“While curiosity and the human need to understand are powerful driving forces behind science, the role of pathos and ethos in inspiring young scientists cannot be underestimated.”

* * *

Allen McMurray struggled to breath. He sat against a cabinet door, letting the coolness of the metal soothe his feverish head. Gasping for air, he could feel his chest labor to rise and fall with each breath. Just as he felt like he was going to finally suffocate, coughs racked his febrile body. Each spasm twisted and contorted his insides, but they did their job. Once pain subsided and he could breathe again, he foggily took note of the coppery red cloth he had used to shield his cough. An ounce of fresh bright-red sputum stared back at him. Allen was slowly drowning in his own blood.

The metal cabinet and linoleum floor were so very cold compared to his skin. Unconsciously he drew the thin red linen blanket tighter around him. Somewhere in his addled mind he recognized that the sheet used to be white. It did not matter what color it used to be. Eventually, the Red Plague stained everything with blood.

He was so tired. He wanted nothing more than to lie down on the cold linoleum floor. The only thing keeping him from not doing so was the fear of not waking up. Also, the whole drowning in his own blood feeling was much worse lying down.

A cold draft blew over him as the vents in the laboratory kicked on. He tried to reach out and draw his feet underneath him for warmth when he saw something terrifying. Dark bruises covered his skin, and his fingers had turned black. His mind reeled as he started to panic. It was DIC. Disseminated intravascular dissemation, the random hemorrhaging and clotting of the blood, marked the terminal stage of the plague.

Allen McMurray was going to die.

Feeling the hot blood-red tears stream down his face, he regretted not taking the ponification serum when he had the chance. He did not know where he was, but there was no serum here and no hope for him to recover from the fatal disease on his own.

If he could breathe right, he would have been sobbing. Instead, his chest tightened, making the drowning sensation feel worse.

He heard familiar voices. It sounded like the others who were trapped down here with him. They seemed so far way. He tried to look up, but he no longer had the strength to do so. His body felt numb and distant.

Alisha and his girls… he would never see them again. Sure, he may not have been the best father… Maybe… maybe it was for the best.

The world around him faded, and Allen felt weightless.

* * *

Ten months ago it was another humid, oppressively warm May afternoon. Sunny, too, if one looked intently through the orange-tinted, smog colored sky. Allen McMurray took off his glasses and wiped the sweat off of his brow as he started up the car. He leaned back and sighed, feeling the flow of the freshly filtered chilled air drive away the heat from his flushed cheeks. Looking at the mirror, he fluffed his sweat-matted greying-brown hair. His grey-blue eyes, bloodshot from the long hours he was working, followed his hand’s every movement.

Somehow, Allen could not believe it was only May. When he was a kid, this kind of oppressive muggy weather was only seen in August. Of course, there were EPA regulations and concerns about the environment back then, too. However, regulations were bad for business, and business… well, business paid the politicians.

Allen removed his stethoscope and his heavy white coat, laden with his tools, notes, and his half-eaten lunch, and placed them gently on the passenger seat. As he drove away from the hospital, he sighed at the joggers that were running on the campus. The smog level today was “moderately dangerous.” There was nothing “moderate” about the smog. If you could not see the sky or the sun, then any activity outside was deleterious for one’s health. Allen was dourly watching his future patients. One day he will be responsible for their care when they were inevitably treated for cancer.

What a shame.

At least there were some bright sides to his day. After being at the Cleveland Clinic for nearly a month now, Allen was starting to get both his clinical practice and his research laboratory going. He was particularly excited about the latter—it was the primary reason for him spending the majority of his adult life as a student. Within a few days, his grant money would arrive, and he will be able to hire a technician and a post-doctoral student. Then he’ll have a true lab and will be able to get some real research done. After 14 long years of training, he would finally have his own research, his own project, and, soon, his hand selected personnel. It was totally worth every year of his training.

A jingle from the car’s telecommunication system broke Allen’s reverie. Most vehicles nowadays had an artificial intelligence to control most of the cars functions—even driving if the owner felt comfortable enough with that prospect. Allen had personally never been comfortable talking to a disembodied, unemotional intelligence, so he had those functions removed from his car and his Personal Everything Digital Assistant (PEDA). His car’s telecommunication system had been reduced to nothing more than an elaborate, if archaic, blue-tooth technology.

At any rate, an unlisted number was trying to get ahold of him through his PEDA. Allen pressed a button on his car’s terminal to answer.

“Hello, this is Allen McMurray.”

“Al, man, how have you been?” Allen’s eyes darted from the road to the terminal’s screen. A powerfully built man in a physician’s white jacket with a military haircut grinned back.

“Marcus Gunn,” Allen couldn’t help but to smile, “I haven’t heard from you since… well, wow, since I started my fellowship. How’ve you been?”

Marcus bellowed his signature baritone chuckle. “Well, you know, the usual. Living the dream, saving lives. Getting up to my elbows in guts to patch a guy who thought that badminton was best played with a live grenade.”

Allen rolled his eyes. Some things simply never changed. Both he and Marcus were medical school colleagues and had been practically inseparable the first two years. Impressively charismatic and a veritable encyclopedia of knowledge (no doubt in part to his freaky photographic memory), he had been one of the exceedingly rare medical students who rarely had to study. If it were not for Marcus’ tutelage in the first years of school, Allen and, probably several others he surmised, would have floundered.

Of course, Marcus had a big ego. He was a military trauma surgeon, and the ego came with the field. As far as Allen was concerned, though, Marcus had earned it from his talent, only to have it reinforced from his military service.

“I never really understood why you became a trauma surgeon, Marcus. If half of the doctors had your memory and thoroughness in my field, we wouldn’t be having so many issues with patient care.”

“Gotta heal with that steel, man. It’s the best treatment in my book. Besides, with med school pricing being as they were, there was no way I’d be going to med school without being paid by the military.” That was very true. If Allen had not been admitted to a government sponsored MD/PhD program, he would not have been able to afford the mouth-dropping cost of tuition. Of course, with the right credentials, money, and a bit of perseverance, any well-to-do kid could become a physician—but they were often dangerously underqualified. They generally pursued medicine for all the wrong reasons: prestige, money, family tradition, or, worst of all, family pressure. Poorer, but passionate and bright, students like Marcus and Allen either had to take crippling life-long debts or had to sacrifice years to military, to research, or to a small town rural health practice.

At least Allen enjoyed his research.

Allen looked down at the monitor to see Marcus waving his index finger as he waxed on. He had been speaking the entire time that Allen was lost in thought. “…now, I’m just a humble patriot who just so happens to have the lowest mortality rate in the army.”

“Uh-huh. So, I take it things are going exactly as you wanted,” Allen said as reached for a sip of tea from his thermos.

Marcus beamed, “You could say that. Speaking of things going well, I heard through the grapevine that you finally got that research position that you’ve been wanting.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty happy about it to be honest. Been lookin’ forward to finally starting my career.”

“Well, Al, I got a thing that may just help you jump start it.” Allen took his eyes of the road and gave Marcus a quizzical look over his glasses. Marcus just chuckled and said, “You know, I really missed that look. Yes, I am serious. I am a member on the military’s research council after all.”

Allen nearly gagged on his tea before replying, “You? On a research committee? As I remember, unless a patient was involved you could barely reason your way out of a paper bag.”

“Now, now,” Marcus chided jovially, “I just offer my hands for field testing new technologies. I have no interest in that R&D bullshit anyway. Still, though, I think I have a position that would interest you greatly.”

“Marcus, I already have my dream position at a very reputable institution. There’s nothing that the military could offer that would make me change my mind. Besides,” he looked over his glasses, “you know how I feel about the military.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a borderline hippy and a chink lover, I know.” Allen could tell Marcus was only half-joking. In this day and age, criticizing government programs and supporting an end the Sino-American arms race was seen as un-capitalistic, possibly communistic, and definitely un-American. At least they still had first amendment protection, relatively speaking. “Besides, Al, that doesn’t matter. This is a National Institute of Health endeavor.”

“Let me guess, the NIH is distributing military research funding now.”

“You could say that.”

Allen lifted his glasses and massaged his eyes momentarily in contemplation. He sighed and said, “If it was anyone but you, Marcus…. Fine. Let’s hear it.”

“So, I was reading some of your papers from your PhD and your fellowship. You still working on that gene therapy “cure” for sickle cell disease?”

“I think you know that Romberg has already beaten me to it.” Allen couldn’t help but to feel frustrated after he said that. Gene therapy is a field where scientists and physicians attempted to treat simple genetic DNA diseases. The disease Marcus talked is theoretically easy to treat with gene therapy—and should have had a solid therapy at least 30 years ago. However, that was not why Allen was frustrated. He had seen, even been at the forefront of many advances in the field during his PhD years. Treating and potentially “curing” life-disabling mutations in DNA was about to become a reality.

However, Allen was not able to follow up on his PhD research. His career path required him to perform 5 years of medical training after his PhD. In the meantime, a research competitor, Rose Romberg, had taken his work and developed a drug for market.

“So, I take it you’ve decided to change fields then?”

Allen shook his head. Marcus was very naïve when it came to research. “She may have taken my work and developed a drug based on it, but I still the know the ins and outs of that vector. It’s efficiency to modify DNA is pretty pathetic. Even after the FDA lost a lot of its funding, I’m sure Romberg had a hell of time getting that to clinical trials. Regardless,” Allen smiled broadly, “I spent most of my fellowship cooking up an improved vector. I can’t wait to see her face when it gets published. It’s so simple she’ll die from embarrassment that she didn’t think of it!”

“Hmm, I take it you’ve already sent the data out for publication?” Marcus inquired.

Allen sighed before saying, “Yeah, but my reviewers don’t believe the idea and want me to confirm it in a dozen more ways. Unfortunately, that takes time, money, and hands. All of which I am still waiting on.”

“Damn, man. That’s pretty raw. From what you told me of that Romberg woman, do you think she’s trying to beat you to publication?”

“I blacklisted her from reviewing my work, but I couldn’t blacklist all of her collaborators.” Allen shrugged and added, “I bet she knows, but I know my old lab won’t give her the vector components until we publish. It would take her at least a year or two to develop the components herself, so I’m not too worried about it.”

Marcus nodded and said, “You sound happy with your vector, but what if I told you that there is good chance it will be obsolete next year?” Allen’s attention snapped to the screen where Marcus was smiling smugly. Marcus continued confidently, “I think you should know that this research opportunity will revolutionize gene therapy.”

Allen cocked his head, attempting to decipher Marcus’ words. “What do you mean?” Allen asked coolly.

“I mean what I said. The details are… unfortunately classified.”

“Of course,” Allen deadpanned.

Marcus’ genial tone was gone. He was all business now. “However, I will tell you that, if this project goes as we expect, you and the other researchers in your field will be old news.”

Allen stared solemnly at the road. “You’re saying that, whatever this mystery project is, it will so revolutionize the field that my project will not be guaranteed funding with my next grant from the NIH. Marcus, not only is that very unlikely, but that’s too deep considering your lack of understanding of research politics.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. That’s the inside scoop from my superiors. I’m just watching out for you, buddy. Besides, your old friend Romberg has already signed up.”

Allen’s blood turned to ice at those words. Of course she was involved in this. She was the gene therapy researcher. With her gargantuan lab and extensive network of collaborators, she could easily capitalize on this new “mystery technology.” It was already hard for researchers to compete with her, but with such an advantage there would be no way that a small start-up lab like Allen’s, could keep pace with her output. She was also savvy enough that, even if Allen could produce a novel spin on the whateverthingy-technique, she would probably beat him to a second publication.

“Also, Al,” Marcus added, “the bigwigs at the National Institute of Health and in my committee only wanted to hire Romberg’s group. I had to pull a lot of strings to get you this chance.”

Allen nodded in appreciation. “You’re a great friend, man. Send me the details and I’ll talk it over with Alishia tonight.”

“Not a problem, Al. I’ll talk to you soon.”

As the phone disconnected, Allen leaned back into his seat and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Alishia, his wife, was going to kill him.

* * *

Allen had had a rather hectic week. Convincing Alishia that joining the NIH’s oddly named “Project Poni” (since when did they start having code-named projects anyway? It was starting to sound more military-controlled by the day) was Allen’s wisest career move had taken several evenings after his talk with Marcus.

Of course, Allen could see why she was upset. When they had gotten married, Alishia had given up a promising career in engineering to follow him to the-middle-of-nowhere, Indiana when he started medical school. No doubt, she would have expected Allen to make a similar sacrifice to keep the family together—and rightfully so, Allen supposed. However, this “Project Poni” was an exception. Not only did his career depend on what new technology this project was developing, but, in an indirect manner, his family’s safety also hinged on the project.

Project Poni was an all-out arms race against the Red Plague.

The project was a surprising coalition between America, China, the EU, and Oceania to develop a vaccine for the new deadly virus. Considering the magnitude and brevity of the vaguely described research project, it was surprisingly easy for Allen to bargain for an unheard-of first year sabbatical from the Cleveland Clinic. He would be, after all, their representative in the largest international research effort in history. It was just like his old mentor’s mantra: success in science depends 20% on research and 80% on how you sell that research to reviewers.

Even after safeguarding his Cleveland Clinic salary and position, with a new modest salary bonus from the NIH, Alishia had still been resistant to the idea. Several things about the project had bothered her: the vague details of the project and goals, the oddly short timetable of the project, and the fact that Allen would be away for several months.

Alishia had always been more perceptive than Allen in the nuances of such issues, and he usually took her advice to heart before making decisions as dramatic as joining Project Poni. However, Allen was certain that this was the only action he could take. The project offered him career security and an opportunity to develop a vaccine or a treatment or whatever he was developing (Alishia did have a good point there, he supposed) for the most dangerous virus to emerge in history. Allen would be lying to himself if he couldn’t admit that he was curious as to how such an endeavor could incorporate a tangential field such as gene therapy.

It had taken several discussions, with Allen re-emphasizing that the project would be finished in 6 months—successfully or, more likely, not—before he could finally draw a reluctant acceptance from his wife.

The morning he left, his 11 year-old twin daughters cried the entire trip to the airport. This was the first time their dad would be gone for such a long time. The less rational part of Allen wanted to stay home with them. It had only been a few hours and he already missed his daughters.

Allen forced himself to think on the positives of the day. After all, today was definitely full of firsts. This was Allen’s first visit to the NIH headquarters in Bethesda, Maryland. He was involved in the first project at the NIH’s newest research building. This was also his first ride in an armored car with his first thorough secret service pat down… and his first stern-faced secret service chauffer.

However, it was definitely not the first time he had to share a ride with a certain Marcus Gunn that couldn’t stop talking long enough to catch his breath.

“So I’m looking at this new army recruit, and then back to his chewed up arm, which I might add, some genius didn’t think to pack in ice, and I ask him, ‘I guess you didn’t think to turn off that Humvee before “changing the oil,” eh?’” Marcus broke in a rather goofy grin, considering the topic, before continuing, “Turns out, Al, that his buddies thought turning on the Humvee while he was doing maintenance was a hell of a practical joke.”

Allen snorted and shook his head in despair. “So, tell me, are all the boys and girls in the army a wizard like that idiot and his friends? I’d like to know that our life, liberty, and pursuit of processed algae snack cakes are in capable hands.”

Marcus slapped his knee and started to laugh. Allen was a bit confused. He wasn’t trying to be funny. The sarcasm was exactly how he felt about the armed forces in general. “Al, my man. The stories I could tell! Actually, there was this one time a chucklehead had a pelvic purity ring that got caught in a…”

Allen continued to nod and shake his head as he let attention drift away from the conversation. It was nothing against Marcus, but he did have a tendency to talk without picking up cues that his audience could be less interested. Surgery, especially trauma surgery, was not that compelling to Allen. There was no puzzle to it, no moment of clarity when a diagnosis was reached. It was essentially all staple guns and cross stitching as far as he was concerned.

A few minutes later, the car was slowing as it approached a rather remarkable building. The building was massive, easily taking up a diameter of five city blocks. Its height was slightly less impressive, but it was difficult to gauge how many stories the building was tall due to its unique façade. Rounded chromed durasteel girders loosely spiraled around the exterior of the cylindrical structure, creating an image of a whirlwind or a vortex of some kind. The windows, tinted a perfectly reflective resplendent sapphire blue curved with the chrome girders, further adding to the illusion.

There was something about the coloring of this building that stood out in Allen’s mind. He noticed how perfectly it reflected the orange, smog-colored metropolitan sky. Instead of being orange, however, the windows’ reflected a bedazzling azure of a noontime day that so rarely appeared anymore. The clouds were likewise reflected in their pearly white majesty. As for the rounded girders, Allen had first thought those to be chrome, but they also did not reflect the sunburnt sky. Instead, they were painted, or perhaps, formed of some material that attempted to mimic the purity of the reflected clouds. It was a good attempt.

Still, the building seemed strangely out of place compared to the rustic multicolored concrete/steel architecture of the older buildings that surrounded it. It was the jewel of the Bethesda research park.

As they pulled into the expansive circle drive, Allen’s reverie broke enough that he realized Marcus had been uncharacteristically silent. Marcus’ face wore a calm scowl as he watched a group of Chinese Secret Service escort their scientists and politicians into the facility. Allen knew better than to antagonize the “patriot” so he let the silence hang until they too were being escorted towards the building.

The main entrance to the building proper was housed under the lip of the upper stories. As Allen and Marcus’ entourage passed by the support pillars, they entered a strong, steady breeze that blew across the path. Allen found himself commending the architects—the wind tunnel effect was a nice touch.

As they entered the expansive reception area, both he and Marcus could not help but to let out a low whistle. This place was ritzier than any hotel he had ever heard seen. The walls were made of a milky white marble, inset with golden trim and design flairs. The ceiling was a mosaic of art and colors that represented the various aspects of the life sciences, with, of course, their American heritage and history. Underfoot, he could feel the plush, exotic feel of the royal azure and scarlet carpet. Undoubtedly, this was America shamelessly flexing her cultural muscles for the world to admire.

The two men were escorted to one of the many reception desks in the large reception room. A well-built bellboy and a female receptionist greeted them. Oddly, the first thing that Marcus did was salute. Confused, Allen looked closer at two’s faces. Sure enough, there was a near invisible dimple above the left eyebrow on both the receptionist and the bellhop. The dimple was the processing portion of a subdural neural implant. It was really fascinating technology that was just becoming available to the consumer market. The chip synapsed with both the optic nerve and the frontal cortex, which gave the implantee a personal heads-up display that was controlled by decision impulses from the higher reasoning centers. When combined with the military channel worldwide wi-fi, military personnel could access classified information and receive orders on the fly in any region of the world. It had been military standard for more than a decade.

Using his own chip, Marcus had probably ID’d one of these two as a superior. The receptionist spoke evenly while glaring daggers at Marcus, “Dr. Gunn, at ease.”

Allen, their escorts, and several of the guests had been staring at Marcus. Seeing a military man in full formal attire saluting a receptionist was, well, awkward to say the least. At least no one listening seemed surprised that the staff was undercover military. Allen could not help but wonder if that would affect the quality of the food they’d be offering.

Marcus, albeit nervously, relaxed. The superior/receptionist, acting as if nothing had happened, passed a folder and a temporary ID badge to Marcus, “Dr. Gunn, here is your identification badge and itinerary for the day’s events. Will you be needing any lodging for tonight?”

“Ah, no… ma’am, I’ll be heading back to the base after this.”

“We hope that you enjoy your time at NIH Vortex Laboratories,” The receptionist replied with a lukewarm smile and an icy stare. Then, ignoring Marcus completely, she turned to Allen. “How can I help you today?”

“Allen McMurray, from the Cleveland Clinic. I should be on the list of assistant professors.” The receptionist made a show of looking up Allen’s information on the terminal, but they both knew that she had identified him moments after he had walked in the main door.

After “finding” his information, the receptionist produced a folder and a holographic ID badge. “Dr. McMurray, here is your itinerary and Vertex Laboratory Identification Badge. The details concerning your lodging and laboratory space are included with your itinerary. Your bags will be delivered to the apartment this afternoon. If you have any questions, please call the support number or return to the lobby.”

Allen thanked the pseudo-receptionist and walked with a stricken Marcus towards the conference room. Allen could not help himself. He said, “You know, Marcus, for being such a smart guy, you act really stupid sometimes.”

“Shut up, Al.”

* * *

Allen greedily loaded his third plate of fruit from one of the many hors d'oeuvres tables in the reception area outside of the main auditorium.

“Al, you better slow down, man. I really don’t want to take care of the mess if you get sick.” Marcus chided.

Between handfuls of pomegranate seeds Allen replied, “Do you know how hard it is to find most of these nowadays? I haven’t seen a pomegranate in a decade, and it’s been years since I’ve eaten a kiwi that wasn’t made from flavored, processed algae.”

“I can hear that, it’s been a while since I’ve had real bacon, too.” Marcus waived his bacon wrapped scallion to emphasize the point. “Still, man, you’ve only eaten fruit. I’m really starting to get worried that you have gone full blown hippie on me.”

Allen waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, c’mon, you know me better than that. I never really cared for meat at all, even at med school.”

“You still ate it though,” Marcus poked.

“Yeah, but that was because I didn’t know how to cook, and I was paranoid about protein deficiency after biochemistry.”

“Sure, sure. Hippy.”

Allen and Marcus stared at each other, both smirking for a few moments before laughing and heading out to mingle with the other guests. There were several famous scientists that caught Allen’s eye, particularly Dr. Chuang Tse, renowned for synthesizing the entire human genome from scratch, and Dr. Ben Jones who was a genius at developing and designing new proteins and cellular pathways. Those two were on the fast track for Nobel prizes.

Allen realized that, if Jones and Tse were recruited with Romberg, this project was not about developing a vaccine for the Red Plague Virus. The World Health Organization must be worried that a vaccine could not be produced by the coming winter. There was no other explanation for why they would resort to such a drastic measure like gene therapy, especially on the unheard of scale of chromosomes and pathways.

He did not have too much time to muse on this development. The welcoming and keynote presentations were to begin in a few minutes, and people were already filing into seats in the auditorium. Allen absent-mindedly followed the crowd into the expansive room. After taking a good look around, he decided that the place was simply too patriotic. Thick banners of red, white and blue hung limply on the walls and across the presenting stage. They clashed rather horribly with the mahogany paneled floors and seats. Wait. What the hell? Didn’t Mahogany go extinct 7 or 8 years ago? Where did they get the wood and why would they use such an awful combination?

Allen decided he didn’t want to think about it and took a seat in the scientist-specific section in the middle of the room. American and European military officers began seating themselves to the right of the scientists, and the Chinese military officials took up residence to the left. The two sides never glanced across the scientists to take note of the other. True to form, the scientists were fairly intermingled between Chinese and Westerners. For the most part, collegial attitudes between scientists still ignored patriotism. Even when they didn’t, one still read the competition’s papers and looked for every chance to pick their brain.

On stage, high-ranking diplomats began to fill chairs under their representative flags. In addition to the prominent USA and Chinese flags were the EU, Australia, Independent Korea, Japan, Oceana, and India. However, there was one flag that stood between America and China that Allen had never seen before, and underneath it was an ornate sky-blue/gold cushion instead of a chair. The flag had a field of sky blue, with a central black crescent pedestal supporting a golden orb. Six rays of gold radiated from golden orb to the edges. Within the golden orb were two… swordfish circling around a hexagon? Allen strained his eyes, but he could not make out the details of the coat of arms at all. The price of sitting in the back of the auditorium, he supposed.

Curious as to how long he would have to suffer through the proceedings, Allen opened the folder that the receptionist had given him and looked over the itinerary. There were to be 5 presenters. The first two were, of course, the Lady President and China’s Chairman of State. Following this would be a discussion on state of research into the Red Plague with the esteemed NIH director Tim Watson. The last two speakers were quite strange. The Keynote Speaker was a “Princess Celestia” representing Equestria? That was a strange name for a country, especially since he had never heard of it before. The last speaker, one “Twilight Sparkle,” a leading scientist of the same country, would be presenting details on Project Poni.

Equestria. Project Poni. Someone had a sense of humor.

The auditorium was nearly full. Allen decided to pull out his PEDA (Personal Everything Digital Assistant) and flip it open. After briefly moving his fingers across the touchscreen, the holographic emitters sputtered to life. In air above his lap a transparent screen and qwerty keyboard appeared. In a flurry of finger movements, Allen searched political and common databases looking for any history of the country called Equestria. Of course, the searches yielded a plethora of horseback racing legends and descriptions of parts of the USA, but there was no indication that any country of Equestria actually existed. Even a descriptive search of their flag turned up no results.

The lights in the auditorium began to dim slightly. With a wave of his hand, Allen dismissed the holographic terminal and put away his PEDA. Tim Watson, a wizened man easily in his seventies, walked onto the stage and to the podium.

After settling his notes and waving for silence, Dr. Watson began, his clear voice conveying the sharp intelligence of the NIH director, “Ladies and gentlemen, colleagues, military advisors, politicians, and,” he made a strange gesture to no-one in particular, “friends, I welcome you to the National Institute of Health Vortex Laboratories. It is an honor to be here today, in front of the world’s brightest and most innovative minds in medicine and the life sciences. For those of you who may not know me, I am the director of the NIH and will be serving as the master of ceremonies for today’s activities.

“Before I introduce our esteemed representatives of state and begin the proceedings proper, I wanted to take a moment to explain the mission of NIH Vortex Labs. The ‘Tex, as some of us have come to call it, represents an evolution of the average think tank. Unlike the traditional think tanks that either analyze data or attempt to craft new social policy, the Tex’s role is focused towards direct application. In the case of health, this application is the accelerated development of new medicines, vaccines, and diagnostics. I think that you will find, during your orientation later this afternoon, that we have spared no expense to create an environment that is capable of rapidly developing new treatments to answer any global health crises.

“And we are in the heart of a global health crisis today. The hemorrhagic Red Plague Virus has shown itself to be a tremendous threat to humanity. I will save the details for my talk later this morning, but suffice to say this virus has killed over 2 million Americans and 165 million people worldwide since its first victim some five months ago. Even with our best treatment modalities, we are still only able to save 20% of our patients, and most of the survivors suffer a shortened life due to severe organ damage.

“That is why we have called upon you, the brightest minds of the world to develop an ingenious way to protect against a disease for which no vaccine can be made and no treatment is effective.

“And on that note, I would like to introduce our esteemed dignitaries this evening.”

Allen mulled over what Dr. Watson implied about the vaccine development failure as the director introduced the diplomats. Interestingly enough, the mysterious Equestrian seat was not included in the introductions.

Allen groaned softly when Dr. Watson invited the Lady President to give a welcoming address. It was nothing against the President in particular. Allen hated politicians in general. They had charisma in spades and were usually intelligent enough to navigate the landmines of their career. However, they lacked either the will, wisdom, or simple vitriol to do anything to actually help the American people.

Added to the fact that each politician’s election campaign was “supported” by corporations and their interest groups, it was not surprising that the politicians did not help the people. If they betrayed their backers, who would support their re-election? Who would protect their fragile reputations from smear campaigns and the propaganda of their competitors who were often bought by the same goddamn companies. Their intelligence and charisma were wasted on progressing their own selfish careers. In some sense Allen could see why. Any politician who actually grew a backbone and tried to change the system was thoroughly disassembled by the press and the media. The political rebels always fell on the fast track to unemployment.

Because of this, Allen was not much surprised when the Lady President’s words were vague, fluffy, and weightless. Her entire speech was designed to bolster moral and to reinforce America’s greatness. Wonderful. Allen would have preferred to have his 30 minutes back for a quick nap.

The Chinese Chairman of State, however, was a bit more entertaining. China still retained elements of its communistic heritage. While they did allow for multiple party elections, the same people were invariably re-elected. Vladimir Putin would have been proud with the Chinese adoption of his post-communism model.

The first thing the chairman did was to make fun of America’s inability to handle such a simple matter as developing a vaccine for “a dainty little virus.” According to him, America was great at handling big things such as “this remarkably overcompensating shrine to science,” but the little things have always given them trouble. After thoroughly rebuking America, the chairmen went on to discuss the achievements of the Chinese people in last 50 years with special emphasis on the development of the first green Thorium Nuclear Reactor power plants and the laudable accomplishment of synthesizing the entire human genome from scratch. In closing, he urged his constituents to show the Americans the true genius and industry of the Chinese people. According to him, this vaccine will not be possible without the Chinese.

Allen did not agree with most of the things the chairman said. In his heart, he still believed that America had a better social system—at least Americans were not freedomless drones like the average Chinese citizen. Sustained innovation and discovery could not be forced, but had to evolve organically. Americans were just, for the most part, unemployed by artificial intelligences.

Still, he found the chairman’s speech much more entertaining than the Lady President’s. In particular, watching the pained, white-knuckle rage reactions from Marcus and his military goons to the chairman’s speech was well worth the price of admission. While Allen doubted this antagonizing would amount to anything, he secretly hoped that it would light a fire for more research and development funding for the academic sector.

Dr. Watson shook hands with the chairman as he took the podium. Arranging his notes, Dr. Watson began his presentation. “Please offer another round of applause to our esteemed guests for their thought provoking, and I’d say rather inspirational words.” Polite applause echoed throughout the hall and as it died down he continued, “While the holoprojectors are warming up, I want to take a moment to remind all of our collaborators that this is an international effort. The Red Plague is a severe threat to us all, especially to our neighbors,” Allen twitched involuntary when Dr. Watson forced that, “in Africa and Australia who are beginning their winter. Much like the flu, this virus seems to be rather seasonal and—oh, look at that! The projectors are up!”

On either side of the stage and in the center above the flags, bright holographic displays lit up with the director’s slide show. Dr. Watson clicked past a few different slides until he landed on a slide that displayed the Red plague infection hits throughout the world week by week since its discovery. Nodding in satisfaction, Dr. Watson turned, looked up at the audience and continued, “As I was saying, the virus appears to be seasonal and wintery much like the influenza virus. Suspicions were initially raised about the emergence of a new virus in early November when flocks of birds were found dead throughout the American Southwest. The Center for Disease Control, or CDC, in Atlanta immediately began processing specimens and tracking the distribution of the disease in birds. This should not be a surprise to anyone seated here after the historic West Nile Virus epidemic in 2003 and the Avian Flu epidemic of 2021.

“Before the CDC could get a handle on the nature of the virus, the first cases of a severe lower respiratory disease were documented in Los Angeles. The patients originally complained of fatigue, cough and a characteristic red eye symptom where blood vessels randomly break. The natural history of the disease was quickly found to begin with these symptoms before developing into a hemorrhagic, necrotic pneumonia. Between 24 and 36 hours after the onset of the pneumonia, small-scattered purple lesions developed throughout the skin of most patients, which was a consequence of systemic blood vessel rupture. At this stage of the disease, nearly all patients expire from systemic shock due to blood loss, disseminated intravascular coagulation, or acute organ failure.”

Watson paused, his excited and dramatic personality subdued by what he was about to say. “By the time we understood the natural history and the near 100% mortality rate of the virus, it was too late to institute an appropriate quarantine. From trans-pacific flights and bird migrations in the old and new worlds, the CDC and World Health Organization could not control the spread of the virus throughout Asia and Europe. With the best local quarantine measures available, causalities and infections were limited but still staggering. As of yesterday, roughly 165 million individuals have suffered from the disease worldwide. Of the 10,063 American cases only 97 individuals have survived the acute stages, and the overwhelming majority of these are suffering from chronic multiple organ failure. Mortality from organ failure complications and the initial disease combined are estimated to be around 99%.

“Folks, we may be looking death in the eye as a species. While we can hope that the virus mutates into a less virulent form, placing hope on that possibility is precarious at best, but foolishly lethal at worst. Even if the mortality rates turn out to be less severe than expected, economic and political collapse is a major concern, hence the investment of our esteemed guests and representatives in uniform.”

Dr. Watson, decidedly tired of being dour, continued to talk about the virus in great detail describing each facet of its understood biology with great enthusiasm, awe, and fascinated trepidation. The virus, appropriately named Red Plague Virus or RPV, was a segmented RNA virus like the flu and the notoriously hemorrhagic Hantavirus. From genetic studies performed at the CDC, it seemed that at some point a Hantavirus and influenza superinfection occurred in cattle or rodents in the American Southwest. The resultant virus from the mixing of viral genes became the first RPV.

Essentially the genomes of the flu and Hantavirus were shuffled like a deck of cards and the RPV got a royal flush in terms of infectivity and lethality. From the flu, RPV inherited the ability to infect via coughs, sneezes, and saliva. Hantavirus gave it the ability to invade and destroy blood vessels, leading to the red eye, hemorrhagic pneumonia, and eventual organ failure. Nature had truly an elegantly efficient virus. For now though, birds and cattle were suffering far worse than humans.

Dr. Watson had gone over his allocated time limit by five minutes, but no one had complained. This was his program, after all, and at least he was entertaining. At some point he decided to wrap up his talk and said, “Now, I need to leave time for our two most important guests of the evening. I’m sure you have questions regarding their rather unique names and country of origin, but they’ll be the ones to address that.

“Before I turn it over, I want to re-emphasize two key points from my presentation. First, attempts to propagate RPV for a live vaccine or to establish an efficacious protein vaccine have proven fruitless. Despite their best efforts, the CDC and World Health Organization Vaccine Task Force have been remarkably unsuccessful in making a vaccine for distribution. Additionally, NIH efforts to improve palliative care for hemorrhage and organ failure as well as new medicinal antivirals have also shown little success. Second, we need a plan B, since failure of our usual methods may cost our civilization its very existence.

Dr. Watson was working himself up like a conductor at the end of a grand symphony. As he chose his next words, his hand flowed with his voice, and Allen could feel himself captured by the emotion of the moment, “The plan B that we are proposing is not popular in the NIH or between our collaborative countries. It is a last ditch effort to save us in case our vaccines and treatments fail. It is gene therapy on a scale hitherto thought unimaginable. It will undoubtedly strike the greatest ethical debate in our brief existence as a species. It will create a means to change ourselves so that the virus cannot infect us and will not destroy us.”

The crowd sat in silence for a moment, stunned at the bravado of the words and the impossible mission of the maiden project of the Vortex Laboratories. Then, slowly but building, members of the audience stood, and a thunderous crescendo of applause roared throughout the hall. Even if the project sounded impossible and even though it would likely never take off in the public perception, Allen found himself hoping and trusting that the NIH director was right.

Allen never implicitly trusted anyone. It was a scary feeling, but he hoped with all his might that Dr. Watson was right and they could do the impossible in six short months.

Dr. Watson waved for silence and for everyone to be seated. After he deemed the auditorium quiet enough, he began to speak in his more regular master of ceremony voice, “And with that, I would like to introduce our keynote speaker for the morning. She is the head of state of an aptly named country called Equestria. Beyond that, I believe the rest of the introduction is best left to her majesty, Princess Celestia of Equestria!”

Allen was expecting something strange based on the names Project Poni and Equestria? When he heard soft clicking behind the curtains of the stage he thought for sure it would be some strange foreigner on a horse.

The truth was more to take in than he and, gauging by the collective gasp, the audience expected. Before them, in front of the other dignitaries stood an alabaster unicorn with large unfurled alabastor wings. Her mane and tail, colored in greens and blues of the ocean with a wave of pearly pink, seemed to flow in an invisible wind and sparkle like sunlight reflecting off of the sea. Upon her head, breast, and hooves she wore simple gem encrusted golden jewelry. On her flank was a strange tattoo. Allen’s best guess was that it was an Aztec sun symbol, but he was not sure why a princess would display such a thing in public.

Allen’s mind was racing. Was this a practical joke—Allen wouldn’t put it past a character such as Dr. Watson—or was this equine princess actually the princess of a country? Were they aliens? Unlikely, he supposed. Why would aliens have need for an obviously equine form? If they were native to Earth, how did humanity not know of them? Surely they would have left some archeological evidence of existence.

Looking around the room, Allen saw Marcus’ face reflecting confusion and a sense of betrayal and fear. Allen’s own feelings about the situation were fairly mixed. This was going to be an interesting speech at least.

Looking back towards the stage and the princess again, he inadvertently locked eyes with the princess. It was only for a fraction of a second, but that time seemed to stretch for minutes. Those magenta eyes were impossibly old, and the wisdom of generations served to hone her gentle gaze. Her gaze and posture conveyed a sense of both regality and compassion. She stood patiently in the awkward silence, allowing her audience to adjust to her extraordinary presence.

There is a magic moment in beginning speeches. A time where the presenter has given their audience enough time to settle and prepare themselves but has not allowed them to become restless in boredom or anticipation. Princess Celestia effortlessly found that perfect moment and began to speak, her elegantly soft voice reinforcing Allen’s perception of her nature. Without aid of microphones or speakers, her voice filled the hall with its almost musical tone. “A most wonderful morning to you all, my sapient brethren. It is an honor to have this opportunity to meet with the greatest minds of the human species. Truly, humanity has progressed significantly since my kind’s self-imposed isolation began over three thousand years ago.”

A gentle, yet reassuring smile spread across her muzzle. “I am sure you have many questions regarding myself and how we came to be involved with the international effort to aid your species. I will do my best to answer these in the time we share together this morning, but I must ask for your patience. The history of humans and equines is long and poetic, but I am afraid I will need to omit most of the truly eloquent and moving stories for time’s sake.

“According to our ancient oral legends that were passed from generation to generation before being committed to scroll and book some two thousand years ago, humans and sentient equines discovered each other near the end of the last great ice age. An ancestor of mine, Snowfall, the elder alicorn—that is, a pony with both a unicorn’s horn and a pegasus’ wings,” Celestia wiggled the tips of her wings before folding them on her back, “saw that the resourceful humans were running out of food to scavenge and hunt. Indeed, the ice and snow had lasted long enough that there were no longer any fruit bearing trees or animals that the humans could hunt. Taking pity on humans who were unable to sustain themselves on the frozen grasses under the snow, Snowfall entered their camp. Surprised and elated at the good fortune of food wandering to their camp, the humans thanked their gods and surrounded the elder alicorn with their spears. However, before their spears could strike her, Snowfall consumed herself and the camp in a magical fire. The fire warmed the shivering bodies and hearts of the humans and melted the snow beneath their feet.

“When the magical flames dissipated, Snowfall was gone—her existence used to fuel the magical flames—but the fields and forests for as far as the eye could see were verdant, bearing fruits of all kinds. The humans, amazed at the wonder that had graced them, tossed aside their weapons in celebration and thanksgiving. Cautiously, the other ponies approached the human settlement to pay their respects to their elder. The humans welcomed them. Both equines and humans ate well for the first time in months thanks to the sacrifice of Snowfall.

“So began the long and verdant relationship of humans and ponykind. For the most part, humans and ponies maintained a pleasant relationship that was necessarily distant due to the inability of our species to effectively communicate.

“However as time went by, humans began to lose touch with their environment and the species they depended on for food, clothing, and companionship. After discovering how to tame the land with agriculture and domesticate the wild species they relied on to support their burgeoning populations, humans began to create more useful tools to protect their fledgling cities from famine and war. While those of us alive now may consider those weapons and tools crude by today’s standards, they were true marvels in the eyes of my people and the humans who made them. In such a short period, humans had gone from a species struggling to survive to master artificers that could control the world around them.

“Truly, the magic of humans is your ability to craft machines to ease the burdens of life.” Celestia paused in thoughtful silence for a moment. Allen shook his head and stretched as if waking from a dream. He and the rest of the audience had been entranced by the princesses’ story. Even Marcus was lost in quiet contemplation. The break in her story did not last very long, however, and the princesses’ words drew his attention back to her.

“Unfortunately, all eras must end, and the era of peaceful coexistence between humans and ponies was no exception. As humans began to exhibit control over more and more of their world, a dangerous ideology spread throughout the human civilizations. The leaders of the city-states believed that humankind was granted divine stewardship over the land, sea, and all of its inhabitants. As a consequence, humans began to capture and breed into servitude and ignorance our cousins: donkeys, oxen, swine, and horses. Out of fear, we hid ourselves in secluded vales and woods to hide from humanity’s sight.

“In retrospect, that was a foalish idea. Humans were quick to forget about the benevolent, intelligent equines and when they would stumble into our herds, they found us fantastical and frightful. In time, human crusades developed against species that were intelligent and enigmatic. It started as sport among the elite of the human nations, but it quickly became a supported routing of the ‘demons in the forest.’

“So, the ancient Equestrians left their homestead and traveled around the world for a hundred years, searching for a place to call their own. In our journeys we saw that the same fate was befalling many of the other sentient species. Humankind, it appeared, had universally grown frightened of any species it could not bring under its control.

“Eventually we did fine a suitable place to live. An island continent untouched and unknown by humanity,” the princess said as she walked behind the podium for the first time in her speech. A beautiful aura sparked into being from the base of her horn and flowed to the tip. A golden reflection on her alabaster coat indicated that the podium’s screen was also covered in an aura. The holographic projectors hummed to life and showed a live satellite feed of the Pacific Ocean. Except now the ocean had a landmass similar in size to Australia resting between the doldrums and northern latitudes in the North Pacific. It was surprisingly close to Hawaii.

“Once we were settled, we sent our best alicorns, pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies to gather the other intelligent species that were being persecuted. Only a few returned, but they brought with them the warrior-like gryphons, the shamanistic zebras, the long-lived European dragons, the mighty minotaurs and centaurs, and the remnants of the other sentient hooved species. However, for every species that answered our calls, many more were never heard from.

“Eventually, we could not wait any longer. Three generations of my family weaved their life magic together to create the two barriers that have protected our island for over three thousand years. The first barrier was designed to prevent the island from intrusion from humans or their machines. The second barrier masked our presence from the world.

“For thousands of years, we watched the world change as humanity grew and evolved, and, as humanity changed, so did we. Ponykind learned from humans. Earth ponies’ natural empathetic abilities allowed them to develop skills and tools to cultivate food and establish a mercantile system to support our growing country. The pegasi’s dominance of the clouds and factories based on the industrial revolution gave us control over the weather and seasons. Lastly, the unicorn’s mystical abilities and natural curiosity allowed us to unlock many of the secrets of nature to understand the workings of reality.

“Of course, humanity was always the true innovative genius in the animal kingdom. Throughout history they have developed technology and explored fields of science that continually leave us in awe and amazement.

“Ponykind, on the other hoof,” Celestia covered her mouth to conceal a giggle. The audience nervously chuckled with her. “I apologize, I was trying to give my entire speech without using any equine expressions, but, alas, it appears the alfalfa’s gone sour!”

Allen didn’t even know what that meant, but he still laughed regardless. A handful of others also thought it was funny. Apparently the princess had a lighter side to her after all.

“It also appears that my time is about up. Let me finish by saying that, despite learning how to control nature, ponykind tends to respect nature and has consistently refused to abuse our power over it. While the technology and science exist to build factories and mega-farms, most ponies find satisfaction in using their own hooves to till the soil, harvest their crops, and create their artisan marvels. Ponies understand that we are a part of nature and cannot separate our livelihood from the earth and sky. Besides being herbivores, our outlook on technology is perhaps the largest distinction between equines and humans today.

“As I mentioned earlier, we have waited in isolation until human culture was accepting enough to welcome us as equals in your rich international community.” Celestia closed her eyes briefly and then opened them to look over the crowd. “I only wish we could have waited for that day. My sister, Princess Luna, and I saw the suffering that the Red Plague has already caused and, most undoubtedly, will cause. After conferring with the elected Equestrian High Council, we reached a unanimous decision. Human suffering would be too great if we passively watched the Red Plague sweep the world. Equestrians will therefore offer our magical abilities to be used with human ingenuity and engineering to develop a vaccine and a cure for this awful disease.

“Acting with this intention, we deactivated our ancient cloaking shield and met with the international community’s heads of state.” Princess Celestia’s voice was still soft and kind, but undercurrents of hope and expectation were building in her tone. “Today, I come before you, the most enlightened individuals of your age; the best of humanity. Will you level your spears at me like your ancestors did to Snowfall? Or will you accept me and my people as friends and equals?”

A pause followed by a slow crescendo of applause was her answer. It was significantly more subdued compared to the response Dr. Watson received, but that was human nature, Allen supposed. The people gathered at the hall knew that their lives were in danger of the red plague and were willing to not look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. Even Allen, who held fairly liberal views, had a difficult time trusting that the princess did not have an ulterior motive such as revenge, which would be appropriate if the tale of her species’ history was true.

As Celestia made a regal bow and took a seat on the cushion under flag, Allen saw, for the briefest of moments, a somber, but hopeful expression in her otherwise serene demeanor.

Allen sat in quiet contemplation. Celestia seemed to appreciate and take hope in humanity’s openness to her story and proposal. However, in Allen’s opinion, she had to understand that her audience would be guarded against such an altruistic offer. It was human nature, after all. Perhaps, in Celestia’s mind, humans were willing to stay their spears, but were not yet ready to embrace her kind as equals. Ponies would be the tools to humanity’s salvation.

* * *

There was something strange about the last presenter of the morning. Twilight Sparkle was a lavender-colored unicorn mare with a darker hued mane. From Dr. Watson’s impressive introduction, Allen would have assumed that she was a rare polymath since she had written treatises in the fields of astronomy, anatomy, physics, chemistry, biology, sociology, and, albeit more dubiously, magic. She had trained under the brightest minds in Equestria and was held to be one of the greatest thinkers of her generation.

That was very high praise, especially coming from a research paragon such as Dr. Watson. Allen and the other scientists, true to their training and nature, expected to see an extraordinary set of presentations from the nervous mare. If she turned out to be anything less than a polymath savant, her audience would be picking their teeth with the bones of her research and academic ambitions.

Needless to say, Allen was expecting some light entertainment before lunch.

The beginning of Twilights first presentation of two was less than inspiring. The mare was visibly shaking and stuttering from nerves like she was a first year graduate student. When Twilight began to meekly introduce her research topic, she got distracted with attempting to bring her presentation up on the holoprojectors. As she grew more frustrated, her voice descended from softly stuttering to an incoherent mumble at her notes. Allen could see panic start to creep into her expression. He was waiting on the tears to flow.

The tears never came. Instead, Twilight closed her eyes for a moment, calmly removed her scarlet horn-rimmed reading glasses, and judiciously slammed a forehoof onto the podium. The resultant boom stunned the snickering audience into silence as the holoprojectors came online with her presentation.

Without missing a beat, Twilight launched herself into her first presentation. Allen could not believe his eyes. She quickly regained her composure and soon the purple unicorn’s voice commanded a confidence that could only be born of years of lectures and presentations. He found himself listening intently, quickly forgetting his initial misgivings.

Her presentation started with a simple demonstration. She asked if the audience believed in magic. That question was answered with bellicose laughter from the audience. A ruby light enveloped her horn, and she disappeared from the stage. A heartbeat later, a group of scientists in the back row jumped and yelled in surprise. Twilight Sparkle had appeared behind the scientists. Once they had settled down, she asked for two volunteers and teleported them and herself back onto the stage. Twilight explained that she understood if people thought her magic was a simple parlor trick as that is the only magic humans know. As she levitated the two volunteers, both of which were enveloped in a red aura, back to their seats, she said that such magic is commonplace in Equestria, and deserves a proper scientific explanation for its origin.

For the past four years, Twilight had been attempting to understand how a unicorn could produce magic from the nervous system that weaved through their horns. She was quick to emphasize that, while Equestrian understanding of the brain drew largely from humanity’s, equine neurology still lagged considerably behind modern human science. Regardless, the work she had done in those years was impressive. Between her and her assistant, they have mapped several of the nerves in a unicorn’s richly innervated horn to specific regions of the brain and had done rudimentary characterization of the unusual chemicals released by the horn nerves. She ended her presentation by providing a prototype mechanism for how the unicorn brain could manipulate the world through magic.

For the most part, the data and interpretation was meticulously done, almost neurotically. While Allen could not vouch for the research’s validity since neurology and…magic…were well outside his field, he did find that the prototype mechanism was too far-fetched. Twilight had studied anatomy and chemistry here, but she believed that somehow, a unicorns horn could, through hand waved quantum physics, manipulate the world. Based on her research so far, Allen thought it was ludicrous and naïve to make such a leap in hypothesis.

Apparently others thought the same. When Twilight invited the audience to ask questions, a man instantly stood up. Allen recognized him as he was one of Rose Romberg’s pet PhDs. He started, “Dr. Sparkle—“

“Actually, it’s just Twilight Sparkle,” she rebuked kindly. “We don’t have the formal graduate education that humankind has developed. Ponies that enjoy academic pursuits in Equestria tend to join universities for self-education or a career. We really don’t hand out honors or anything like that.”

“Ah, my mistake.” The man coughed nervously. “At any rate, I was curious why you thought that Quantum Mechanics could explain some of the connection between neural physiology and the materialization of magic?”

Allen sighed a little that a geneticist was asking this question instead of a neurologist, but at least it was asked. To Allen’s great surprise, Twilight took the question at face value saying, “That’s a great question! I know there is much work left to be done before my model can be fully tested—especially since we are still trying to understand the unique neuroanatomy of our horns—but for now I consider this a highly organized flowchart of what needs to be studied to fully understand how unicorn magic works. Granted this is mostly conjecture as appropriate experiments to test quantuam mechanics in generating magic are very difficult to design, but I hypothesize that quantuam mechanics are necessary for the…” Twilight then proceeded to describe her hypothesis in a detail that Allen and, presumably, Romberg’s post-doctoral fellow could not follow. Several neurologists and, based on their questions, physicists asked Twilight follow up questions. While her answers seemed to satisfy the researchers’ concerns on her model, without hard data the model simply was not sold.

By far her discussions with neurologists on neuroanatomy and brain chemistry were much better received. Many were excitedly discussing if similar, but functionally different, pathways could exist in humans. If so, what would their function be? Obviously it would not be “magic.”

The last person to stand up and ask a question was a Chinese researcher in the front row. Indigently, he rapid-fired a question in mandarin to Twilight. Before the last syllable left his lips, she had already started replying in mandarin back to him. Several Chinese military officers broke their stoic façade and yelled in surprise. American researchers and military personnel burst into laughter as they applauded the lavender unicorn. Eventually, the entire audience was clapping and laughing, even the Chinese!

Twilight, for her part, blushed immensely and motioned for the audience to settle down. Allen whistled softly to himself. It was difficult to give a presentation to some of the most respected scientists in the world. An amateur presentation would be destroyed. While her research was interesting and her model a bit far-fetched, Twilight had still earned the begrudging respect from hardened researchers. That is no small feat. Allen, for one, was ready to hear what she had planned for this “Project Poni.”

Once silence had finally fallen, Twilight began, “Now, onto what we have all been waiting for—the details on Project Poni! Before we begin, I wanted to reiterate a few things and to make a minor apology.” Twilight organized her note cards and levitated her glasses back onto her muzzle, “Don’t worry, this will be brief.

“I wanted to first apologize for how vague the project description was that you received. Until right now, the details on the project were held in confidence between our countries and their head health representatives. I was told by the American President and the Chinese Chairman to reemphasize that the contracts you signed prevent you from discussing anything you learn or discover here at Vortex Laboratories to any non-Vortex employee until precisely 12:15pm Friday, May 19. That means, for the next two weeks, you cannot mention any research or, more importantly, the existence of Equestria or us Equestrians until our public announcement at that time.

“There’s also a list of incarceration parameters and fines involved if anypony was silly enough to do that, but I don’t imagine that’ll be a problem.”

Ah, the wonders of government work. Allen must have glazed over that clause when he signed the paperwork a few days ago. A few groans from the audience meant he was not alone.

Twilight smiled, “Don’t worry about that, my friends. Two weeks will pass in a flash. Besides, it’ll give us time to learn from one another. As part of Project Poni, each laboratory will be assigned a pony scientist from one of the great Equestrian Universities.” With a flash of her horn, the holoprojectors revealed another, smaller auditorium that was filled with ponies! Ponies in all shapes and colors waved at the monitors and stamped their hooves in excited applause.

“We hope that you’ll take this opportunity to learn about us equines as we look forward to learning more about your diverse cultures.

“Now, onto the project itself,” Twilight said as she ignored the hushed murmurs in the human audience. “As Dr. Waston eloquently stated in his presentation, the goal of Project Poni is to prevent infections from and to design a treatment for the Red Plague, which is most likely fatal to humans otherwise. Current treatments cannot cure the illness and the virus eludes our collective abilities to study it to make a vaccine.

“The solution to this conundrum was discussed at length between our heads of state and our highest ranking government scientists.” For the first time in her presentations, Twilight left the podium and began to pace at the edge of the stage. “For several days we debated the best way to research a cure. Eventually we discarded all options save one, and it was not a popular option, even among Equestrians. However, it alone would be able to both prevent and cure the Red Plague. I use the word cure literally. Treatment implies that it may not eliminate the disease.”

Twilight stopped pacing and looked out into the crowd. “I reemphasize that we, humans and ponies, do not know how this virus works, where it invades, or how it gets into human cells. If we had years to study it, then such a drastic procedure would not be necessary. Furthermore, we know that, through some uncertain mechanism, equines are immune to this disease.

“The NIH, CDC, World Health Organization, Chinese Research Commission, and the Equestrian High Council of Science and Technology all agree that, in lieu of a vaccine, the best way to save humanity is to create a gene therapy cure that will transform humans into ponies.”

Twilight’s words hung in the air as she faced the crowd solemnly. Allen looked to the Lady President and the other heads of state. They were all somber, even Celestia. As the shock of her words faded, the audience began to argue amongst themselves and gesture at the stage.

As people around him yelled and debated with each other, Allen sunk melancholically into his chair. When he saw Dr. Tse and Jones, he knew something strange was going on, but he never thought that Project Poni would be this ridiculously ambitious. After over a half century of dedicated research into the gene therapy, science was just about to cure simple one gene genetic mutations in people. In six short months, the heads of government thought that they could jump from that to radically changing humans into ponies. It was pure science fiction fantasy at best, a deluded pipedream of a doomed species at worst.

Perhaps, Allen mused, a pipedream is still something. The human spirit was strong, and, if history was any indication, humans were diehard survivalists. Even if 99% of the human race were annihilated by the plague, the remainders would strive on and rebuild. This Project Poni would be humanity’s defiant stand to save as many lives as they could. If it failed, it would still be a heroic effort that symbolized humanity’s unwillingness to succumb silently to the nature’s whims of extinction. Allen, at the least, felt proud to be a part of that effort.

Yet, if it worked…. Allen felt mixed emotions at the thought. So many more lives could be saved, and, if enough were turned into ponies, perhaps that would allow for some “herd immunity” protection for the rest of the humans. Still, he could not imagine anyone willing to trade their humanity, something that defined their very existence, for a vaccine. If he or his family were dying of the Red Plague, however, perhaps then a cure would be worth the effort.

While Allen sat pensively, the audience had slowly become quieter, likely with calm urging from the stage. After the people in front of him finally sat down, Allen saw Dr. Watson standing beside Twilight. They had both been waiting patiently, painfully, while they let the audience’s undoubtedly anticipated reaction calm down.

Eventually everyone had sat down, except one American soldier in formal blues, one man that Allen knew very well, a man that was going to allow a testosterone-driven rage to guide his judgment instead of reason.

“Major Marcus Gunn, MD, United States Army. Requesting permission to speak freely.”

Dr. Watson replied cordially, “This is an open science forum, sir. Your opinions are your own and should not reflect on your peers or country.” He looked at the Lady President for confirmation, and she nodded her head in agreement.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He relaxed from his at-attention stance after saluting the president. “I believe that I speak for the majority of people in this room when I say that, proposing to turn people into horses to treat a disease, is an insult to humanity and an abomination of ethics! Are we really supposed to believe that this is the best and only option to deal with this virus?”

Twilight opened her mouth to protest, but Dr. Watson gently placed his hand on her head to quiet her. This was an intra-human concern after all. “First, Dr. Gunn, these beings are ponies, and calling them otherwise could be misconstrued as offensive,” he rebuked kindly. “Second, I need to remind you that this decision was not made lightly by the international research commission. Twilight will be discussing several other options and their critical shortcomings later—”

“This is the definition of unethical!” Marcus shouted. “This cure as you call it will strip people of their humanity. We’ll be essentially killing who they are at the very core of their identity. We don’t have the right to do this to people! What right do we have to play God?”

Soft applause reinforced his argument from many areas of the auditorium. Allen regarded Marcus coolly, but he could understand Marcus’ argument from an ethical perspective.

“I understand your argument, Dr. Gunn. In my earlier talk I mentioned that this would cause the greatest ethical debate in history, and I was not being dramatic in saying so. While I am not a physician, I do believe there is part of your oath that you should consider, ‘I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick.’

“Dr. Gunn, if a single parent with three children caught the plague, are you saying that he or she should rather die with human dignity instead of living? I’ll grant you, it won’t be a human existence, but at least it is a life!”

Marcus was fuming. “That is not what I am suggesting! Why are we even considering this when we should be throwing all of these resources and money at making a treatment or, better, a vaccine?”

All eyes were on the stage. Watson and Twilight locked eyes and nodded in agreement. With a flash of her horn, the holoprojectors sped through Twilight’s presentation and stopped at a simple bar graph. The bar representing the cost of vaccine and therapy research covered the range of the scale. The cost of Project Poni was insignificant in comparison.

“Since we realized the devastating potential of the virus four months ago,” Watson explained, “the international community has spent this much money pushing for a vaccine or a therapeutic. We expect the amount spent to triple by the beginning of winter. Project Poni, on the other hand, has the estimated total cost seen here. The cost of this building was not factored since construction started before the conception of Project Poni. Dr. Gunn, the resources provided to Project Poni, while impressive, are insignificant compared to the vaccine research.

Dr. Watson clasped his hand solemnly in front of him. “None of us want this project to be necessary. I would rather see a vaccine made, but as time goes on and no progress is made, it would be foolish to not attempt the impossible when the possible will likely fail.

“As a single father of three, I won’t watch my children and grandchildren die from the plague because we were too dogmatic to consider non-traditional alternatives. A life as a pony is better than a needless death as a human.”

Author's Note

Author’s Notes and Glossary for Chapter 1

Real-Life Terms and Organizations:

CDC: Center for Disease Control and Prevention, headquartered in Atlanta, Georgia. This organization is tasked with prevention, education, and study of infectious and noninfectious diseases. One of its many responsibilities is the tracking/monitoring of disease throughout America and the world. Up-to-date information on nearly every disease is available for free on their website:

NIH: The National Institute of Health, headquartered in Bethesda, Maryland is a USA government agency that is tasked with conducting biomedical research. In addition to funding federally supported scientific research, it is one of the largest research grant providers to academic research in universities and non-for-profit research organizations throughout America.

WHO: The World Health Organization is a United Nations agency located in Geneva. It fulfills many of the same roles as the CDC, but has an international jurisdiction and audience. The WHO routinely monitors influenza outbreaks and recommends how the yearly flu vaccine should be formulated. The WHO also plays a large role in education and promoting health care in developing countries as well as assessing the state of healthcare worldwide.

Influenza Virus: The cause of the common flu. It is an orthomyxovirus, a RNA virus that has a segmented genome with 7 RNA molecules. The virus is very difficult to eradicate as it also infects birds and other animals. The virus also has a high mutation rate which is why the WHO recommends new vaccine formulations year to year. Swine (aka H1N1) and Spanish flus were forms of pandemic influenza outbreaks in the past.

Hantavirus: A RNA virus with properties similar to orthomyxoviruses (namely that is has a segmented genome with 3 RNA molecules. Most viruses only have one RNA or DNA molecule). Originally discovered in Korea, this virus is also found in the American Southwest. Inhalation of rodent feces containing the virus can cause “Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome” which is hemorrhagic and 60% fatal. Non-pulmonary forms can cause kidney failure.

PhD: Doctor of Philosophy. Most academic fields provide PhDs as graduate level training. In science, PhD students are required to work under a principle investigator for 3-7 years to learn how to conduct scientific research and present their findings in form of presentations, research proposal grants, and written peer-reviewed scientific literature. The capstone of PhD training is to defend one’s research accomplishments against peer review by faculty and other PhDs in the form of a dissertation defense.

Post-Docs: A recent science PhD graduate that wishes to pursue a career in academic research will often apply to for a Post-Doctoral Fellowship. Colloquially called Post-Docs, these PhDs train for an additional few years under a new principal investigator to further develop grant writing, publication, and laboratory skills. A PhD holder typically, but not necessarily, does 1 or 2 post-doctoral fellowships following PhD training.

MD/PhD Training Programs (USA): NIH funded programs called MSTP (Medical Scientist Training Programs). These programs are designed to produce physician researchers that understand both science and medicine to facilitate medical advances. The program consists of 4 years of paid medical school and 2-5 years of PhD studies. Following this, MD/PhDs can pursue a post-doctoral fellowship or a medical residency followed by an optional medical fellowship. It can take 9-15 years from the start of a MD/PhD program to becoming a principle investigator. MD/PhDs have all the rights and responsibilities of a medical doctor if they complete a medical residency after graduation.

Principle Investigator or PI: A term that denotes the PhD or MD that leads a science research laboratory. The PI is responsible for obtaining grant funding that pays for the personnel and expenses of the lab. They lead the lab and provide direction for research.

Notes on Fictional Characters and Elements:

Tim Watson: In this story, he is the great-grandnephew of the famous James Watson, the co-discover of the structure of DNA and director of the NIH-sponsored Human Genome Project. While Tim has approached his great uncle’s fame in the science community, he remains relatively unknown to the lay community.

Military Funding of the NIH: The NIH is an American government agency that funds biomedical research at government, academic, and non-for profit research centers. Marcus admits that Project Poni is being funded, at least in part, by the military, which is highly unusual.

Red Plague Virus: It is unlikely that a virus like this will ever develop in real life as shuffling between Hantavirus and Influenza would be a very rare, likely impossible, occurrence. However, the influenza virus, the cause of the common flu, often shuffles its seven RNA molecules with other influenza viruses. This shuffling or “Antigenic Shift” is one of the principle mechanisms for the creation of flu pandemics such as the Spanish Flu of 1918, Swine Flu of 2009, and the potential future epidemic of Avian Flu. The other evolutionary mechanism of the flu virus is “Antigenic Drift” or DNA mutations during its highly error prone replication cycle. The Red Plague Virus is still capable of both of these forms of genetic change, which further complicates vaccine and drug development endeavors.

Equestria: Equestria is a natural content of Earth in the Northern Pacific Ocean. About 3,000 years ago, it became a bastion of hope for the other intelligent species when humans began to spread and assert dominance over the known world. Since then, two spell shields have been erected. The first is a durable shield that prevents the entrance of humans, other intelligent apes, and their machines. The second was a cloaking shield, which has recently been disabled. Natives born to Equestria are called "Equestrians." Their currency is the "bit" and their status as a foreign power is quickly recognized and accepted by the UN, EU, China and the USA.

Author’s Disclaimer:

This is intended to be a work of fanfiction. While effort has been made to give this work a sense of realism with regard to the inner workings of science and medicine, it is not meant to represent the full spectrum of either field. Several aspects have been simplified or modified for story telling.

Of course, these characters are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is a coincidence. All characters and references from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic are property of Hasbro and Lauran Faust.

Special thanks to The Conversion Bureau community for their excellent and inspirational works of fan-fiction. A specific thanks goes to Windchaser as his story, Last Man Standing, provided the inspiration and the baseline setting for the creation of this story.