Yeltsin, Pinkie, and the Long Road to Petersburg

Location: Горки-9 Presidential Dacha, Barvikha, Moscow Oblast, Russian Federation

Date: July 12th, 1996

Time: 9:00 PM

“But how do we know that this will get us back to Equestria?” Twilight called into Yeltsin’s bedroom from the office.

“Look, I already told you, we can’t be completely sure, but at this point you’ve got nothing to lose,” president Yeltsin said as he emerged from his bedroom carrying a stack of folded blankets. “Me, I think it’s worth a shot. Gennady Zyuganov’s ‘source’ somehow knew very specific things about you three… Stands to reason that this mystery guest of his might also have a good idea about how to get you back to your Ponyville.”

“Zooganzo didn’t tell you anything about his friend?” Pinkie asked as Boris Yeltsin set the blankets down on his desk.

“Like I said before,” Yeltsin said to Pinkie Pie, “he claimed that he couldn’t say a word about his know-it-all comrade. He was really insistent about that. I guess we’ll have to wait until we get to Petersburg to find out.”

The Russian president began stuffing the blankets and pillows that sat on his desk into a large laundry bag that he had earlier procured from his bedroom, occasionally peering out the windows by the desk to see if anyone was looking in from the outside.

“Um, Mr. Boris… how long is this trip going to take, anyway?” Fluttershy asked as she approached the president from behind.

“Mmh… about ten hours,” was Yeltsin’s reply.

“Ten hours?” the ponies asked in unison.

“Hey, what do you want? Russia is a big place. You’re lucky that we’re only going to Petersburg. Imagine if Zyuganov had us go all the way to Vladivostok... Besides, it’s ten hours with traffic and speed limits. The roads will be clear at the ungodly time of night we’ll be driving, so we can probably cut it down to eight. Maybe even seven if I really floor it.”

As Yeltsin continued to pack the laundry bag, Twilight began pacing the length of the room, avoiding the array of books that littered the office floor.

“I still can’t believe that the other guy on the phone knew about our pets…” Twilight pondered aloud to her friends. “He even knew Gummy’s name! But how?”

“Maybe Zooganzo’s new friend knows because he’s been to Equestria before,” Pinkie hypothesized. “You know, in some freak accident like the one that brought us to Mr. Boris’s office.”

“Or maybe one of our friends from back home ended up in Russia like we did,” Fluttershy said as she hovered behind Twilight. “What if it wasn’t just our spell that went wrong… What if a bunch of other ponies had the same thing happen to them?”

“But what are the chances of them coming out of a magical misfire and running into someone that knows Boris?” Twilight asked. “It makes you wonder if-”

“Oh blyad’...” Yeltsin growled from the other side of the room, cutting off Twilight, who turned to face the politician by the window.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Boris?” Pinkie asked.

Yeltsin had one hand on his hip and another on his forehead. He stared blindly ahead out the window as he shook his head.

“My car… How could I have been so stupid?” Yeltsin spat. “I can’t just up and leave. If I take my car… or any of the state cars on the property… The guards will see that it’s missing and know that I took off. They’ll come after me. Or they’ll organize a search. Because they still think that I’m off my rocker. The last thing that I need is to make headlines again as the subject of a federal manhunt.”

Yetsin turned abruptly to face the three ponies in his office. His brow wrinkled in frustration as he stormed over and sat on the edge of his desk.

“Now that you mention it,” Twilight began with a raised brow, “whether we take your car or not, isn’t somebody around here going to realize that you’re missing?”

The three ponies looked back at Yeltsin, whose concentrated stare was directed at the far wall.

“So long as you don’t work that magic of yours and make me disappear forever, there’s a good chance they won’t,” Yeltsin said, his hand still on his forehead as he began to aimlessly walk about the office. “Everyone was told to leave me be for a few days. Said that I needed time to rest. No presidential business, no visitors, no nothing. In theory, I have two or three days to myself. Then again, that didn’t stop Berezovskiy from coming in here a little while ago and blowing his top, but I’m sure he won’t want to say much more to me for a while. My temporary absence itself isn’t the problem. It’s the cars… they’re all government cars on the property. One of those goes missing, and the whole operation is doomed before it even begins.”

“Well,” Pinkie Pie asked, hopping along behind Boris Yeltsin as he walked about, “can’t you just use somebody else’s car?”

“Yeah, sure,” Yeltsin smirked, turning and leaning against the bookshelf by his desk as Pinkie waited by his feet. “I’ll just take someone else’s car. And then when they find out it was me, I’ll get arrested. That’s a crime, pink pony.” Pinkie’s ears drooped. “Now listen, don’t think for one second that I couldn’t do it if I really thought I had to. I broke into a Red Army supply depot when I was a kid. If I can pick those locks, I can definitely handle a car lock.”

Yeltsin looked up the the ceiling and smiled, crossing his arms as he reveled in the glory of his younger days.

“Yeah, I was good with locks. I still am. Especially the ones on those old junkers. But that doesn’t say much. Those things are a cinch. You know, I had to help the caretaker when he had to pick the lock on his own Lada that time he lost his keys. He had a spare set, but he kept them under the front seat. Heh. Gleb was a real piece of work. I remember one time when...”

The Russian president stopped mid-sentence as an incredulous smile spread across his face. The sensation of enthusiasm that overcame Yeltsin was the diagnostic sign of the strike of epiphany.

“Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? Gleb’s Lada! It’s still in the garage at the caretaker’s guesthouse!” Yeltsin kneeled down to come eye-to-eye with Pinkie. “You had the best idea all along, pink pony. We’re taking someone else’s car.”

“But Mr, Boris,” Fluttershy asked, “won’t that Gleb guy know it’s missing?”

“Unfortunately not,” Yeltsin said as he turned to Twilight and Fluttershy. “Gleb Ivanov, our caretaker, died two months back. Poor man had a stroke. But everything he had - including his Lada - is still at the caretaker’s house on the other end of the property. And it’s going to be our ticket out of here.”

Yeltsin sprang up from the floor and took the seat behind his desk. He went through the drawers underneath, pulling out some fresh paper and a cluster of pens.

“Don’t you worry, the road trip to Petersburg is still on,” Yeltsin said aloud, testing the pens to find one that worked. “All I need to do is leave a couple of notes in the unlikely event that somebody comes up here while I’m gone, then pack a few more things…” Suddenly, Yeltsin looked up and motioned with his pen to the pegasus. “And you, Fluttershy. Out of the four of us, you’ve got the wings. So you’ll be doing a little... reconnaissance.”

*    *    *

Location: Горки-9 Guesthouse, Barvikha, Moscow Oblast, Russian Federation

Date: July 12th, 1996

Time: 9:23 PM

Yeltsin had opened one of the office windows and instructed Fluttershy to fly up onto the roof of the Gorki-9 dacha, survey the property, and return to the office to explain what she had seen. Naturally, a good number of guards were at the gatehouse up front, and several more were patrolling the streets. But Fluttershy also saw three more walking the grounds, and those were the ones that posed the largest problem.

Fluttershy then (after much persuasion) hid in a tree and watched the back of the property as Yeltsin, Twilight, and Pinkie slipped out the rear entrance of the dacha. Their eyes had been on her the whole time as she waved to them from the tree, letting them know when they could proceed and when to stay hidden. Slowly and cautiously, they had made their way to the woods that bordered the presidential dacha grounds.

Then, after a short trek through the trees, Yeltsin and his entourage finally reached the small guesthouse on the property’s perimeter. As the president had expected, the windows were dark, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. The place hadn’t been touched since Gleb Ivanov, the Gorki-9 caretaker, had passed away.

By the side of the guesthouse’s garage, Yeltsin rested the sack he had been carrying. It contained blankets, pillows, and a few other necessities that the president had seen fit to take for the long road to Petersburg. He then bent down and lifted the door of the garage to reveal its well-kept interior. Bags of stones and potting soil sat at the left, beside an old wheelbarrow and a number of gardening tools that leaned against the wall, ordered by size. On the right was Gleb’s workbench and supply cabinets, clean and orderly, save for the dust that had settled over the past couple of months. Not a single tool, plank, or hose was out of place.

And there, at the center, was Gleb Ivanov’s Lada. It was a VAZ-2101 - a small, red, compact sedan with little circular headlamps. Ivanov was lucky enough to have acquired the car in 1971, merely a year and a half after its production began, when demand greatly outweighed supply. At the time, it was something of a marvel. But twenty-five years had passed since then. The bumpers had rusted, and some of the paint was starting to peel. A 1.2 liter engine with 58 horsepower was a relic of days gone by, but given the situation, it was the best that Yeltsin could do.

“Gleb always was a neat-freak,” Yeltsin remarked as he entered the organized garage with the ponies behind him. “Even his workshop was treated like an office. But this…” Yeltsin rested his hand on the roof of the Lada. “This little beauty here is our ticket to Saint Petersburg.”

“This?” Pinkie asked, staring and the headlamps and the grille on the front. “It’s really tiny, Mr. Boris.”

“Yeah,” Fluttershy agreed, hovering up to examine the vehicle. “I’ve seen carriages in Appleoosa that are bigger than this.”

“We have to spend ten hours sitting in this thing?” Twilight asked as she poked one of the tires with her hoof.

“Listen, I told you I’d take you to Saint Petersburg, but I never said I’d do it in comfort or style. What did you expect, a Rolls-Royce?” Yeltsin said with a dismissive wave of his hand as walked behind the Lada, making for the driver’s door. “Christ. Everyone that comes to this country can’t wait to start throwing insults at Russian cars. Even three ponies from some magical land far, far away. You’re starting to sound like those goddamned American journalists.”

Boris Yeltsin pulled the door handle, but the driver’s door wouldn’t budge.

“Figures its locked,” the president muttered.

“Now what do we do?” Twilight groaned. “How the heck are we going to find the key?”

“Well, when Gleb misplaced his key that one time, I told him that he should keep the spare behind his cabinets instead of under the front seat,” Boris Yeltsin replied. “Let’s see if he considered the idea.”

Yeltsin, with the help of Twilight and Fluttershy, moved the free-standing cabinets by the workbench. Sure enough, hanging on an angled nail that had been driven into the wall was a single key on a ring.

“Thanks a million, Gleb,” Boris Yeltsin laughed as he took the key. “At least you took my advice once in a while. That’s more than I can say for Berezovskiy and his cronies.” Yeltsin again approached the car and unlocked the doors. “Alright. Two in the back, and one up front, with me.”

“Ooh, can I sit in the front? Pretty please, Mr. Boris?” Pinkie begged as Boris Yeltsin stepped outside to pick up the sack of blankets and supplies.

“Of course,” the president replied, returning with the sack. “Your unicorn friend seems like the type that would critique my driving the whole way there. The last thing I need is a backseat driver in the front.”

“Thanks, Boris,” Twilight huffed, waving her horn and pulling at the handle on one of the rear doors. She and Fluttershy climbed into the cramped back seats of the Lada. While springy and yielding, the cushions were made of some low-quality material that didn’t offer the most agreeable seat. Worse, the interior of the car reeked of soil, grass, and old borscht. As Fluttershy and Twilight climbed around in the back, trying to orient themselves in a way that was most comfortable, Yeltsin stepped over to the open door and threw the sack into the back seat with them.

“There’s barely enough room back here for the two of us, and now we have to find a place for this stuff?” Twilight moaned as she climbed over the bag.

“I know it’s a tight squeeze, but you’ll have to make do,” Yeltsin answered. “Now listen. Dig into that bag and take out the blankets. They must be at the ready so you can cover yourselves up if need be.”

“Cover ourselves up?” Fluttershy asked the president.

“Of course,” Yeltsin said as he leaned through the doorframe. “In the morning, it’ll be bright enough to see right into the car, especially with the White Nights up north in Petersburg. And with colorful coats like yours, somebody is bound to notice you if they’re sitting next to me at a stoplight. And Zyuganov’s friend said that I’m not supposed to let anyone else see you. Remember?”

Twilight and Futtershy exchanged glances, shrugged, and dug into the sack.

“I’m closing the door. Watch your hands. Or hooves, I guess,” Yeltsin said as he shut the rear door and opened up the one in the front for Pinkie, who eagerly hopped inside the Lada. “Make sure you take a blanket, too,” Yeltsin said to Pinkie as he closed the front passenger door. He then lifted the hood and inspected the engine. Yeltsin was no mechanic, but as far as he could see, everything seemed to be in order. He checked the dipstick, on which a bold mark signified a healthy level of oil, granted it was most probably due for a change regardless. The president then shut the hood, walked back to the driver’s side, and climbed in.

“It’s really smelly in here, Mr. Boris” Pinkie said with a wrinkled nose.

“Can’t be as bad as Kapotnya,” Yeltsin replied.

“Here, Pinkie,” Twilight called from the back as she pushed a blanket up front for Pinkie Pie. “Okay, we’re good to go.”

“Alright, then,” Yeltsin said, glancing at the gas gauge, relieved to see that it was almost fully tanked-up. The president then reached to put the key into the ignition, but stopped as quickly as he started, thought for a moment, and pulled his hand back. There was an important matter that first had to be settled. “Wait. Before we head out… Do any of you have to… go?”

“Go where?” Fluttershy asked after a short silence.

“No, not go somewhere. I mean… go,” Boris Yeltsin said. “You know. Like ‘number one’ and ‘number two.’”

“Oh,” the three ponies said in unison.

“Nope,” Fluttershy answered.

“I’m good,” said Twilight.

“Not me!” Pinkie sang.

“You sure?” Yeltsin asked, turning to face the back seat. Fluttershy and Twilight, on either side of the sack of supplies, nodded in response. He turned to Pinkie, who did the same. “Good.”

Yeltsin again reached for the ignition. He inserted the key and gave it a twist, and while the engine cranked, it failed to start.

“Oh, Christ,” Yeltsin signed. “That’s what we get for using an old car that hasn’t been touched in two months.” The president tried once more, then again, and again. The engine still would not start.

“What do we do now?” Fluttershy asked the group. Twilight Sparkle slapped her forehead with a hoof.

“Great. Just great,” the unicorn sighed.

“Is it broken, Mr. Boris?” Pinkie asked, leaning over and looking at the key in the ignition.

“I sincerely hope not,” Yeltsin replied. “Because if it is broken, I’m not the right guy to fix it.”

He let go of the key and placed his hand on the dashboard.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said to the car, “we’re in no position to give you a jump. You have to find what little juice is left in that battery of yours and wake up. We need to go to Saint Petersburg, and you’re going to take us there. We’re out of options, these ponies need to get back home, and my presidency is on the line. And I promise, if you make the trip, I’ll pay for the best tune-up of your life, plus new fenders and hubcaps.”

“He’s talking to the car,” Twilight stated. “Oh boy.”

But as Yeltsin reached down and tried the key again, after a few jerky turnovers, the engine sprang to life. The president looked back at Twilight with a smirk and a raised brow.

“There you have it,” he said. “Sometimes, they just need a little sweet-talk before they start to cooperate.”

The entire frame of the tiny vehicle vibrated from the roar of the engine. An excited Pinkie Pie giddily watched Yeltsin work the shifter as Fluttershy and Twilight grew steadily more nervous.

Yeltsin carefully maneuvered the car out of the garage and proceeded down the dirt driveway through the woods that connected Gleb’s house to the rest of Barvihka village. It was a great distance from the dacha’s main entrance and also had no guard-filled gatehouse, but Yeltsin took care to proceed slowly, with the headlights turned off, so as not to catch anyone’s attention.

“Alright. So far, so good. Once we hit the street, we’re golden,” Yeltsin said softly as he squinted down the dark path. “We’ll know when we’re there because they never finished the driveway apron and-”

The Lada suddenly heaved upwards as Yeltsin struck a hefty bump where the dirt road met the paved streets of Barvikha.

“Well, there goes the wheel alignment,” Yeltsin mumbled. “Sorry, Gleb.”

Yeltsin traveled a few blocks before flipping on the headlights, eventually turning onto the wider thoroughfare through which the traffic entered and exited Barvihka village.

“Who’d have ever thought…” Yeltsin breathed. “It’s quarter to ten at night, and I’m ready to drive halfway across the country in my dead gardener’s car, with three talking ponies as passengers. And on top of it all, I’m headed to Zyuganov’s doorstep. The world is a crazy place.”

Fluttershy, and Twilight watched Yeltsin from the back seats. He was cloaked in darkness, save for the soft glow of a small light on the dashboard, as he pondered the state of affairs.

“I’ve seen crazier,” Pinkie Pie said to the president. “Like the time Discord got loose and turned houses upside-down and made it rain chocolate!”

“Really, now?” Boris Yeltsin said. “Chocolate rain?”

“Believe me, Mr. Boris, the chocolate rain was only a little part of it,” Fluttershy added.

“That was an absolute disaster,” Twilight said, reclining in her seat.

“Well, we’ve got a lot of time to kill,” Yeltsin replied, “so once we get on the open road, you can tell me all about this Discord guy and his chocolate rain.”

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Fluttershy asked.

“Are you kidding?” Yeltsin answered. “It’s easy. Once you get out of Barvikha on A106, go a little ways until you hit highway M10, and then it’s a straight shot all the way to Saint Petersburg. Simple.” By the time Yeltsin had finished his explanation, he was nearing the onramp for the first short leg of the trip - highway A106. “And now, my little friends, it’s time to leave Barvikha. When we get on the MKAD roadway, we’ll be able to see the outskirts of Moscow.”

Boris Yeltsin grabbed the shifter and steadied his grip on the wheel.

“Alright, sweetheart,” the president said to the Lada. “Let’s see what you’ve got under that hood.”

With that, Yeltsin shifted gears and floored the pedal. Gleb Ivanov’s old Lada - bearing the president of the Russian Federation and his three guests from an entire world away - picked up speed as it traversed the onramp of route A106 and left Barvikha village behind.