Deathonomics

HELLO. YOU ARE ABOUT TO DIE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY OUR LATEST PRODUCTS?

Her nostrils firmly clogged with wads of tissue paper, Twilight Sparkle led four-fifths of the Elements of Equilibrium out of Ponyville to where the Everfree Forest waited. Twilight was preparing to take down a killer forest and rescue Pinkie Pie with the science of friendship. The four ponies behind her were charging each other money.

“Applejack, you’re blocking my view,” Rarity complained. “You have no right to impede the travel of my photons. Pay me ten bits or get out of the way.”

“And you’ve got not right to be sending those annoying sound waves of yours to bounce around in my ears,” Applejack countered. “How about you allocate your lips together if you don’t want to pay me twenty bits?”

“Will both of you shut up?” Rainbow Dash said, flying a few feet above them. “Hey, Twilight, what if the Everfree Forest got infected too and makes us pay money to get Pinkie Pie back?”

“It would be a lot better than fighting and a good deal simpler than talking,” Twilight said nasally. “And therein lies the wisdom and efficiency of a monetary means of allocating resources.”

“Pinkie isn’t a resource,” Applejack said crossly.

“Yes she is,” Twilight and Fluttershy said at the same time. They looked at each other.

“Twilight, um, I don’t mind if you want to take my dialogue,” Fluttershy mumbled, “But it would be right to, um, pay me for it. Maybe two bits a line—“

“Shut up!” said Rainbow Dash.

Twilight rolled her eyes. Above them the pollen rippled like a slandered pond suffering execution at the hoofs of a bored filly with a pile of rocks. It was getting thicker as they neared the forest. Twilight’s throat was getting itchier. She kept blinking away tears, and she had to keep the river of mucus dammed up in her nose with wadded tissue paper held in place by magic.

“Twilight,” Rarity said, “Are you going to pay us back for all that tissue paper? I’ve decided on an interest rate of—“

“Shut up! Ah—SNNRRRHHRRRUUUUNNNK!”

Twilight sneezed. A tidal wave of mucus formed by the accumulation of an accelerated thousand years of allergies smashed into the paper-and-magic levee of the tissue paper. The resulting explosion went off inside Twilight’s head like a dirty bomb that left brain cells drowning in the flood and feeling rather disgusted about it. She stumbled, lost her footing and nearly fell.

“You okay?” Rainbow Dash asked, swooping low beside her.

“I’m fine,” Twilight said hoarsely. “Let’s keep going. AahhhhSNNRNRHK!”

“SNGGHHRRRLLMMPHHMMGRGHGMM!”

Twilight focused on putting one hoof in front of the other. It was better than focusing on the narrowing stream of air that was still able to force its way past her swelled throat. The forest seemed so far away. The ground was so blurry. She couldn’t tell where she was going.

“Twilight!”

A hoof grabbed her by the snout and pulled her around. Twilight blinked tears from her eyes and focused on the face of Rainbow Dash.

“You started walking in the wrong direction. Everything okay? You’ve been sneezing a lot.”

Twilight nodded. It wasn’t obvious to her how to guide coherent syllables through the blocked path from her lungs to her lips. Her head felt like it was about to explode from the build-up of internal pressure.

“SNNNNGGGHHRHRHRHKHKHKH!”

“Twilight?”

“GGHRHRMRPRH!”

“Twilight.”

“HaaaaGHRUAAAGUUGH!”

“Twilight!”

Distantly Twilight was aware that her body had lost a lot of water through her tear ducts and the rivulets of snot that managed to escape through the molecule-thin gaps between the tissues and the inside of her nostrils. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been able to take a full breath, and the sneezes rattled her brain around inside her skull like she was a rookie prizefighter up against the world champ. But up close all she could tell was that Rainbow Dash was turning sideways. For some reason there was suddenly a lot of dirt in Twilight’s peripheral vision, hovering like a wallflower at a party, and then it was all up in her face like it had reached a tipping point of alcohol consumption and was determined to have fun or die trying.

Twilight fell over. The magical grip clogging up her nostrils faded.

The dam burst.

“EEEEEEEEEWWWWWWW!”

“No!” Rarity screamed. “No, no, no!”

“Rarity—“

“Kill it! Kill it with fire!”

“Twilight’s our friend—“

“She’s gone now! Kill it!”

Rainbow Dash knew a lost battle. She turned to Applejack. “Can you lasso her out of the…the swamp?”

“Five bits a rope,” Applejack said quickly.

“She could die!”

“Ten bits a rope.”

Rainbow Dash contemplated pushing Applejack in along with Twilight. She turned to Fluttershy, who was at a safe distance and still backing away…and gave up.

“Fine, I’ll dig her out myself,” Rainbow Dash said. “I just want you all to know that this is fifty-two percent uncool.”

Holding her breath, Rainbow Dash approached Twilight’s prone form lying in the greenish sludge until she was hovering over her. Now she just needed to find a relatively clean place to grab. Rainbow Dash reached down, but jerked back as a series of dry sneezes racked Twilight’s body. She worried about that. She didn’t think it was possible for a pony to sneeze her internal organs out through her nose, but after seeing Twilight’s allergies interact with the Everfree Forest Rainbow Dash wasn’t sure anymore as to how she would bet on that question, and Rainbow Dash was always sure of how she would bet on any question. She wasn’t often right, but she was sure….

She laid a hoof on Twilight and instantly regretted it. Sticky strands tugged at her hoof when she pulled away.

“Rarity, I could really use your help clearing the snot away—“

“Kill it! Burn everything!”

Rainbow Dash gritted her teeth. She would have to do this alone.

Or maybe she wouldn’t. Rainbow Dash remembered something. She was rich.

“Rarity, how much would it cost for you to be willing to clear the mucus away?”

“Kill—fifty bits.”

“Done,” Rainbow Dash said. “Applejack, you said ten bits for a rope? How about that plus another ten to carry Twilight back?”

“Sounds about right,” Applejack said.

“Fluttershy—I see you hiding behind that tree—a good doctor can cost upwards of fifty bits for a visit, right? I’ll pay you to care for Twilight.”

“She, um, needs water,” Fluttershy said from behind the tree. Rainbow Dash had to strain to hear her. “But maybe we should wait until we get away from the pollen or she’ll just, um, burst. Again.”

“Fine.” Rainbow Dash paused. “I hate you all, just so you know.”

“So long as you’re paying us, we don’t really care,” Rarity said.

“Coasepony is best pony,” Twilight gurgled.

They rushed Twilight home and into bed. Spike ran to get water. She was moaning, babbling incoherently.

“Shares always reflect the full amount of available information,” Twilight said feverishly. “When ponies fail they reveal a preference for failure. Edgeworth boxes can solve everything—”

Rainbow Dash slapped her across the face. “Stay with me, Twilight!”

“Transaction costs are indistinguishable from shipping costs!” Rainbow Dash slapped her again. Spike came in carrying a bucket of—make that stumbling with a bucket of—falling over, no longer quite with a bucket of water, which flew through the air and deposited its contents on Rainbow Dash. Her rainbow mane drooped with comic precision, but Rainbow Dash had just spent an hour in the company of three ponies who thought the world owed them money for having the temerity to be under their feet. She grabbed Spike by the ear and pulled him up roughly.

“Get the water.”

“Yes, Miss Dash.”

“Do it right.”

“Yes, Miss Dash.”

“Pour it down her throat. Don’t open any windows. Don’t let her go outside.”

“Yes, Miss Dash.”

“Right.” Rainbow Dash released him and turned to the other ponies. “I am going to go feed my tortoise, and then I am going to call the Wonderbolts here. With their financial wizardry, we just might be able to buy Ponyville and put a stop to this price system. Spike? Take care of Twilight. We’re going to need an economist before this is over.”

“We can deduce the existence of unobserved historical events from first principles!”

“Slap her if she keeps doing that. The rest of you…I don’t know, do something useful. RD out.”

Rainbow Dash left.

Twilight awoke with a headache that felt like somepony was squeezing her head in a vice while at the same time somepony else pumped air in through her ears. Her skin felt oddly rubbery, and it didn’t seem to fit quite right, like a dress that shrank in the wash.

“That was a blarf adventure,” Twilight groaned, holding a hoof to her head. She looked around. She was in her room, lying on her bed. Somehow they had survived. Twilight wasn’t entirely sure what had happened after the initial explosion, but she was glad to see that the inside of her bedroom wasn’t covered in green goo. Her bed, however, was extremely damp, as if a bucket of water had been repeatedly spilled on it.

Hesitantly, like a newborn foal that had just undergone the worst baptism, Twilight slid off the bed onto her hoofs. She stood shakily and managed to make it to the door.

“Spike?” she called, pushing the door open. It swung open as if being pulled by somepony.

“Twilight!” Spike screamed, tripping over his own tail. A bucket sailed out of his hands and clipped Twilight on the side of the head. She fell, and so did the bucket, spilling out its contents over the floor. Spike rushed to her side.

“Twilightareyouokaydoyouneedwater—

“Spike—“

Spike slapped her.

“OhmyCelestia Rainbow Dash told me to do that I would never please don’t be mad I’ll get another bucket—“

Gently but firmly, Twilight gripped Spike in her magic and levitated him away. She pulled herself up, wincing at the pain in her temple. Her mind felt like it was splitting in two, unsure of what was real anymore.

She, the very pony who had triumphed over Nightmare Moon, had lost to a battle to allergies.

Sometimes a pony had to know when she was beat.

“Spike? Take a letter.”

Dear Princess Celestia,

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Everfree Forest appears to have snapped and is now pumping out tons of pollen. It is blotting out the sky and we all may die. Please help.

Sincerely yours,

Twilight Sparkle

The reply was almost immediate.

Twilight Sparkle

You are the one who removed the guardian I placed at the entrance to the forest. You are the one who removed a giant serpent from the forest and read the inscription on the statue of Frankie Knight. You are the one who thought scattered apple seeds could replace ancient magic and old contracts. Clean up your own messes. You have a Daughter, now act like an adult.

Signed,

Princess Celestia

Twilight locked the door to the bathroom.

“Twilight?”

“Twilight, it’s been an hour. I really need to pee!”

“Go in the bucket!”

It was so deep into the dead of night that it was nearly resurrected and become morning by the time Twilight exited the bathroom. Spike was snoring on the couch. A mare in a very black dress sat at the table. Behind her was the silhouette of something large and birdlike, buried in the gloom.

“Hello, Twilight Sparkle,” said the lady in black. “A pleasure to meet you again. It’s been, what? Picoseconds?”

“Less than that, I’m sure,” Twilight said. There was still some red around her eyes. She hoped it wouldn’t be visible in the dim candlelight. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee.”

“Let me guess, you take it black.”

The lady grinned.

Twilight made coffee and hoofed a cup to the other mare, who sipped at it.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“But not hot enough,” the lady sighed. “I’ve never tasted anything colder.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it’s as cold as nothing.”

“I’m not in a good mood. What do you want?”

The lady crossed her legs.

“I wanted to thank you, Twilight Sparkle. Because of you, the Everfree Forest was left unguarded. I penetrated  her—“

“Her?”

“Of course. She only does this pollen thing once every millennium or so. What gender do you think she is the rest of the time?”

Twilight tried to wrap her mind around the idea of a forest having a gender—let alone two of them—and gave up. “So what happened?”

“I cut off the head of that Frankie Knight statue. These are modern times. You should be pleased. An end to neoclassical rubbish, to that age when no pony knew anything.”

“When was this?”

The lady told her.

“So it was you!” Twilight shouted, pounding her hoof on the table. The lady winced.

“Mind Spike. He’s a baby, and he had a long day.”

“It was your fault the forest freaked out like this!”

“No. Nothing is my fault.”

“What happened? Why did decapitating a statue make the forest react like that?”

“This is the dawn of a new age. Dragged kicking and screaming, as they say. Princess Luna is freed. Dragged kicking and screaming. The Daughters are spread over Equestria like lilies over a grave—“

“It’s not at all like that!”

“I’m limited in my metaphors. Can you blame me? No, you cannot. Much trouble is coming your way, Twilight Sparkle. An end to things. Dragged kicking and screaming.”

“Now you can see the future?”

“I did not say you would bring change. Much the opposite. Life is good for you. I keep up with many ponies, as you know.”

“It must be an economist,” Twilight said, “Since only economists can see you aside from when ponies are—you know.”

The lady grinned.

Twilight continued. “It must be somepony important, smart, and powerful. So it’s somepony at a Daughter. It’s something bad. So it’s Trixie.”

“Only economists can see me,” the lady agreed, taking a sip of coffee. She made a face.

“Only economists can….” Twilight’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Mm?”

“I taught them how to think like economists.”

“Mm.”

“Must have been a crazy week for you.”

“Unusual, to say the least.”

Twilight spoke, more for her own benefit than the lady’s. “The price system works because it allows us to compare anything to anything through the medium of money. This itself is made necessary by the condition of scarcity, which says we can't have all the apples and oranges we please, but instead we must choose, sacrificing some apples to gain some oranges. How many apples is an orange worth? Well, if an apple is worth two bit and an orange is worth one, we have our answer. Now we make can make the intelligent, rational decision as what to do with our apples and our oranges, knowing how much they to sacrifice of one should we want the other. And once we have that answer, we can scrub the model clean of money and keep the value ratio.”

“I see why you’re so popular,” the lady murmured. She gave up on the coffee, pushing it away. “Ponies come for a chat and get a lecture on economics.”

“And we can create an infinite chain of comparisons. If an orange is worth two apples, and an apple is worth two pears, an orange is worth four pears. And so on. It’s not just fruit. It’s everything. It’s everything because these prices, these exchange ratios of value, are determined by pony action. When a pony buys something, the scarcity of it increases. The demand for it increases. The price of it rises. With all the buying and selling, the interactions of thousands, millions of ponies determines the exchange ratios. The full sum of pony action as it relates to everything apples determines the price of apples. And so on for everything else."

Twilight swallowed. “Sometimes, ponies risk their lives.”

The lady didn’t answer.

“The fundamental action of the economic pony is sacrifice. Scarcity means that ponies can’t get everything they want. So they have to choose, and sacrifice the less-preferred alternative. When they do so, they establish the exchange ratio between the thing gained and the thing lost. On the margin.”

“On the margin,” the lady said almost at the same time. She lifted her cup as if it were a toast.

“Ponies risk their lives,” Twilight repeated doggedly. “Not just brave dumb things like going to tell off a forest or play games with an Alicorn. Crossing the street. Running when it’s wet. Playing sports or eating food without cutting it up so fine you could never choke. Cutting food with anything sharp enough to do so. If ponies didn’t want to die at any cost, they’d spend their lives in a rubber seal and never do anything.”

The lady grinned. “That wouldn’t help.”

“So you can put a price on life. Ponies do every day. And you can say, ‘four apples are worth seven minutes of life.’”

“More than that, if they’re apples from Sweet Apple Acres. Or so I’ve heard. The one I had was rotten.”

“And if ponies are sacrificing their lives all the time, why, you could say, on the margin, they die a little every time they choose.”

“Talk about a slice of life story.”

“That’s why economists can see you,” Twilight said firmly. “We know you’re with us whenever we choose. And ponies are always choosing.”

“Except at the end. Then it’s out of their hoofs.”

“It’s scary.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“The forest is scared.”

“Could be.”

Twilight wasn’t ready to give up. “But they should know. They have a right to know. It’s the truth.”

“That every day they commit suicide a hundred times? I doubt many ponies find the notion as romantic as you do. Rarity is a dressmaker, and quite good at it, I should add. Why should she want to trade her clock for an hourglass?”

“Fluttershy understands,” Twilight said stubbornly.

“Yes, and she’s virtually crippled with anguish every time she gives away an animal. Excuse me. Naturally evolved organism. She has had to bury so many of them.”

“Not all of us respond like that,” Twilight insisted. “I don’t.”

“But you have no friends.”

“I do! There’s Pinkie Pie and Twinkleshine—“ Twilight stopped, confused. Who were her friends? She knew she must have some.

The lady grinned.

“What were you doing, locked in the bathroom for two hours?”

Twilight didn’t answer. The lady continued.

“Ponies hurt so much, so easily. They can’t lose anything. They can’t face the prospect of losing anything. Ask a pony to think for five minutes about…about locking their door at night in case a hungry bear wanders by. What happens?”

Twilight had, in fact, had such conversations with ponies dozens of times, not about bears in particular, but all conversations about economics are conversations about loss. They always ended the same way.

“You tell them how to save their lives. Then they attack you.”

The lady nodded. “I think economists don’t have many friends because they can’t.”

“Princess Celestia is very popular.”

“Not one pony in ten can explain what she does with the Bank,” the lady said, waving a hoof dismissively. Part of her sleek black dress fell back, revealing what should have been a leg. Twilight looked away.

“Maybe the sort of things it takes for a pony to become very good at anything,” Twilight said, “Detracts from the sort of things it takes for a pony to become very good friends with anypony.”

“Could be.”

The lady snuffed out the candle. In the darkness Twilight heard a sound like bone tapping methodically on wood.

TAP. TAP. TAP.

“I am tired,” Twilight announced, in case anypony was listening and cared.

“Drink the coffee.”

Twilight did. It was cold and tasted like wet dirt.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” said the lady. There was a sound like a pony pushing back a chair to stand, but lighter, as if the pony was very thin. “I must be going now.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

The lady went outside. Her beast followed, and so did Twilight. It was darker than anything Twilight had seen besides the depths of the forest. There were no stars or moon up above, their light unable to pierce the thick pollen that set Twilight’s nose to running.

The lady climbed on top of the creature. Twilight saw that it was a bat, or in the likeness of one.

“Come back whenever you want,” Twilight sniffed. She wiped at her snout. “We could be friends, I think.”

The lady looked at her.

“Please visit,” Twilight said. “Pinkie Pie does amazing things with cakes. I’m sure she can put together something you can eat.”

The lady threw back her head and laughed.

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

Lightning failed to flash dramatically, or maybe it couldn't be seen through the pollen. The bat-creature flapped its wings. And they were gone.

Twilight thought for a while, even though her throat started to itch. Distantly she heard the muffled rumble of thunder. Then, when she had her answer and the question to match, she went inside to take Spike up to bed. She thought about whispering something to him like, “I am just going out. I may be some time.” But she didn’t.

She left the treehouse and trotted down the path to Rainbow Dash’s house. She knew the solution to the full-cost pricing controversy, and now she needed the Elements of Equilibrium to put it into practice. Twilight sort of wished that Princess Celestia had once told her something like, “There will come a time when a great forest threatens Equestria, and you will have to find the microeconomics deep inside of you to put a stop to it,” but she hadn’t. Maybe after all this was over she would write a letter to the princess pointing out the missed opportunity.

She knocked on Rainbow Dash’s door. There was a sound of somepony shouting, something like, “…And tell Soarin—more like Borin’, amirite— I could buy Cloudsdale and everypony in it, including him—oh, excuse me, that’s the door.”

Rainbow Dash opened it. “Hi, Twilight. Are you feeling better?”

“Gather the others, please,” Twilight said. “We are going to use a moderate advance of some significance in microeconomic theory to soothe a rampaging magical forest, saving our friend and indeed possibly the world, as was, alas, not foretold by Princess Celestia.”

“Okay. Can I get you anything? Coffee?”