating the crank stepped off the gunnery platform as the black stallion in the damp, medal-covered overcoat climbed up to take his place. He stood on his hind limbs and rested his front right in the cup.

Watching the crystal ponies that sat helplessly on the platform cart, he felt guilty about the deed that was to be done, though he couldn’t understand why. Many a soldier had fallen to his sabre and shashka throughout the years, in the name of Soviet Equestria and, prior to the revolution, in the name of the Crystal Empire. Technically, this was no different than what he had done before. But the General’s conscience was fighting him tooth and nail, doing all it could to prevent him from turning the crank. Perhaps it felt improper to a stallion that had been trained with a blade. Perhaps he was too much of a traditionalist. But he wasn’t about to step down and make somepony else fire the gun. It was already too late. All eyes were on him. The foreman and his workers had staged a show, and Lusitanov was casted as the star of the closing act.

“You’ve been fed lies by your royal oppressors,” he called to the crystal ponies over the wind as the rain blew into his eyes. “They make you believe that you can stomp us out like some small fire. But you can’t.”

Lightning again lit up the dreary skies of Saddlestopol as a roar of thunder shook the ground. The rain was becoming heavier, and the true fury of the storm had almost arrived.

“We’re building a new society, free of the inequalities of imperialism,” Lusitanov shouted over the storm. “And we’ve come too far to be stopped.”

The worker with the wooden bar in his teeth aimed the weapon.

“You know the punishment for espionage!”

Lusitanov turned the crank. It didn’t move smoothly, but required less force to work than he had anticipated. He slowly shifted his position as the factory worker turned the gun on the second victim, and then again as they went for the third. The handle jerked to a halt when the diagnostic clank informed the gunners of an empty clip. But there was no need to replace it.

The rain that fell upon the cart was crystal-clear, but the small, steady streams of water that poured from the edges of the platform ran red. Red, like the flags that fluttered from the masts of the proud Krasnaya Nadezhda that had just arrived at the southern docks.

The black stallion stood there, frozen on the spot, his right front still resting in the cup of the crank as the rain became heavier. Gaping at the lifeless bodies on the platform cart before him and the bloody puddles that were forming on the ground below, Lusitanov tried to shake off the wave of uneasiness that overcame him.

“The final act comes to an end, the actors fall to the stage, and the curtain comes down,” the foreman said dreamily as he turned to the General. “Of course, in the theatre, the actors never die. They merely hold their breath.”

“You’re something of an actor yourself, comrade.” Lusitanov told the foreman as he stepped down from the troika with the second worker.

“I always dreamed of being one,” the foreman replied, eyes fixed on the carcasses on the platform cart. “But I found that I had just as much love for mechanical engineering.”

The three ponies that pulled the tachanka into the lot re-fitted themselves with the harnesses and dragged it back toward the warehouse to take it out of the rain.

“You liken war to some evening at the opera.”

“It’s nothing far short, comrade General,” the foreman smirked. “After all… when war operations play out in a particular area, we call that area a theatre.”

General Lusitanov glanced at the crowd of officers and conscripts. Half of the group could not bring themselves to look away from the carcasses on the cart, but the other half were staring at the black stallion with unease. The rain had grown heavy, and every uniform in the group was soggy and dark, but nopony was paying attention to the storm anymore.

As uncomfortable as it made him to think about it, Lusitanov knew that he was going to approve the invention and motion to allot funds for the production of more tachanki. The war was in its ninth month. Despite a number of successful defensives in the north, the Crystal Empire was pushing closer to Maremansk, and there was widespread fear that the city was going to share Foalgograd’s fate. Belequus and Trotterstan were still holding out against the imperials, but it wasn’t clear how much longer they could last. There was little word from Mustangistan and Grazerbaijan, the youngest Soviet republics, though it was assumed that the Crystal Empire was ignoring them for the time being, given their small size and lacking strength. Without proper support, their capitals, Tashkanter and Bucku, could be taken in a matter of days.

More importantly, this new invention - the crank-cannon - seemed to be the most promising manner of delivering a decisive blow to the Crystal Empire.

“You’ve got your funding and supplies. For sure,” the General said to the foreman. “When we report back to the Council of Ministers, they’ll send a wire to the Workers’ Soviet, and every factory at the seaport will be under your group’s direction.”

“Ahah! Brilliant! Thank you, comrade General!” the ecstatic foreman responded. “We’ve got the approval!” he called to his team of workers and engineers beneath the awning, who cheered and congratulated one another on a job well-done.

The soldiers that had arrived with the General were making their to the awning and the doors of the warehouse to escape the falling rain. Lusitanov and the foreman followed along behind them.

“First the news from the Council, and now this! Oh, this whole day has just been filled to the brim with good fortune!” the foreman sang as he shook his mane dry under the awning.

“What news from the Council?” Lusitanov asked.

“You… you don’t know?” the foreman said in bewilderment. “It came over the radio just a few hours before you got here. The Council of Ministers… they unanimously named Vladimir Orlov as the chairman!”

Lusitanov and his comrades had missed the message during the train ride. Soviet Equestria had elected her first premier.

Chapter 8: The Emeraldavia Affair

“This is absolutely absurd!” bellowed the green crystal pony in the gemstone-embroidered cape that stood before Princess Celestia’s throne. “They turned a deaf ear on me at the Crystal Castle, and now I’ve come all the way to Canterlot, and for what? To have the same thing happen again?”

“I’m haven’t given you a deaf ear,” Celestia sighed, rising from the throne and proceeding down the steps.

The caped crystal pony grunted and spat under his breath, looking about the throne room as if he were surveying the place for a good spot to start kicking holes in the walls. This wasn’t the kind of reception he had expected. And though there were two guards watching him closely by the feet of the throne, he wasn’t afraid to openly present his discontent.

“I get it. I understand everything,” the crystal pony said, nodding his head vigorously as he turned away from Celestia. “Emeraldavia doesn’t mean anything to anypony. It’s just some two-bit province in the Crystal Empire that’s too tiny and useless to even think about.”

“I never once said that,” Princess Celestia affirmed.

“But that’s how you think! That’s what everypony thinks!” the crystal pony shouted.

“Count Emerald-Ingot, I must ask you to calm your tone and address me with proper respect.”

“That’s exactly what they told me in the Crystal Castle,” Emerald-Ingot huffed as he narrowed his eyes. “Show them respect, while they’ve never once showed any to me. You know, I understand it, now.” The middle-aged stallion paced the floor, staring down at the reflections that the massive stained-glass windows made in the tiles. “I get why Equusia rose up and declared their independence. I get why there’s a whole bunch of places that call themselves Soviet republics. Because nopony ever showed them any respect, but demanded theirs left and right. And they got sick and tired of it.”

The princess’s ears perked up. That was dangerous language. That was the same sort of thing she had heard from the mouths of the Soviet diplomats. It was the same tone that she perceived in the letters from Equusia that she had received over year ago at the very start of this whole mess, a few months before the war broke out. He was talking like the Reds and their revolutionaries, though without the Party rhetoric. But this situation was peculiar, as these words were coming from a royal.

“I’m supposed to be a count, but it’s been a long while since I’ve felt like one,” Emerald-Ingot continued, his mantle swishing across the floor as he turned abruptly. “I’m like some little colt that keeps getting told he’s too young to do anything important. Told that all his worries are meaningless.”

“When did I say that your worries were meaningless?” Celestia asked, watching the furious count stomp across the floor. Emerald-Ingot stopped and turned to the Princess.

“Well, let’s review the facts of the matter,” the crystal pony answered. “This infernal war between our Empire and Soviet Equestria is being fought on my doorstep. It’s been a year, Your Highness. An entire year. And yet the Crystal Army still hasn’t taken Maremansk. And if you ask me, I don’t think they ever will. The Reds have defended with more dedication and strength than anypony thought possible. Every week, a new skirmish starts, and all it serves to do is move the front back and forth, continually crossing from our side of the border to theirs and back again. And what part of the Crystal Empire is just over the border from Maremansk? Emeraldavia. The imperial army’s camp for the front is based in Emeraldavia, frighteningly close to our Crystalnau. If the Reds push past the border and the Crystal Army gets forced back, the entire city of Crystalnau will become a battlefield. My ponies of Emeraldavia ask me what will become of our home. And I don’t know what to tell them anymore. I’ve gone to the Crystal Castle and I’ve begged at the foot of the throne to call off this useless war. In the beginning, we all thought we could crush Soviet Equestria like some defenseless bug. But now, they’ve grown too large and too organized...”

The crystal pony’s eyes were wide as he turned himself around and stared up at the princess. He couldn’t tell if Celestia was watching him with concern or irritation.

“But they just dismissed me,” Emerald-Ingot lamented. “They turned me away! And when I brought the news back home, everypony went into a panic. But I told them I’d try again. I said I’d go all the way to Canterlot and try again! And here I am. Now, you’ve done the same thing. You’ve dismissed me, and you’ve dismissed everypony in Emeraldavia.”

“The circumstances have changed dramatically,” Celestia affirmed. “A year ago, the Soviets declared their independence from the Crystal Empire. They wanted Canterlot to protect them. That was a lose-lose situation. The Soviet republics appeared out of the blue, but the Crystal Empire has been a subject of Canterlot for as long as anypony can remember. If we suddenly sided with the Reds, the Crystal Empire might have turned on us. And if we didn’t, the Soviets would have pitted themselves against us right then and there. So we waited. We couldn’t do anything else.”

The princess proceeded to the painted window behind the throne and peered out at the spires of Canterlot through the clear pieces of glass in the patchwork.

“Now, the Reds have elected a premier that won’t even acknowledge the crown. If we stop the war, Soviet Equestria persists, and we allow Orlov to spread his rhetoric. And if we don’t stop the war… your Emeraldavia and the rest of the Crystal Empire might be in danger. Once again, we find that both choices are equally problematic.”

Count Emerald-Ingot was thoroughly confused by this answer. To him, there was a very obvious third choice to make, but Celestia hadn’t even mentioned it as a solution to the problem.

“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” the count said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “If you’re so concerned about Soviet Equestria’s new premier, but at the same time don’t want Emeraldavia and the rest of the Empire to be at risk, then... why haven’t you lended support and helped the Crystal Empire this whole time?” the count asked, approaching the window. “If Canterlot’s legions hit the Soviets from the south, it would split the Red Army. Then you’d have them struggling between three fronts - the north by Emeraldavia, the south, and along the eastern border with Trotterstan. Then we’d have a better shot at putting this whole mess to bed once and for all!”

The princess gave Emerald-Ingot a hard but sympathetic stare. There was something on the tip of her tongue, but she struggled to speak, for her answer had to be worded carefully.

“I’m not so sure the Crystal Empire is deserving of a helping hoof,” Celestia finally said, walking along the perimeter of the throne room through the delicately-colored rays of light that shined through the castle windows. Emerald-Ingot was in shock. “Over the last few months, I’ve come to realize that the Reds have been right about one thing. The princes of the Empire care only about themselves and do whatever they want, whenever they want. The fact that they turned you away at the Crystal Castle is further proof of the matter. They’ve turned their backs on Canterlot. They mistreat their subjects, and then try to cover it all up. But it’s gone on far too long, and now the Crystal Empire is falling apart. If I order an attack on Soviet Equestria to aid the Empire, it would be something like rewarding and encouraging bad behaviour. We’d almost be saying that anytime they get themselves into a situation like this, Canterlot will just gallop over the hill and fix everything. I hate to admit it, but… the rise of Soviet Equestria is leaching them a valuable lesson.”

“But…” Emerald-Ingot stammered as he followed behind the princess, “But what about the rest of us? I mean, the princes in the capital are one thing. They certainly haven’t done me any favors. But what about somepony like me? What about my subjects? What’s going to happen to us? The Empire has been fighting for a solid year! Isn’t that enough? Haven’t the princes in the capital already learned their lesson?”

“Your visit to the Crystal Castle makes it very clear that they haven’t.”

The count halted as the princess spun around to face him. The two ponies stopped there, eyes locked, in the beams of afternoon light that passed through the windows. Neither Celestia nor Emerald-Ingot, bathed in hues of blue and red from the stained glass, knew what was next to be said. Years ago, nopony would have even dreamed that such a convoluted quandary would have come to be. But now, more than a year after the revolution that rocked the Crystal Empire, the debacle had escalated and become too complicated for straightforward solutions.

“Princess Luna and I believed we had devised a solution. That was months ago. Unfortunately, it didn’t work as we had anticipated. Since then, we’ve tried to-”

The princess stopped mid-sentence in surprise when Count Emerald-Ingot suddenly turned from her and slowly started walking away. He stared blindly ahead at the doors of the throne room as if he were in some sort of confounded daze, walking without thinking. But as he continued along, his sluggish pace became steadier and faster, and the length of his strides aggrandized. His brow wrinkled as his blind stare transformed into a pronounced grimace.

“Came all this way for nothing…” the count seethed through clenched teeth. “Waste of my time.”

His pace was swift now, almost a charge, as he crossed the throne room. Emerald-Ingot’s mantle flapped and swished across the floor behind him, light dancing off the emeralds embedded within. The count heard the princess call out to him, but he didn’t listen to what she was saying. A blind rage had taken over, and all he only could put his mind toward leaving Canterlot Castle.

“Equusia got sick and tired of the princes in the capital walking all over them. So they up and left the Empire. And you know what? Good for them.”

Celestia had left her spot by the window now and was following Emerald-Ingot across the room.

“What are you doing?” she called out to him.

“Nopony wants to listen? Fine. I’ll take matters into my own hooves,” the count huffed.

Count Emerald-Ingot reached the doors of the throne room and shoved them open. He stormed out past the nonplussed guards waiting in the corridor. The two armor-clad white stallions shot each other a confused glance and peered through the doorway, where they found a dismayed-looking Princess Celestia watching the crystal pony in the emerald-studded cloak make haste for his entourage outside the castle.

*    *    *

The Party Congress convened exactly one week after Count Emerald-Ingot’s visit to Canterlot. It proceeded according to its planned agenda until a courier from the Stalliongrad central telegraph exchange arrived at the Hall of the Council of Ministers, bearing a message from beyond the borders.

When Vladimir Orlov, the new Party chairman, read the message, he couldn’t believe what had been written. He went through it a second and third time, asking himself whether he had somehow misinterpreted the strange news. And when he realised that he made no mistake, he was almost laughing as he approached the podium before the Council to read the message:

Esteemed members of the Soviet Equestrian Party Congress,

    I have composed this letter to inform you that the province of Emeraldavia has left the patrimony of the Crystal Empire. Our independent princedom hereby affirms that we are at peace with the Federative Soviet Equestrian Republic of Equusia, as well as the sister republics of Belequus, Trotterstan, Mustangistan, and Grazerbaijan.

    We would like to offer our cooperation on the removal of the Crystal Army from the border region between Crystalnau and Maremansk, as the imperial soldiers on our soil are now violating our sovereignty. We have the provisions, ability, and willpower to strike the imperial camps south of Crystalnau in synchronization with the actions of the Red Army as it fights on the border. We need only a message with appropriate details.

    The Crystal Empire will be informed of our secession in eight days time. As of now, Soviet Equestria alone has been made privy to this information.

    If you are supportive of a joint effort, I ask that you please react while we still possess the element of surprise. Direct your communication to the telegraph exchange of Maremansk. My messengers are already waiting to deliver your response to Crystalnau.

    I applaud your spirit and conviction in your fight against heartless tyranny.

Warm regards,

Crown Prince Emerald-Ingot of Emeraldavia

When Orlov finished reading, the entire auditorium of flabbergasted deputies engaged one another in quiet discussion. Mareinskiy and Alexander Palominov were seated among them, engrossed in a conversation of their own.

“Looks like Emerald-Ingot finally had enough,” the cream-colored stallion whispered to his comrade with a grin. “Wasn’t any secret that he never got along with the rest of the imperials.”

“Or he just jumped at the chance to call himself a prince,” Palominov countered.

“Either way… you think Orlov will consider it?”

“I don’t know,” the brown earth pony replied. “Imperial or not… Emerald-Ingot is still a royal. But then again… ‘The enemy of my enemy...’ You know how it goes.”

Chapter 9: The Liberation of Foalgograd

As the needle dragged on the innermost grooves of the record, the crystal pony at the desk on the side of the room rose and approached the phonograph.

“Should I put this one on again?” he called to his friend in the other room.

“Nah, see what else is in the cabinet,” was the reply that came through the open doorway.

The earth pony gently lifted the needle arm off the record with his teeth and let it rest in its holder. He then approached and opened the cabinet that stood beside the phonograph and perused the records that were stored inside. Meanwhile, a crystal unicorn with a blueish hue, clad in refulgent imperial armor, passed through the doorway into the front room of the blockhouse.

“Here’s one,” the earth pony at the cabinet said. “Hmm. ‘Our Little Village.’ Ever heard of that one before?” The unicorn in the armor shook his head. “Alright, let’s try it.”

The earth pony placed the record on the turntable and gave the device a crank. Then, he set the needle on the outermost groove and returned to his desk. The crystal unicorn leaned against one of the bookshelves and listened to the tune that began playing from the brass horn of the phonograph. The song was lighthearted and quick, comprised entirely from the sounds of plucked instruments - guslis, balalaikas, and domras - and the voice of a lone female vocalist.

“Not bad,” the armored unicorn said with a content nod. “I tell you what, these Equusians have a special talent for music.”

“You mean they had a special talent for music,” the crystal earth pony corrected as he returned to the seat at the desk. “They’ve thrown it all away. Now, it’s all marching music. The Reds don’t appreciate anything else.”

“Equusia was always famous for its marches,” the unicorn argued as he approached the desk. “Even back when they still called themselves imperials. It’s nothing new.”

“Well they sure are crazy about them now.”

“Doesn’t mean they’ve abandoned everything else. I’ve heard the performers in this city. They keep the old songs alive. And they do a very good job of it, if you ask me.”

The crystal pony at the desk sighed and shut his eyes.

“Let me tell you something about this city, Diamondstride,” the earth pony began. “This city is a rathole. A dump.” The earth pony smacked his hoof on the desk as he again rose. “Of course, it wasn’t always like that. Foalgograd was one of the most gorgeous gems of the Crystal Empire, you know. I was here years ago. It was beautiful. The city on the river... Bridges over the canals... Every building colored like a pastel. Every block was a spot of color on a giant pallet!”

“And... it’s still all those things,” Diamondstride responded confusedly.

“But you can’t see them anymore. There’s a giant red stain covering it all up,” the earth pony ranted. “And even though we’re here now, the stain is still here. Just like red wine on a rug. No matter how hard you scrub, the big red spot won’t disappear.”

The door to the blockhouse was just then thrown open, causing the two crystal ponies to turn around in shock. One of the imperial higher-ups, sporting his flamboyant crystalline helmet with its massive sapphire strut, barged into the room.

“Get up in the tower and pull that bell cord,” the officer barked to Diamondstride. He then pointed to the earth pony and added, “And you, warm up that telegraph and send a wire to the exchange at the city centre. The scouts flew back and said that the Reds are marching in to attack again. And turn off that damned phonograph.”

“Yes, sergeant,” the two ponies responded in unison.

Diamonstride, with his commanding officer on his heels, rushed up the stairs of the small blockhouse tower.

“These Red morons just don’t get it,” the officer huffed as the plates of his armor clanked against each other. “For months they’ve been running up here over and over again, wasting our resources and energy, only to get beaten back every time. Foalgograd is ours for the keeping. I don’t know what we need to do to jam that simple fact into their thick skulls.”

The two crystal legionnaires emerged from the stairwell in the observation deck at the top of the blockhouse tower. Diamondstride grabbed a dangling rope tightly in his teeth and pulled, ringing the signal bell to alert the surrounding troops that guarded the southern outskirts of Foalgograd. Within minutes, the bells of the other blockhouses that encircled the city were swinging and tolling. Formerly Soviet-controlled defensive buildings, the Crystal Empire had been using them to fend off the Red Army since the capture of the great city many months ago. The imperial army was again gearing up for what seemed to be the umpteenth Soviet advance from the south.

“And there they are, just over the hills,” the officer thought aloud as he peered through the rusty telescope that was fixed to the balustrade of the tower. “Everypony’s been itching to tear apart a few more Reds. Looks like they’re about to…”

Diamondstride waited, but his commanding officer never finished his sentence.

“Sir?”

“They… they’ve got carriages leading the charge,” the stunned sergeant stated. “Never seen that kind of setup before.”

The soldiers of the Crystal Empire readied their defensive lines before the ring of blockhouses that surrounded Foalgograd. The imperials braced themselves as the Soviets pressed onward, tugging lines of tachankas behind them. And as they drew nearer, all the commanding officers stepped in front of their respective brigades and divisions, staring the approaching Reds down. At the centre of the line, a general came forward and commanded the Crystal Army to ready their weapons. He put a hoof in the air.

“Let them approach…” the general called. The Reds charged on. “Wait for it.”

“Forward, comrades!” one of the commissars screamed from atop a Soviet tachanka.

“Wait for it…” the imperial general repeated, staring at the approaching red flags through the slits in his helmet.

A bone-chilling “Ura!” rang out across the tundra as the gap between the Soviets and the Crystal Empire rapidly closed.

“Ready…” the crystal general bellowed to the imperials.

“Take aim!” a Soviet commander roared. The sound of hoofbeats was deafening.

“Almost…” the crystal general shouted, his hoof still in the air as the wheels of the tachankas thundered across the tundra.

“Open fire!”

Before the stallion could even utter the word “charge,” an entire choir of Soviet crank-cannons began to sing. The general standing before the imperial army was struck down on the spot. The soldiers behind him stared, flabbergasted, when his head shot back and he fell to the side, as if struck by some invisible force. But the metallic clanking of the guns continued, the bores flashing brightly as the shots were fired. One of the soldiers at the front of the lines was grounded all the same. And then another fell. And then another. And then a pegasus dropped out of the sky and hit the ground with an unsettling smack.

The imperials were completely and utterly confounded. They had never expected such weaponry to exist, let alone come against them. In truth, they could barely fathom what was transpiring, as they had never seen anything like it before in their lives. The crystal soldiers didn’t dare press forward. What was supposed to have been a charge turned into a reorganization. All the unicorns ran forward while the rest of the soldiers reformed their lines behind them. The crystal unicorns put up a wall of shields to defend against the rain of bullets, but it very quickly began falling apart. But the soldiers had never before experienced such blasts of power in tiny, concentrated shots. It was nothing like an arrow or bolt - it was substantially more staggering. The shots from the crank-cannons were depleting shield magic at an inordinately fast rate, tiring out even the most seasoned veterans of magic in seconds.

The shield wall didn’t last much longer than a minute, and the front lines of the crystal army dropped like flies. The teams of ponies pulling the tachankas - now just a stone’s throw away from the imperials - slowed their pace to a crawl and allowed the remainder of the Red Army to pass in front, sabres, shashkas, and axes at the ready. Gunners tossed their old clips and reached for new ones as the brown-uniformed soldiers of the Kalmuk Military District charged ahead and clashed with the crystal ponies. While the fight raged on the ground, the soldiers on the tachankas turned their attention to the pegasi in the air as they began diving down to take out the gunners.

The tachanka teams had changed since their inception in Saddlestopol. Now, they were operated by groups of seven - two at the crank-cannon, three to pull the weapon along, and one pike-bearer following at either side of the vehicle to fend off aerial attackers. Anypony that had successfully avoided the gunfire dove down to answer to the pikes. The crystal pegasi that weren’t shot out of the air were getting skewered.

The engagement didn’t last long. The imperials pulled back - both on the ground and in the air -  and retreated toward Foalgograd, leaving five of the blockhouses in the hooves of the Soviets. The road from the outskirts to city proper were now wide open.

The Reds rearranged themselves as the blockhouses were cleared of Crystal Army stragglers. The already-high morale had skyrocketed further. The repeated assaults of the past year failed to break the lines at the blockhouses every time. This time, the blockhouses had been captured in mere minutes. After the buildings were secured and the reorganization was finished, the Red army pressed onward, making haste for the southwestern districts of Foalgograd proper.

The Fetlockino region - characterized by small houses and dachas situated on the outer edge of the city - was taken without much of a fight. As the Reds pressed onward toward the city center, houses gave way to lines of buildings and a patchwork of perpendicular streets. The Red forces here bifurcated, with the brown-uniformed Kalmuk Military District marching north and the greed-uniformed Yakuts moving eastward. Main thoroughfares and intersections were thrown into chaos as the Reds fought back the imperials.

Watching from the windows of the gently-colored buildings of the city centre, the Foalgograd citizens were overcome by a particularly distinct mixture of shock and revelry. Strange, new weapons were being carted through the streets, tearing apart the enemy lines in an unsettlingly efficient manner. But at the same, time, hopes and dreams were slowly coming true. For the first time in over a year, red flags were flying in the streets of Foalgograd, and the Reds were throwing out the occupation force. Over the course of several hours, the fighting had pushed through to the roads that ran alongside the River Foalga, the mighty waterway that cut the city into northeastern and southwestern halves. Shortly thereafter, the southwestern half of the city had been declared purged of imperial control as they retreated across the four bridges over the Foalga.

The citizens flooded the streets behind the Red Army, celebrating, cheering, and tearing down the imperial flags of many hues that had been hung during the occupation. Driven by waves of radical fury that hadn’t surfaced since the revolutionary days over a year prior, they grabbed the weapons of fallen comrades and attacked isolated imperial soldiers that were still stuck on their side of the river. The stormy skies over the city on the Foalga finally seemed to be clearing, and the refulgent sunshine of freedom was beginning to peek through.

After a brief period of reorganization, tachanka teams, with supporting footsoldiers, began across the bridges to begin the attack in the northeast, seeking to make haste before the shattered imperials could restructure themselves. Halfway across the Foalga, the advancing Soviets were greeted by loud thwacks and twangs from the other riverbank. Massive diamond javelins, nearly log-sized, flew from the northeastern bank, gently arching in the air before diving back down and smashing into the approaching Reds. Several tachankas were instantly reduced to splinters, and a number of footsoldiers on each bridge had been either thrown into the river or crushed.

The Crystal Empire managed to drag a number of its famous Diamond Carroballistas to the northern bank, and it was perhaps their only chance to buy themselves some time. The Reds, concerned that continued march across the bridges was suicide, turned back and regrouped on the southwestern bank of the Foalga. At this point, fighting ceased. The Reds and the imperials, dug in on their respective sides of the river, contemplated their next moves.

The cross-river standoff would last nearly three hours. But during this period of inactivity, the Party in Stalliongrad was having a field day. Telegrams had arrived from Foalgograd, explaining that half of the city had been reclaimed. But at the same time, messages were coming in from Maremansk, announcing that Emeraldavia had made its move, launching a surprise attack on the imperial camps outside of Crystalnau. One even said that Prince Emerald-Ingot himself had joined the fight. The Crystal Army’s invasion force outside of Maremansk was not only sandwiched between the Red Army and the Emeraldavian separatists, but they had lost their camp and a number of their commanding officers. Eventually, this would give way to the retreat of imperial troops outside Manesk, saving a strained Belequus, which was only days away from submitting to the Empire’s attacks.

The Crystal Empire, stretched thin, betrayed, and unable to counter the crank-cannon, was being torn apart. But contrary to Soviet supposition, they had no intention of retaking the southern half of Foalgograd.

In the matter of a few short hours, the Soviets and their new weapons had done more damage and taken more lives than all of their previous attacks combined. If they managed to cross the river, the same bloodbath that went down in the southwest would repeat itself in the northeast. It became agonizingly evident to the Crystal Empire that they could not prevent the Soviets from recapturing the city. After agitated deliberation, a spiteful decision was reached. If the Empire was going to be run out of Foalgograd a second time, they were going to make one final move that young Soviet Equestria would never forget. The Crystal Empire’s high command ordered the soldiers to set fire to every city block north of the river.

After hours of non-action, the Reds saw the smoke rising above the rooftops. It started at three distinct sites, where massive pyres had been hastily constructed. But as more and more buildings were set ablaze, a wall of fire steadily swept across the northern half of the city.

The Diamond Carroballistas got disassembled and carted off. The Crystal Army was pulling out of the city, leaving flame in their wake as they proceeded north, back toward imperial territory. Every pegasus of the Yakut and Kalmuk Military Districts were ordered to fly out and drag in rainclouds from the periphery. The remainder of the Red Army charged across the bridges and established bucket brigades on the opposite bank, well-aware of the fact that they could do little about the fire until the clouds were brought in.

The Red Army entered burning buildings, evacuated anypony they could find. The frightened citizens fled across the bridges, away from the smoldering flames of northern Foalgograd. In some cases, the Red Army was already too late. At Mareskaya Square, a number of apartment blocks had completely collapsed into a pile of flaming rubble, and by the look of the place, it didn’t seem plausible that anypony trapped inside survived the destruction.

By the time the rainclouds were flown in, much of the north had already been lost.

Great pity was felt for those that lived above the river. The ponies in the south got to watch the defenders of Soviet Equestria chase the Crystal Empire away. They charged out into the free streets, overcome with countless unbridled emotions as the painful monotony of the occupation simply melted away. It was as if they were somehow reliving the revolutionary days from the previous year. For them, the liberation of Foalgograd gave them back nearly everything that they had lost. The same could not be said for the ponies in the north. For them, hope was right across the river, closer than it had ever been before. But before it could arrive, the Crystal Empire took what little they had left and burned it to the ground. To these ponies, the day of liberation was a day of destruction, of loss, and of mourning.

*   *   *

When the lone crystal pony in the telegraph office heard hoofbeats coming up the stairwell, he panicked. If he couldn’t get out before the Reds found him, he’d be dead meat. Carefully but quickly, he tiptoed to the rear staircase on the other side of the room and gently pushed the door open. But he gasped and fell back when he found a young mare in a Yakut uniform waiting for him on the landing.

The frightened crystal pony frenetically climbed back to his feet and turned to find another mare in an identical uniform walking through the doorway of the main staircase.

“Ooh, this one looks like fun, Masha,” the second mare said deviously as she strode into the room.

“The ones that shake like little kittens always are,” Masha, the first soldier, replied with a grin.

“No, please! I didn’t do anything! I just sat in here and worked the telegraph, honest! I didn’t do anything else!” the crystal pony pleaded. The two unicorns were closing in on the distraught pony as he tried not to keep his back turned on either one of them for too long.

“Calm down, comrade,” Masha cooed. “We’re just here to collect the rent.”

“The… the rent?” the confused stallion stuttered.

“Of course,” Masha answered. “You’ve been living in our city for a long time, and you haven’t payed even one month’s rent. Look, Sveta has your bill.”

The stallion turned to face the other mare, but only caught a glimpse of a pair of jackboots as Sveta bucked and kicked him in the face. In a couple of seconds, he was on the floor, out cold.

“Too hard, Sveta,” Masha giggled. “He’ll be out for a while… The interrogation will have to wait.”

“Silly me, getting all excited,” Sveta answered.

Another Yakut soldier entered the room through the door to the main staircase. The pegasus stopped and looked upon the unconscious crystal pony on the floor by his comrades’ feet.

“Just him? Only that one?” he asked.

“Just him,” one of the unicorns answered.

“Alright. Tie him down somewhere, I guess. I’ll pick through all this stuff in the meantime,” the stallion said, taking a seat at one of the desks littered with documents. “The commissars said they’ll be up in twenty minutes. I hope you girls weren’t too rough with him.”

“Don’t give me that, Arkady,” Sveta laughed as she and Masha threw the crystal pony on top of a clear desk in the room. “I told you the same thing a week back, but that didn’t stop you from bucking like a bronco.”

“You know you enjoyed it,” Arkady replied with a smirk as Masha tried to stifle her laughter. Sveta, grinning with her tongue between her teeth, kept quiet.

The two mares tied their unfortunate victim to the desk while Arkady read through the documentation that the imperials had left behind. Presumably, if somepony was still in the office, it meant that something important was left around that he was trying to clear out. A half hour passed easily as Masha and Sveta sat on the windowsill and lit a couple of cigarettes, watching Arkady peruse the documents. The commissars eventually arrived and joined Arkady as they waited for the imperial to come back to his senses for interrogation.

“But my sister is still stuck in Pegadessa,” Masha explained to her comrade.

“After all this time?” Sveta asked, taking another drag on her cigarette.

“Eh. It’s safer that way,” Masha affirmed. “I admit, it would be dull. But she’s better off being up there in a city in the clouds than down here.”

“Devushki! Come over here!” Arkady called from the desk. He and the two commissars were staring intently at something among the papers. The two mares left their seat at the window and approached, while the crystal pony, tied tightly to the desk, remained motionless.

“Looks like comrade Celestia has been a busy girl,” one of the commissars remarked as he adjusted his visor.

“Here, look at this,” Arkady said. He took an elegantly-penned letter in his teeth and presented it to Masha, who shrouded it in her aura and held it where she and Sveta could see it.

“Oh… Nu… pizdets… This is unbelievable,” Sveta remarked, turning to Arkady.

“But it explains quite a bit,” the stallion countered. “There are more letters than just the one you’ve got there, but that one is pretty comprehensive.”

“These all must be delivered to the Party in Stalliongrad as quickly as possible,” the commissar stated. Arkady nodded and laughed,

“Yeah, and Orlov’s going to flip when he sees them.”

Chapter 10: Revelation

“Augh... For the love of... How your baggage are so heavy? What you put in there?” the troika driver asked in his broken Equestrian as he struggled to lift the large, overstuffed suitcases that sat on the curb. His words were directed to a stallion dressed in an elegant-looking suit that stood by the bags.

“Only the necessities, I assure you,” the stallion replied. “I had to make sure that I didn’t forget anything essential. It’s not as if I can just walk back to my office in Canterlot to go fetch something that I left behind.”

The disgruntled pegasus called for the other two drivers of the troika to slip out of their harnesses and help him with the luggage. The three-ponies tag-teamed the gargantuan suitcases and flung them, one by one, into the back of the troika.

“I hope you pack wheelchair in there, comrade,” the driver moaned as he rubbed his back. “I thinking I need one.”

Alexander Palominov watched from across the street as the scene unfolded. He knew who the stallion in the suit was. He had met him during one of his visits to Canterlot in the prior months. The stranger was a professor at the Canterlot Academy of Political Science, and Palominov didn’t care for him one bit.

A violet mare with a matching platok wrapped around her head approached the stallion as he watched the final suitcase get tossed into the troika.

“Well, Mr. Wordsworth,” the violet earth pony said, “I enjoyed our talk on the train last night. But I suppose this is goodbye.” She had addressed the professor in Equusian, and Palominov was shocked to hear him answer in flawless Equusian of his own,

“Of course, my dear! I wish you the best of luck. Alas, I must make haste - my colleagues at the State Institute await!”

“Good luck, comrade!” the mare answered with a wave as professor Wordsworth climbed into the back of the troika and squeezed in among his suitcases. The three drivers, already back in their harnesses, dragged the loaded vehicle along as they carted the stallion off to his destination.

The violet mare waited until the troika turned the corner and disappeared from view. She picked up the rucksack at her hooves, slung it over her back, and studied the busy street before the train station, deep in thought. Palominov could tell by the platok on her head that she most certainly wasn’t a local. He stood there, eyes fixed on the mare, as the neverending procession of pedestrians hurried past him on the sidewalk. She surveyed the building facades, looked back down the road where the troika had exited, and then her eyes came to rest on a brown stallion in a dark jacket standing across the street. He was watching her all the same. She looked to ensure that there were no troikas coming and trotted across the road to Palominov.

“Excuse me,” she asked Palominov, “do you have a moment?”

“I do,” he replied.

“This is my first time in Stalliongrad in a very long while,” the mare explained. “I just got off the train and I’m not too sure where I am. Do you know how to get to Victors’ Square from here?”

“Of course,” Palominov said with a nod. “You can follow me - I’m on the way there myself.”

“Looks like l asked the right pony,” she replied as the stallion and mare started off down the sidewalk. The violet mare looked all about her with an amused smile as they went along, at one point posing the question,

“So if you were headed to Victor’s Square, why were you standing there watching me?”

“You?” Palominov responded, flashing the stranger a quick glance. “No, I was watching that idiot that was talking to you.”

“Excuse me, comrade, but he was no idiot,” the mare said, almost defensively, to Palominov. “He’s a perfect gentlecolt, here on a sabbatical to visit the State Institute. He’s a professor from Canterlot.”

“Don’t worry, devushka, I know all about Everett Wordsworth, what he is, and what he does.” The violet mare was shocked when Palominov just rattled off his name.

“You know him, then?” she inquired.

“I unfortunately got to meet him at Canterlot Castle. Twice. A long time ago,” was Palominov’s answer.

“You’ve been to Canterlot? You’ve seen the princesses too, just like the professor?” the mare asked. Palominov chuckled at the envy in her voice.

“Take it from me, comrade. It’s not as wonderful or special as it sounds. How do you know Wordsworth, anyway?”

“We shared a room on the train to Stalliongrad,” the mare answered.

“You’ve got my sympathy,” was Palominov’s frank reply.

The couple continued to talk as they wove their way through the stream of pedestrians that crowded the streets of Stalliongrad. The mare was particularly inquisitive, asking why Palominov had been in Canterlot, what he did there, and why he didn’t seem to like professor Wordsworth. She seemed simply fascinated when she learned that Palominov had been a diplomat, going back and forth to Canterlot on official Party business for talks with the princesses. She didn’t expect him to speak so negatively of the experience, however. Palominov freely criticized Celestia and Luna and bad-mouthed Wordsworth, explaining a conceited side of the stallion that Wordsworth “probably hid when outside of the imperialist cities.” Eventually, Palominov started throwing around some questions of his own. He asked the stranger where she came from, what she did, and why she was in the city. The violet mare’s name was Nastenka. She lived and worked on a collective farm near Saddel’naya, a rural region right in the middle of the lengthy distance between Stalliongrad and Saddlestopol. She left for the city when the news of the Crystal Empire’s surrender had reached her farm, hoping to meet her husband as he returned from the northern front. It had been a year since she had last seen him.

Indeed, the long fight had come to a close. The Great War had ended merely a week and a half after the Empire was chased out of Foalgograd. The Reds had secured their northern border and were pushing deeper into the Crystal Empire every day as their new weaponry cut down all that stood before it. And as the imperials withdrew soldiers from the east to defend against the advance, Trotterstan, Mustangistan, and Grazerbaijan were able to band together and reclaim their own borders. Eventually, the terrified princes in the capital waved the white flag. It would not officially be peacetime until a number of treaties were signed in Canterlot. But the surrender marked the undeniable victory of Soviet Equestria over their imperial aggressors.

“So nopony on your farm even knew the war was over until six days after the surrender, when your commissar showed up with the news?” Palominov asked.

“That’s right.”

“And then… you hopped a troika, went to Saddel’niy Vokzal, bought a train ticket that put you in Wordsworth’s car, and showed up here this morning?”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t waste any time,” Palominov laughed.

“I tried not to. You know, this is the first day I’ve been off my farm in years,” Nastenka admitted, watching the the crowds as she followed Palominov down Stallions’ Prospekt. “This city is beautiful. But it’s not the same city I remember from the first time I was here, back when I was a filly.” She paused. “Well, I mean, it is. But… it’s not. Well, you understand what I mean, don’t you? The first time I was here was before the revolution.”

“Of course,” Palominov answered. “It’s changed. No more Breiyar princes, no imperial guards on the corners, nopony listening in on you to make sure you speak Equestrian… The city has been reborn. And now, it’s going to stay this way.”

Eventually, Palominov and his new acquaintance Nastenka found themselves in the massive plaza at the center of Stallions’ Prospekt. This, of course, was Victors’ Square, the iconic area at the heart of the city. From the moment she had entered this legendary spot, Nastenka had barely been breathing. It was the same square she had seen years ago, but at the same time it was not. Imperial flags had become red flags. The Sapphire Palace had transformed into Council of Ministers. The Mares’ Death Battalion stood where crystal sentries once kept watch. Most importantly, the sculpture of a wise-looking king in a grand throne - made entirely of precious gems - had been taken down. In its place stood three massive statues - one of a soldier, one of a metalworker, and one of a farmer.

“And here we are, comrade,” Palominov said with a sweep of his hoof. “I don’t want to just disappear, but I was called to a meeting with a few members of the Council and, as you can imagine, I can’t miss it.” Palominov paused and briefly surveyed the square. “You’re meeting your husband here?”

Nastenka didn’t hear him. She stared off at the Hall of the Council of Ministers as if she were in some sort of trance. She only snapped out of it when Palominov gave her a gentle nudge.

“Sorry, what?”

“Are you meeting your husband here?”

“Oh, no,” Nastenka said, “He’ll be at Foalgogradskaya Station. But I wanted to see the square again, first.”

“Do you… know how to get there?” Palominov asked.

“Of course not,” the violet earth pony laughed, brushing a few stray strands of her mane out of her eyes. “But I’m sure I’ll find somepony else who does. I’ll be just fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. Thank you for showing me the way.”

Palominov bade her farewell and crossed the square toward the staircase to the Hall of the Council. Before entering the building, he turned around and looked back into the plaza to find the violet mare waiting on the same spot where he had parted with her. All around Nastenka, the urbanites hurried this way and that, but she remained still. She was reliving a memory of years gone by.

*   *   *

“But it got thrown in the wrong box. Or somepony dropped it. Hell, I don’t even remember the story! But they found all this stuff when they took the telegraph exchange in Foalgograd, and somehow it got misplaced and sat somewhere for two whole weeks before somepony found it and had it rushed over to me!” Orlov spat as he paced around his office. The premier was addressing Nikolai Broncov, Gennady Mareinskiy, and Alexander Palominov, all seated around the his desk.

Orlov had called these three members of his inner circle to an emergency meeting, where he presented them with material that had been recovered during the fighting in Foalgograd nearly two weeks prior, but not delivered to him until a day ago.

They were letters direct from Canterlot castle. Two of them had been addressed to the princes in the imperial capital. The annotations in the margins suggested that they had been seen by the capital and then got rushed off to Foalgograd for the commanding officers of the Crystal Army. Another letter was penned for some higher-up in Canterlot. Two more didn’t even seem to have a recipient. But altogether, they conveyed a massive secret that wasn’t supposed to have reached the eyes of anypony in Soviet Equestria.

“She lied to us the whole damned time!” Vladimir Orlov fumed. The white stallion continued to stomp around the room. He kicked over an end-table in his frustration. “For months, we sniffed out the anarchists left and right and beat them into submission until they scattered. So Celestia sent agents out to reunite them. Funded them. Gave them a coherent arsenal. And then they staged the rally and marched on the Hall of the Council.”

Broncov grew steadily more aggravated as Orlov’s story continued. Palominov didn’t seem that surprised. But Mareinskiy, the pony who had defended Celestia from the more radical element of the Party in the wake of the revolution, was shaking in his seat.

“But that was the distraction!” Orlov raged, kicking at the end table until one of the legs snapped. “The mob of anarchists in the square was the damned distraction to keep everypony busy so her assassins could slip in here and take me out!” He grumbled under his breath as he searched the room for something else to destroy. “Those goons in the grey robes - you must remember - the ones that flew in here on the day the anarchists attacked… They were hired by the crown to come and eliminate nine members of the congress. Eight others and myself. Five of the assassinations succeeded. The only reason they didn’t get me was because I called a meeting at the last minute. Those two imperialist dogs flew in here expecting to find me alone… but they had three to contend with. And we took them down.”

Mareinskiy couldn’t discredit anything that Orlov was saying. The letters clearly outlined the machination that had been orchestrated by Canterlot. The cream-colored pony had lost track of how many times had he defended his beliefs about the princesses in his quarrels with other members of the Party. But it seemed now that he had been wrong in his conviction.

“And if that wasn’t bad enough, she lies to our diplomats’ faces, telling them that she won’t get involved on either side of the fight, when all along, she directly engages the Red Army and tries to keep it a secret!” Orlov raged, taking more of his anger out on the destroyed end-table.

“But where?” Mareinskiy asked. “There was never one report, from anypony or anywhere, that said soldiers from Canterlot were seen on the battlefield!”

“Then you didn’t read all of the notes,” Orlov laughed. “Fish around in that pile, they’re in there. There’s a giant, sugary love-letter, signed jointly by Celestia and Luna, that explains it all. The brigades that attacked Trotterstan didn’t come from the Crystal Empire. They were soldiers from Canterlot, sent to the imperial capital, where the mages worked their magic and made them appear to be crystal ponies. Then they suited up like the rest of the imperials and marched on Trotterstan. Don’t you see? The Crystal Empire didn’t have enough soldiers to take on the Trotter SSR. So when Mustangistan and Grazerbaijan joined the coalition, they went crying to Canterlot to save their miserable hides.”

“Well that’s not news,” Broncov huffed. “They’ve been crying to Canterlot for who knows how long.”

“But at one point, Canterlot started listening,” Orlov continued. “They picked a side, and they tried to make us believe that they didn’t pick a side. And I always knew that Celestia was doing something behind our back. I knew it. But I never had any definitive proof.”

Orlov looked out the window at the street below, watching as a line of militsiya officers walked along. A smile slowly crept across his face as he turned around to face the members of his inner circle.

“I never had any proof… until Foalgograd…” the premier rambled on. “Nopony ever expected the tachanka to make an appearance. We cleared that city out so damned quickly that nopony had time to ensure that all the sensitive documents at the telegraph exchange were accounted for. And another stroke of luck was that the telegraph exchange was located south of the river. Had it been up north, these letters would have burned. Hell, I wonder what else we could have recovered from the north if it didn’t burn to the ground… Who knows what other crazy schemes were unfolding behind our backs!”

“With all due respect, comrade Orlov,” Palominov smirked, “Treachery worked both ways. I’m sure the Crystal Empire wanted Emerald-Ingot’s head on a plate.”

“Ah, but who’d have thought!” Nikolai Broncov said amusedly as he looked up to the ceiling. “Emeraldavia breaks away from the Crystal Empire and takes our side. And if the rumors are true, Prince Emerald-Ingot was out there on the battlefield, bashing skulls with that giant green hammer of his.”

“But remember, comrades,” Orlov added, “that it was Emerald-Ingot’s own imperialist greed that gave rise to his treason. We had nothing to do with the offer he made us. He just jumped at the chance to crown himself a prince. He is still a royal, and has no intention of incorporating Emeraldavia into our union of Equestrian Soviet Republics. He’s made that perfectly clear.”

Broncov and Palominov nodded in agreement. Mareinskiy, slowly shaking his head, was re-reading the text of one of Celestia’s notes, praying that somehow it had been misinterpreted, and that all of this was some massive mistake. But misinterpretation was not the case. It was all spelled out neatly in the letters from Canterlot.

Somewhere, hidden away in the depths of Mareinskiy’s mind, a set of floodgates opened, releasing an avalanche of memories from the previous two years. Suddenly, Mareinskiy found himself on Sapphire Square on the day the nobility was ousted. Then, an ensuing blur took him to the founding of the Party in the earliest days of the first Soviet republic. He saw the crisp drafts of the first manifestos to Canterlot, the same ones that called for the crown to order the Crystal Empire to stand down. Mareinskiy once again was resting in his bunk on the stuffy sleeper train, riding through the night toward Canterlot Castle. He relived the conversation where he assured Palominov that talking directly to Canterlot had the potential to solve everything - how Princess Celestia would be infinitely more understanding than the imperials. Another strange blur clouded his vision. He blinked and was suddenly in the throne room, watching himself speak before the princess, but couldn’t hear a single word that was being said. Darkhan Dressazhanov from Trotterstan and Ivan Furlongev from Belequus appeared as if out of thin air, and the princess addressed them, though she was inaudible. Her voice was being drowned out by a news broadcaster that suddenly started speaking behind Mareinskiy. When he turned around, he found himself alone in his flat. The voice’s origin was his old radio. Loud and crackly, the broadcast announced the Crystal Empire’s declaration of war. Mareinskiy tried desperately to turn the radio off, but the announcer could not be silenced. The stallion threw himself into an armchair and placed his hooves over his ears, jamming his eyes shut as he tried to mute out the disastrous news. But the cushion of the chair soon became hard and unyielding. It had transformed into a barstool - Mareinskiy was back at the Druzhinnik Bar, and an inordinate amount of empty glasses rested on the counter before him. The bartender stepped forward and brought him a new bottle, but a flaming rag was sticking out of the top. The mare behind the bar grinned as a roar of enraged voices erupted from behind. When the cream-colored pony hopped off the stool and turned toward the noise, he saw himself before the anarchist mob. The bar was melting away now, slowly transforming into Victors’ Square. The anarchist fanatics charged around Marinskiy, toward the Hall of the Council as flames bellowed from its windows. When the stallion blinked, he was inside the auditorium, where the grey-robed assassins tossed lifeless carcasses over the balconies of the upper stories…

“Gennady Sergeyevich… Can you hear us?” Palominov asked.

The three stallions were crouched down around Mareinskiy, who had simply gone limp and fallen out of his chair. They spoke to him, shook him, and propped him up against the desk, but the unresponsive stallion just stared blankly ahead through half-closed eyes.

“I told you it was a bad idea to call him to the meeting,” Broncov scolded. “Look at him.”

“So what, then? Tell you two and leave him in the dark?” Orlov asked, still trying to shake Mareinskiy awake. “How could I let him go on like he was, wading nose-deep in a false conviction? He had to learn the truth.”

“Look, it’s just the way he is,” Palominov huffed, taking a seat on the floor. “Gives everypony the benefit of the doubt, except for himself. You know what happened when the war broke out. Said it was all his fault and locked himself up in his flat.”

“I don’t know what he saw in Celestia and Luna,” Broncov muttered with a shake of his head. “To me, imperialist swine is imperialist swine. They don’t come in shades and categories.”

“Alright. Let’s just worry about getting him back on his feet,” Orlov said as he rose to all fours. “Somepony downstairs probably has smelling salts left over from the attack on the Council. And if not, just get some water. I’ll wait in here with him.”

Palominov and Broncov got up and made for the staircase while Orlov leaned against his desk and put a hoof to his head, watching Mareinskiy with concern.

“What can I say, Gennady Sergeyevich?” the premier said. “You’re one of the best deputies we’ve got. But sometimes you’re just too soft.” Orlov waited around for a minute before calling through the open door to the office, “Hey, Irina!”

There was no response.

“Irina!” Orlov called again, still receiving no answer. “Must have her door shut.”

Premier Orlov stepped out of his office and took a short walk down the hall, stopping in front of a closed door and knocking.

“Irina, you in there?” Orlov asked.

“Of course, Vladimir, come in,” was the muffled reply from behind the door. The white stallion pushed open to reveal a red unicorn seated at a cluttered desk, sifting through a mound of papers.

“I know you’re buried under work, but we need some help,” Orlov began, stepping into the room. “You still remember anything from your days in the clinic?”

“Oh chyort, what happened?” the deputy asked, removing her glasses.

“Mareinskiy fainted on us. Long story. It’s probably better if we get somepony like you to help wake him back up.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Irina followed the premier out of her room and through the door to Orlov’s office. The stallion froze upon entering, and the red unicorn looked about the place in confusion.

Gennady Mareinskiy was nowhere to be found.

Chapter 11: The End of Cooperation

All quills at the table were lowered back to their respective inkwells as another article of the lengthy peace treaties was concluded. A hush fell over the entire room as the parties in attendance again read and re-read the stipulations.

The Map Room of Canterlot castle’s library was once more being put to use, holding the conference that would put the war with Soviet Equestria to bed once and for all. Princesses Celestia and Luna, along with their aides, were seated at the head of the long table, directly across from three Soviet ambassadors that had taken the seats at the other end. Some form of staring contest had developed between one of the Reds and Princess Celestia during the progression of the meeting. When they weren’t writing or reading, their eyes met and were firmly locked. One of the princes from the Crystal Empire was in attendance, along with several of his subordinates. The humiliated stallion sank into his seat, grinding his teeth harder and harder with the completions of each article of the treaties. He made eye contact with nopony. He was too embarrassed to face Celestia and Luna, and was too infuriated to look at the Reds. But what really made his blood boil was the pony across from him, lounging calmly in his seat and looking rather pleased with the state of affairs. This of course was Prince Emerald-Ingot, the turncoat that cut Emeraldavia out of the imperial patrimony. More than satisfied to have thrown out his former title of count, Emerald-Ingot felt more like a celebrity than merely a member of the conference. For the first time in his entire life, he had made his name known throughout all of Equestria and managed to score an influential spot in the negotiations with the Reds. In the Soviet republics, his actions were regarded as gestures of friendship. In the Crystal Empire, he was condemned as a traitor. Everywhere else, he was a stallion with a convoluted personal agenda. But at the end of the day, Emerald-Ingot didn’t care if he was a traitor or a savior, friend or an enemy. He crowned himself prince. Everypony now knew his name. Emeraldavia was his and his alone. And that was all that mattered.

“All parties are in agreement?” Celestia asked the group when it appeared that everypony had finished scrutinizing the text of the freshly-written article. All ponies seated around the table nodded, save for the lone crystal prince that grunted an unintelligible response. “Alright, then. The next order of business?”

“Mustangistan,” one of the Soviets spoke up. A small map was surrounded in her aura and lifted from the table. “These are the proposed boundaries, as well as the structure of the councils in the capital, Tashkanter.” The ambassador sent the map floating toward princess Celestia, but one if the crystal prince’s aides grabbed it first. The Soviet huffed as she shot him an annoyed glance. The imperials spent a minute reading the Soviets’ stipulations.

“They’re doing it again!” the prince roared, jumping up from his seat. He stared down the document as his aide kept it suspended in the air. “They’ve re-configured the borders, claiming far more land than Mustangistan actually occupies!”

“We’re doing no such thing,” was the Soviet mare’s frank reply. “You just want to take for yourselves and strip the republics of what they rightfully deserve.”

“They did the same for Trotterstan!” the crystal prince shouted, slamming his hoof on the table. He turned to face the princesses, but avoided direct eye contact with either.

“Trotterstan border was to adjusting for miscalculation,” said another of the Soviets, his Equestrian far less polished than that of his comrade. “You attempt to have stealing northern regions of Trotterstan. You thinking we overlook!”

“We can’t continue this way,” Celestia said sternly. Now, all eyes (except for those of the imperials) were on her. “With every new article, there’s a new fight. If everypony keeps throwing accusations around, we’ll never make any headway. Now… can we all take a deep breath and maintain our civility?”

Uneasy silence followed as the prince folded his forelimbs and sunk back down into his seat. The Soviets whispered amongst themselves. Emerald-Ingot maintained his unwavering smile.

Before Princess Celestia could continue, the doors to the map roop creaked open, revealing one of the royal guards.

“Your Grand Royal Highness,” the armored white stallion began. “We’ve um… Well, there’s a… You’re needed in the throne room.”

“You… are aware of what we’ve been doing in here, I hope,” Princess Celestia said as she turned to face the guard. “I said that Princess Luna and I were not to be disturbed until the conference had ended. What could possibly take precedence over the drafting of the treaties?”

The guard stepped further into the Map Room, and it became quite apparent that the stallion was particularly nervous. He crept toward Celestia with an unsteady gait and motioned for her to lean down toward him. Nopony else heard what he whispered into her ear, but whatever the message was, it widened her eyes and caused her to jump out of her seat.

“Sister, I’m afraid I’ll need to briefly take leave,” Celestia said to Princess Luna. “Please see the Mustangistan stipulations through.”

“Of course,” Princess Luna added, nervously shifting in her seat. “Is everything alright?”

“I… I think so, yes,” Celestia replied as she turned and made for the door as the guard followed behind. “I shouldn’t be gone long. Though at the same time… I’m not entirely sure.”

The guard pulled the doors closed after the princess left, again isolating the group in the Map Room from the remainder of the castle. Silence ensued. The Soviets were suspicious of what had just transpired. The embarrassed imperials seemed somewhat relieved of Celestia’s temporary absence. Prince Emerald-Ingot didn’t seem to pay the interruption much mind. He was too busy staring contently at the large map of the Crystal Empire on the far wall - the same one that had been marked and edited to show the new republics of Soviet Equestria and the independent Princedom of Emeraldavia. The candles on the walls and table flickered when the doors shut, casting dancing shadows across much of the room. Princess Luna did her best to put out of her mind what had just transpired and the uncertainty that trailed behind it.

“So, then,” one of the Soviets spoke up after clearing her throat, “to continue… Mustangistan.”

“Right,” Princess Luna answered as the imperials sighed in disgust. “Mustangistan.”

*   *   *

Celestia knew not what to think when she entered the throne room to find Gennady Mareinskiy waiting inside. The cream-colored earth pony didn’t turn to face her when she entered, but instead continued gazing across the room at nothing in particular. He again wore the suit with the strange cut for which the Soviet diplomats had become famous, but unlike his previous visits to Canterlot, he now bore a red ribbon and a pin on his lapel. Palominov and the other delegates had been seen with such Party paraphernalia time and time again. Mareinskiy had never before openly displayed those articles outside of the Motherland.

The air had been heavy in the Map Room, but when Celestia saw her uninvited guest, she felt stifling discomfort. The guards informed her that the Soviet had arrived alone, demanded an audience and refused to leave until he got one. The gate guards had let him pass - they figured he was a straggler that was late for the treaty conference. But that was not the case.

“You’ve made an idiot out of me, Celestia,” Mareinskiy stated. He didn’t approach her. He didn’t bow. He didn’t address her as one who seeks an audience would be expected to do. “For months, I thought that I was bridging a gap between the Party and the crown. But the whole time, you had me play the jester.”

The princess didn’t know how to respond. It seemed that she was talking to someone she had never before met. The Gennady Mareinskiy standing before her was not the one that she remembered from the dialogues of the previous year.

“I was a joke. A harlequin. Simply a laugh. Did you enjoy the show? After all, you staged it yourself,” Mareinskiy went on, almost without emotion.

“And what show have I staged?” the princess asked.

“We know everything,” Mareinskiy sighed with his eyes squeezed shut. “Rallying the anarchists… The attacks on Trotterstan, the assassins hired to take down influential members of the Party! It was all coordinated right here,” the stallion growled with two stomps on the floor of the throne room. “But the worst bit was your lying to our faces, enticing me to believe that you were at least partly sympathetic, when all the while you were against us.”

Just a few days ago, frenetic imperials had sent word to Celestia that the Reds might have gotten their hooves on some sensitive information, though nopony was sure. Princess Celestia had expected the worst, but even having the beforehand supposition did not prepare her for the feelings that followed Mareinskiy’s words.

“There were a few months where I... almost alienated myself from the Party trying to defend you,” the distraught stallion continued. “I spend days trying to sway the minds of everypony that wanted to write you off. Only some took my side. We thought there was going to be a schism. A schism! On top of everything else, what with half of Equusia untrusting of the Party and anarchists popping up everywhere! I even thought they’d dismiss me from the Council at one point. But that didn’t stop me from believing what I thought to be true. And back and forth to Canterlot we went, trying to stop a war before it started. ”

The cream-colored pony sounded winded and forlorn, but his voice was laced with some strange emotion that seemed to indicate a tireless rage hidden somewhere in the middle of it all, waiting to claw its way out and strike.

“They’re laughing at me, now,” Mareinskiy said, with a laugh of his own. “They say they don’t, but I know they do. My comrades ask how I could have been such an idiot, believing your concern for us to be sincere… and all the while you were plotting against us.”

“That’s a lie,” Celestia responded. The princess finally left the doorway of the throne room and approached Mareinskiy. Three guards followed her from behind, and she did not dismiss them from the throne room.

“Is it.”

“The notion that I was against you ‘all the while’ is very far from the truth. And if you believe it, you believe falsehood,” Celestia stated. “Princess Luna and I spent months contemplating the crucible that was your Soviet Euqestria. During that time, our cooperation was entirely possible, and at one point welcomed. But then your Party elected a chairman. They elected your premier, Vladimir Orlov. That changed everything.”

Celestia was standing next to the lone Soviet now, staring intently at his lapel pin - a little red flag displaying a golden hammer and sickle. Her tone was a strange mix of sympathy and aggravation.

“Wanting out of the Crystal Empire is one thing,” the princess went on. “Toppling the crown is another. Your Party had its radical element from the very beginning. You had your fanatics - the ones that wanted more than to leave the Crystal Empire. They talked about their revolution spreading to all corners of the world. There was supposed to be some great awakening, where everypony across the land comes together and eliminates the throne. Then, the strongest proponent of these ideas - Orlov - becomes the premier. If you were in my place, what would you have done? Sit around and wait for his rhetoric to become reality?”

The princess walked past the stallion and toward the windows of the throne room, bright with afternoon light.

“I’ve been disappointed with the imperial royal family in recent years,” Celestia admitted. “In the beginning, the rise of Soviet Equestria, shocking as it may have been, was something of a punishment for the imperial greed and ignorance. But, of course, your radical revolutionaries were an issue. When Orlov became premier, it was the end of cooperation. The only way we’d even remotely see eye-to-eye with the Soviets was to eliminate the radical element. Help the imperials win the war to strip Orlov of his power, or eliminate Orlov directly. Or both.”

Mareinskiy watcher her in silence. The guards were right behind him.

“But if you’ve come all this way to make me feel guilty for what was done…” the princess said firmly. “Well, naturally, I did what was necessary in order to keep the throne that has rightfully been mine for thousands of years, even though I’m not particularly proud of it. I wasn’t about to abdicate for some self-proclaimed revolutionary upstart, especially when I’ve never once acted like Saphirov, or any of the other imperials that mistreated your Equusia.”

“It’s obvious to me,” Mareinskiy said, carefully watching the guards around him, “why you did what you did. I just want to know why you lied to me. Why you kept wasting my time and filling my mind with false hope.”

“We had to keep you in the picture. We could negotiate with your element of the Party. But it would have been impossible without Orlov and his associated out of the way. Naturally we had to keep our intentions a secret, or we’d lose your trust.”

“Can I even trust that you’re being truthful now?” Mareinskiy asked with a shake of his head. “You could be lying to me again. You’ve done it before.”

“And I said that I wasn’t proud of it. If I had my choice, I wouldn’t have lied to somepony that looked upon me favorably,” Celestia responded. “But there were no other options. In the end, it all worked in your favor regardless. You’ve won the war and your independence from the Crystal Empire.”

“And rather than settle it a year ago, we had to lose countless lives and half a city to do it.”

“Mr. Mareinskiy,” the princess said with a raised voice, “as you are no doubt aware, the treaty conference is underway at this very moment so that we can officially bring the war to an end. I must return to the library. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

The Soviet shook his head. He had been dismissed. Again. He was unsure now why he had made the trip. He left the Hall of the Council of Ministers and made a beeline for the train station. After another restless night on a stuffy sleeper train to Canterlot, he was in the throne room, but for what? To ask a few questions with obvious answers and then be sent back home? Of course she wanted Orlov taken down. His Soviet Equestria was incompatible with royal Equestria. Of course she wanted to maintain the trust of a moderate and keep secrets to cover it all up. So why, exactly, did he come to Canterlot? What more was there to know or do? Did Mareinskiy really think telling Celestia that the secrets were out would change anything?

Mareinskiy started to walk about aimlessly. The three confused guards followed him as he went along.

“You know, Celestia, Soviet Equestria is a workers’ paradise,” the cream-colored stallion stated as he turned back toward the alicorn. “Nowhere else in Equestria is the labor of the masses so cherished. The longest, most tiring days of work… Those are holidays for us.”

“Mr. Mareinskiy, I must return to the conference. Our conversation is over,” Celestia said angrily.

“Look, you can throw me out of your castle, but that won’t change anything,” Mareinskiy laughed. “You see, comrade, you thought that Orlov becoming premier was the big problem. But your biggest problem has yet to come.”

The guards took a step toward the now strangely-giddy Soviet.

“The revolution is so young,” the Soviet went on dreamily, addressing the three guards around him. He was talking without thinking. The words weren’t entirely his own. The propaganda machine of the party - the same one that had played continuously throughout the war - was speaking through him now.  “It might have started over a year and a half ago, but do you think for one second that it stopped? There are five Soviet republics. But there will be more.”

“Mr. Mareinskiy, I must ask you to leave my throne room,” the princess demanded. “And I’m not going to ask again.”

Gennady Mareinskiy couldn’t handle another dismissal. The onset of war had shattered his fragile mind over a year ago. He “recovered,” but anypony who knew him could see that he hadn’t been the same since. He had slowed down. His thoughts weren’t calculated and logical as they once were. And now, after the tables had turned, the war was won, and the secrets were all revealed, he was finished with cooperation.

“I was wrong, and they were right. Just like comrade Orlov said, the revolution will spread. Everypony will wake up, just like we have, and become conscious of what power the masses truly possess. Can you hear it? Listen - across the entire Motherland, they are singing...”

“Get him out of here,” the princess barked.

The guards leapt toward and seized Mareinskiy.

“Get your hooves off me!” Mareinskiy screamed, straining and kicking, but to no avail. The meek stallion of the previous year had disappeared. Now, a crazed revolutionary had taken his place. “Yobanniy imperialisticheskiy svin!”

He screamed and hollered unintelligibly in Equusian as the guards dragged him toward the door. His voice echoed sharply in the vastness of the throne room, off the columns and windows and back again. Mareinskiy worked a hoof loose and delivered a solid blow to the face of one of the guards. He wrestled free of the other two and bolted for the doors of the throne room. But just beyond the doorway was another group of guards that had rushed down the hall in response to the commotion. The armored stallions overpowered Mareinskiy and brought him to the floor.

Celestia approached the heaving pony while the guards kept him grounded.

“He’s out of his mind. Get him out of the castle,” she ordered. “Take him to the station and put him on the first train back to Equusia.”

With that, the guards picked him up again and dragged him through the doors to the corridor.

“Is that it, Celestia?” Mareinskiy laughed as he was carried down the hall. “Just have me thrown out? I don’t even get a do zvidaniya?”

Princess Celestia walked swiftly to the doorway. She was going to have to put this episode out of her mind for the moment and return to the treaty conference. Passing into the hallway, she turned to close the doors of the throne room, but stopped when she spotted something resting on the floor.

It was the red ribbon that had been pinned to the lapel of Mareinskiy’s suit. It had fallen off during the struggle. After staring at it for a few moments, she picked it up with a wave of her horn. Then she closed the doors and made haste for the library.

Chapter 12: Ponystroika

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

Chapter 3: The Other Republics

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.”