The Canterlot Embassy

Chapters

Chapter 1: Damage Control
Chapter 2: Between Jobs
Chapter 4: Top Down
Chapter 5: A Different World
Chapter 3: Tipping Point

Chapter 1: Damage Control

Prologue

Sun News Studio, Canterlot
8:40 AM

"Audio check, one two, one two." Twilight rapped her hoof on the tiny microphone pinned to her chest. "Is this thing on?"

"We can hear you just fine in the booth, Miss Sparkle."

"Thank you," said Twilight. "You can never tell with this off-world technology."

Five minutes left until air-time, and the television studio was a swarm of activity. Ponies ran here and there, plugging and unplugging equipment, handing papers off to each other, adjusting the bank of stage-lights hanging over the set. It was like being in the center of a tornado.

Twilight shuffled her forehooves nervously, baking in the heat of the lamps as she waited. Despite all her vast experience, Twilight's stomach was filled with butterflies. It wasn't so much the fact that she was about to speak live in front of millions of ponies-- Equestria had adopted television shortly after first contact, and she was almost used to the cameras by now. No, her nerves on edge because of just who would be interviewing her today. She had a plan of course-- Twilight always had a plan-- but she still found herself preoccupied with what a debacle this could become if things went sideways. How it could embarrass the throne...

"Miss Sparkle," came a voice from over her shoulder, startling her. The voice became a derisive chuckle when she jumped.

An orange pegasus stallion in a business suit took his seat behind the anchorpony's desk. He offered Twilight a hoof and a radiant TV smile. "I hope for your sake that's the only time I catch you off-guard today, Miss Royal Adviser."

"Deadline," said Twilight, shaking his hoof. "You look well-fed."

"I feel well-fed!" He sat back in the leather office-chair and patted his tummy. Twilight could see his iridescent cutie-mark catch the light. It was a quill pen with a drop of blood on the point. "You sure you're ready for this?" he asked.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"That's the spirit!" he said. "Still, you have to admit, it's not often that a pony from the Canterlot administration is ballsy enough to come on the show. We here at Equestria Sub Rosa aren't exactly Celestia's biggest fans, and we're not afraid to say so. With all the muck we've raked over the years, it's a wonder that Canterlot hasn't leveled us with the ban-hammer by now."

"Censorship is not something the Princesses take lightly," said Twilight. "We believe that a free press is the keystone of civil liberty."

"Well, that and free elections, Miss Sparkle. But shame on me for wishful thinking. We both know we're all destined be slaves to Celestia's iron rule until the day we die."

"You know, hyperbole like that is the reason real journalists don't take you seriously."

"Their loss," he said. "Come on, Miss Sparkle. Celestia has ruled for too long. She's been up on the mountain-top for so many centuries that she can't possibly remember what it's like to live as a commoner."

"I'm not sure how well you can speak for the 'commoner' in a five-thousand-bit suit, Deadline. But I understand your argument. And I agree that democracy is preferable to a malicious dictatorship."

"Exactly."

"But benevolent dictatorship is still preferable to democracy."

He laughed. "What an outdated sentiment! You should be wearing a bowler's hat and an old-timey mustache."

"You're the one professing philosophy from the time of the Three Tribes," she said. "The Sisters have proven their loyalty to the public time and time and time again. I guess some ponies will never be satisfied, though."

Deadline feigned realization. "Goodness, I forgot for a moment that you can't rightly speak out against family. Blood really is thicker than water, even if Celestia is only your surrogate mother."

A streak of anger shot through Twilight's heart, but she merely raised an eyebrow. "After all this time, you're still spouting the same, old, tired, revolutionary diatribe."

"Miss Sparkle," he replied, pointing a hoof at her, "I promise you that until Equestria adopts a truly representative government, my network and I will only get louder, and louder, and louder."

"Quiet on the set!" shouted the stage manager. "Cue intro sequence!"

The show's triumphant theme song started up-- all soaring horns and strings-- and the facing monitors displayed the animated sun-and-pen intro. An announcer's voice boomed over the credits. "It's the fourth of September, 1028, and this is Equestria Sub Rosa! Coming up: Royal Adviser Twilight Sparkle answers questions about the upcoming trade summit and the cross-portal immigration problem. Then we sit down with famed avant garde duo Scratch and Octavia to discuss their new album that is breaking records all across the kingdom..."

Twilight's thoughts turned inwards as the announcer droned on. She did not like what she was going to have to say on this show today-- what it was going to cost to get Deadline off her back. Sometimes she missed the days when she was just the Ponyville Librarian. Things had been simpler then.

But that was decades behind her now. Twilight was forty-seven years old, and despite being an alicorn, not immortal. She still felt good for her age, though-- strong, smart, and full of energy. She even felt attractive, despite the white streak in her mane that now played company to the purple and pink. And her magic had never been so powerful. She was Luna's equal at least.

So these days, Twilight had any number of reasons to feel content, happy, safe. All except for one nagging thing, of course.

"Humans," said Deadline, looking into the camera. "Good morning everypony, I'm Deadline for Equestria Sub Rosa. Thanks for joining us. As many of you know, today marks the second anniversary of the humans' arrival in Equestria. Two years ago, scientists from the human organizations CERN and NASA succeeded in opening a portal between our worlds. Today, we regard an Equestria that has been fundamentally changed by the presence of this strange, alien race. The question on everpony's mind is this: what do the humans really want? To help us with the answer, we have a very special guest: the Royal Adviser herself, Princess Twilight Sparkle. Thank you so much for being here, Miss Sparkle."

"Thanks for having me."

"Let's get right down to brass tacks. Humans: in your opinion, guardian angels, or cruel, rapacious invaders from another world?"

Twilight had to chuckle. "Neither, Deadline. The humans are a sapient species with every range of good and evil, very much like our own. That's why we've offered them the same diplomatic courtesies as we do to all sapients, encouraging peaceful exchange to build a stronger alliance."

"Straight from the brochure," said Deadline. "But Adviser, the humans are hardly 'all sapients.' They are far more unpredictable, and potentially dangerous, than anything we have had to face before. Their military capabilities top all other known races-- not even the changelings can hold a candle to them. And as for human science, well, they did find their own way here, didn't they? The old playbooks seem obsolete, now that we are facing such a possible and profound menace."

"First of all, Deadline," said Twilight, "Canterlot is well-aware of human military and scientific capabilities. Very well-aware. And I can assure you that our own military is more than sufficient to defend the kingdom from any threat. However, from the humans' first day in Equestria, they have reached out to us with an olive branch. 'We come in peace.' Those were their first words to us, and we must give them an opportunity to prove themselves trustworthy. Our two species can learn a great deal from each other."

"Like how to barbeque a steak?" asked Deadline, and a few of his camera crew laughed.

Twilight waved the joke off. "Please. There are plenty of species that eat meat and maintain a friendly posture with Equestria."

"Let's see here; dragons, griffins, ursas, diamond dogs," said Deadline. "That's a heck of a list. But I digress. Let's talk about the upcoming Tech-For-Magic Trade Summit."

"Sure."

"It begins later today, as a matter of fact, am I right? This afternoon?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Tech-For-Magic. Human technology for pony magic. Is this a good trade, Miss Sparkle?"

Not really, thought Twilight. But it was never my decision to make. "The Princess thinks it's a good trade," she said aloud.

"The Princess thinks it's a good trade," repeated Deadline. "I assume that means we will see the Tech-For-Magic Summit churn out deals friendly to the humans; relaxation of trade restrictions, for example, allowing a flood of human technology into Equestria."

"Don't even try to act anti-technology, Deadline," scoffed Twilight. "Here we are, after all, in a human-style news studio, using human cameras powered by a human-designed hydro-electric dam. There's a Black and Decker refrigerator in your green-room. Electric fans. Lights. Are you wearing a cell-phone right now? Who in this room isn't?"

"I never said all human technology is bad," replied Deadline. "Or even most of it. My problem is human interference in Equestrian political matters."

"That's not at all what's happening. Canterlot is in firm control of what goes on this side of the portal. And with the right attitude, we can hammer out a deal that will benefit both sides. Just try to have a little faith in our Foreign Ministry, please."

"It's not our diplomatic corps that I'm worried about," said Deadline. "The fact is that I have no faith in the humans. No faith at all. Who knows if they will even honor the deals they make with us? Once they have enough of their kind on this side of the portal to put up a fight, I daresay they will start dictating the rules to us."

"Oh, here we go again. The old Human Invasion theory."

"The Human Invasion is not an impossibility, Adviser. In fact, it is exactly their style. Humans are meat eaters--"

"Omnivores," corrected Twilight.

"Don't try to split hairs, Miss Sparkle. My audience is too smart for that. Humans are meat-eaters. And we all know what meat-eaters are like. They'll chomp down on your neck the moment you look away."

"Your statement reveals a remarkable prejudice," said Twilight. "That makes me sad."

"All due respect Adviser, yours suggests a profound naivete. That scares me." He smiled at her. "But shall we agree to disagree? I'd like to move this discussion along."

"If you insist."

Deadline turned directly to the camera. "At this point, I'd like to bring another voice into the debate. Appearing live by fiber-optic from our newly-completed Manehattan studio, founder and president of the political action group Equestria for Equines, I give you Pro Publica."

An older pony's face appeared on the monitors. He was a dark-green earth-pony, although the image cut off at the chest, so Twilight couldn't see his cutie mark. She figured he was split-screen with them in the actual newscast.

"Welcome to the show, Pro Publica," said Deadline.

"A pleasure as always." He spoke with a Trottingham accent.

"Pro, you've just been hearing what Royal Adviser Twilight Sparkle thinks of the human threat."

"I certainly have, Deadline, and to be perfectly honest, I think she's just another symptom of the crown's startling overconfidence and crumbling credibility. On the surface, such policy suggests a blind-leading-the-blind situation. But it's even worse than that."

"Worse, you say?"

"Yes, and the dear Adviser doesn't even know it. The Sisters and their administration, you see, exist in a world so detached from the rest of society that they discount the risks of engaging with the humans. After all, if it comes to war, who is going to be fighting and dying? Twilight Sparkle herself? Celestia and Luna themselves?"

"Actually, yes!" said Twilight.

"You've had your turn, Miss Sparkle," said Deadline. "Or are you afraid of hearing a differing opinion?"

Twilight put her hooves up, motioning for Pro to continue.

"I'll tell you who will be fighting, dying, paying the price," said Pro Publica, "it will be the working class. It will be the regular ponies, who don't have the benefit of a fancy Canterlot zip-code, a million-bit education, a life already bought and paid for. Ponies who are just trying to scrape by, that's who. What we have here is a corrupt and out-of-touch government making reckless deals with dangerous meat-eating primates. I can't think of a more perfect recipe for disaster, can you?"

"I hate to say it, but I can't," said Deadline. "Your response, Adviser Sparkle?"

"Look, look," she said. "Let's debate that, but I need to make a quick announcement first."

"Go ahead," said Deadline.

"The Princesses have approved the petroleum engine for use by Equestrian citizens."

A collective gasp arose from the production staff. Even Deadline missed a beat.

"Approved?" he said at last.

"We were going to wait for the press briefing," said Twilight, "but what the hay. You heard it here first."

Deadline's mouth worked silently for a few moments before he managed to recover. "Weren't you just a month ago telling the press that your own ponies at the Science Foundation needed another year to complete their research on air pollution?"

"The Princesses have decided that now is the time to move forward with the Equestrian motor."

"Cute. It's especially nice how there was no vote put up about this. No vote at all, just orders. That's all we can ever expect from this administration. Pro Publica, why don't you jump in on this?" He made an invitory gesture.

Pro Publica's eyes were far away. They solidified as he seemed to make up his mind. "Now, now wait a second Deadline," he said.

Deadline's eyebrows went up.

"Look," said Pro, "I don't like humans. Clearly. I wouldn't have devoted so much of my time and treasure to the cause if I didn't. Humans are primates, and any zoologist can tell you that primates are violent, foul, and territorial creatures. Cannibals in some cases. Nothing like our own noble ancestors.

"However, even our own pony race is divided by certain traits. My particular breed is graced by neither horns, nor wings, for example. We earth-ponies can not control the weather, teleport, raise the sun, or even save ourselves from falling down a flight of stairs. When it comes right down to it, we are second-class citizens by nature."

Deadline cleared his throat. "Come on, Pro. Earth-ponies have all the same rights and opportunities as both of the other breeds."

"The same rights, maybe, but not the same opportunities," said Pro Publica. "Already we're relegated to menial labor, agriculture, iron-work. And wages for earth-ponies are dropping as unicorn magitech supplants coal technology."

"The Flim-Flam Company," said Twilight Sparkle.

"Exactly," said Pro Publica. "And the FFC was just the beginning, as you know. Earth-ponies are getting pushed out. The petroleum engine could reverse the tide. We could build trucks, tractors, airplanes. Threshing machines and factories. For that matter, a whole petroleum industry, right here in Equestria. That way, we could minimize oil imports from the human world."

"You would despoil our beautiful country?" asked Deadline. "Seriously? We're talking smog, poisoned water, cancer and lung disease. Something the humans are dealing with called global warming that even they don't understand."

"Life is risk," said Pro Publica with a shrug. "If it means that the earth-ponies get a fairer shot, I'm for it. And if I may be so bold, my donors and board of directors will be for it too. Sorry, Deadline."

Suddenly, there was a flash in the monitors from the Manhehattan studio, and the camera rocked to the side.

"What was that?" said Pro Publica, looking around on the monitor. The lights were flickering, and something fell from the ceiling in the background.

"Pro," said Deadline. "Can you hear us?"

The screen went to static.

"Pro," said Deadline, putting his hoof up to his earpiece. "Pro, we lost the video feed. Are you still with us?" After another few moments of silence, Deadline chuckled and said, "Human technology, what are you gonna' do? Well, that's the end of the interview, anyway, so please stay tuned for our exclusive on Scratch and Octavia, after a word from our sponsor. Back in three minutes, I'm Deadline, and this is Equestria Sub Rosa!"

"And we're out!" shouted the stage manager.

"What happened?" said Deadline into his microphone, speaking to the ponies in the production booth. "What happened to the video feed from Manehattan?"

"It looked like an earthquake," put in Twilight. "I didn't feel anything, though."

"Nine out of ten times it's just equipment failure," said the production manager in their earpieces. "Nothing to worry about."

"Fine," said Deadline. His gaze turned again to Twilight.

For a few moments, the two stared at each other in silent challenge. Twilight wore the hint of a smile.

"Divide my base with a wedge issue?" said Deadline at last. "Make me lose control of my own show?" He put on a rogue's grin. "My kind of move, Adviser. I must say, I'm more than a little turned-on."

"I figured you'd appreciate an underhoofed move like that, Deadline. And for the record, I just threw up in my mouth a little. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a Summit to attend."

At that moment, Twilight's cell-phone began to buzz. She reached for it, then realized that there was buzzing emanating from Deadline's coat-pocket as well. Her ears picked up the quiet buzzing of phones from every corner of the studio. For some reason, they were all receiving calls at once.

"What in the world?" she breathed to herself as she dug around in her modest side-bag, located the phone and brought it up to her ear. "Twilight Sparkle," she said.

"Twilight," said a voice. "It's Spike. I'm at the castle. Are you near a television?"

"Funny you should ask; I'm at Sun News studios in Canterlot. Why?"

"There's been a bombing."

Someone in the production booth cued up a breaking news report from a competing station and put it on the monitors. The ponies in the Equestria Sub Rosa studio crowded around the screens, and at first, all they could see was the billowing smoke. Enormous clouds of it, black and volcanic. Then the flames, leaping into the morning sky. Then the wreckage. Everypony started talking at once.

"Quiet! Quiet!" shouted Deadline. "Bring the audio up!"

"-- reports of numerous injuries and possible fatalities are already flooding in," the newscaster pony was saying on the monitors. "First-responders are only just now arriving on-scene, so we will have to wait for the official numbers, but anypony can see the devastation here at the United Nations building in Manehattan is significant. First estimates of casualties are in the hundreds. This is a true diplomatic disaster for human-pony relations, especially in the midst of such delicate and unprecedented negotiations."

"Flashpoint scenario," said Twilight under her breath.

"What?" asked Spike.

"Flashpoint scenario," she repeated. Her heart was hammering. "Spike, is the Princess there?"

"Celestia's in a meeting with the military brass right now. Do you want me to give her a message for you?"

"Yes, please. Tell her that I'm calling ahead to the Canterlot Embassy to let them know she's on her way to see them."

"Wait a second, you want Celestia herself to go? Are you sure she's going to have time for that? Luna is rounding up the rest of the special-ops team right now-- we'll be ready for war within the hour, depending on where we're needed."

"Spike, this could spiral out of control at any minute. The humans are on their heels and their first instinct is going to be to fight. That means anyone or anypony in arm's reach, if things take a turn for the worse. Somepony needs to talk them down, and I think Celestia is the only one who can, at this point."

"Okay, Twi, I'll tell her. I know she'll trust you." There was a moment of silence. "Where are you going?"

"Manehattan," she said. "Celestia's going to need me there."

"Be safe, sis."

"You too," she said, knowing full-well that he was a soldier, the leader of Equestrian spec-ops in fact. He was the tip of the sword in the event that they discovered who had set the bomb. "Call me if you hear anything else."

"I will." He hung up.

* * *

The Canterlot Embassy

* * *

Chapter 1

August Lansing
United States Ambassador

Elapsed Days in Equestria: 548
Days Remaining in Rotation: 397

Every phone in the place was ringing as August walked through the last security checkpoint at the American Embassy, Canterlot. She swiped her ID in the scanner, waiting impatiently until it produced its familiar green light.

"Morning, Ambassador Lansing," said the US marine at the post. "Kobayashi has requested your presence in the Long Room."

"Thank you, corporal." She strode down the hallway towards the conference wing, meeting her assistant Lukas Walden as she passed her office.

"Took you long enough to get here," he said in his German-British accent. "You're the last one to arrive. The meeting starts in--" he checked his watch-- "six minutes, forty-seven seconds."

"Will you give me a break, Lukas? We were up all night with the Summit material, and I was in my pajamas when the news reports came in this morning."

"For some reason, I'm picturing them as footie-pajamas. They weren't footie-pajamas, were they?" He pushed a huge stack of papers into her arms. "Here, this is everything we've got so far on the incident."

"Not that I'll have time to read it, but thanks."

"Good thing the Manehattan embassy was still under construction right?" He was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "This is already a grade-A debacle as it is. I can't even begin to predict the fallout yet, but it's going to be crazy."

"Lukas, why are you smiling? Don't smile! Jeez, people are going to get the wrong idea."

"Right! Sorry about that. I'm not happy of course... I mean, this is a terrible tragedy. Just terrible." He leaned in. "But you have to admit, exciting."

"You're talking your way into a psych-evaluation, Luke."

He made a dismissive gesture. "Come on, the adrenalin rush is half the reason we do this, right? You should know; you were in Iran, Qatar, South Korea. You get the thrill too, when all the shite is hitting the fan."

"Too much 'shite,' Luke," she said, thumbing through the pages. "Too many fans." He had alphabetized and indexed everything for her. She stopped on the casualty list. There were a couple of grainy photos of the victims, bandaged in hospital beds. She'd seen too much of this sort of thing as well. All of a sudden her thirty-five years felt like seventy.

"Do you need me in the meeting with you?" asked Lukas.

"No reason we should both suffer," said August. "Why don't you start making calls to Washington; everyone we know at the Capitol in fact. Especially Speaker Lomax; I just know he's going to try to use this to get a military rider onto the appropriations bill. Before we know it, he'll have two tank battalions this side of the portal, and it's going to get about a thousand times harder to say 'don't shoot.'"

"Lomax's office is going to hang up on me," said Lukas. "But I'll try. Good luck in the meeting. Oh, I almost forgot." He darted into her office and returned with a large paper-cup full of coffee. A venti.

"Oh my God, thank you, I love you, oh, God, thank you." She struggled to hold the stack of folders under one arm, reaching out with the other as if for the Holy Grail

"I figured you wouldn't have time to get any on your way in," said Lukas, "seeing as how you had to first struggle out of those footie pajamas and all."

"What would I do without you?" she said, getting it all balanced.

"You would die, August. You would die."

"Maybe. Probably." She waved him off. "Go, go! Get on the phones before the lobbyists get their 'shite' together. We need to appeal to Congress's loyalty before the other guys appeal to Congress's wallet."

"Okay, see you later. And good luck in there with the Princess."

"With the who??" shouted August.

* * *

She was indeed the last one to arrive.

"Miss Lansing," said Princess Celestia with a nod.

August bowed and took her seat. She couldn't stop staring at the Princess; the pastel mane-- more like liquid energy than a solid substance; those massive violet eyes. The palpable sense of power that surrounded her, invisible-but-tangible, a low hum. More than a few scientists back on Earth had suggested that the alicorn Sisters were akin to living fusion-engines.

A middle-aged Asian man in a business suit was the first to begin. This was Harry Kobayashi-- Japanese American, veteran diplomat, world-class political operative, and head-of-mission in the American Embassy, Canterlot. He was also, of course, August's boss. Harry first addressed his own side of the table. "In light of recent events, Princess Celestia has been kind enough to grace us with her presence today, preceding the Summit. I won't waste any time in turning it over to her. Princess?"

"Thank you, Harry," said Celestia, radiant as ever. "I am here today to express my deepest condolences for the terrible crime committed at the UN building in Manehattan this morning. I will address the rest of the delegation at the Summit later, but I understand that the United States was the primary investor in the Manehattan site, and so it is thoroughly your government's loss, and your people who were injured."

"We appreciate your sympathy, Princess," said Harry.

Celestia nodded. "Clearly, there are elements in Equestria that do not want to see our nascent alliance continue. Security concerns must be addressed. Under the circumstances, however, I must impress upon you that my own Royal Guard will fulfill this role, in full cooperation with UN leadership. There is no reason to bring more human soldiers across the portal at this time. Such a move could only destabilize an already-delicate situation."

"I agree," said Harry. "But I don't know if our investors are going to see it that way. A number of powerful contractors lost a lot of money this morning, not to mention the blood spilled, and they are going to want reassurance that this is not just the first in a string of similar events."

"By all means, then, Ambassador," said Celestia, "reassure them. Talk them down. Unless you yourself believe my forces unequipped to handle the investigation?"

"Not at all, your highness," said Harry, putting up a placating hand. "We have the utmost faith in your forces. But as you said, it was our loss this morning. We ask only for the freedom to conduct our own investigation. Parallel, not superseding, of course. I think that with a little effort and cooperation, we can keep it to a police matter, rather than bring the military in on it."

"I'm not sure what kind of 'freedom' you're asking for, Ambassador," said Celestia. "But the idea of human police interrogating pony suspects gives me serious pause."

"We can keep this a joint-operation. Nothing will happen on your soil without pony oversight."

"Well, we will have to proceed with caution in any case." She paused for a moment, then took a breath. "This is a dangerous path we're on, Ambassador. I have studied a great deal of Earth's history. I know how these situations can escalate to war."

"We won't let this get out of hand," said Harry. "Or hoof."

"Let's hope not. Relations between our species have been remarkably smooth so far, but this is their first true test. Everything we've built could be ruined in a second with a classic mistake."

"Agreed," said Harry. "The US President is going on the air within the hour to denounce the bombings, but to discourage scapegoating your entire species. The Secretary-General of the UN will be making a similar entreaty later today. We would be grateful to see the same sentiment from Canterlot."

"Consider it done, Ambassador. Now unless you have anything further, I should prepare myself for the Summit. The show must go on, as they say. Please keep me informed as to your investigation, and I'll notify my ponies to cooperate with your teams. It will be impossible to tamp down speculation until then, but we must try."

They all stood and shook Celestia's hoof, then bowed as she left the room with her entourage of aides and security ponies.

Bill Wackenhut-- Harry's Chief of Staff-- waited for them to leave, then turned back to his people in consternation. With his bald pate flushed, the forty-something-year-old looked like a pissed-off egg with a goatee. "We are in deep shit," he said.

"We should be able to handle this," said August, "just as long as we figure out who's responsible. Even though it's far-side of the portal, we can't count out a human group. I could see sympathetic Greenpeace types, or even those anti-witchcraft activists trying something. That could be the real blow to relations."

"Probably just some nutjob," said Bill. "Real terrorist groups can't wait to take credit for something like this. They're usually lining up."

"Either way, it had better be a pony bomb," said August. "Equestrians are antsy enough already. I don't want to have to earn their trust all over again."

"Don't forget the extradition headache we're going to have if it's humans, too," said Bill. "But I guess that's still better than the perps winding up in horse-court. Celestia would probably just give them a slap on the wrist."

"Or deport them," said August, arching an eyebrow. "To the moon."

"Enough speculation," said Harry. "Bill, start rounding up a task force to coordinate our moves with the Equestrian Ministry of Justice. August, I want you to have lunch with Dex Davenport. See if we can get out in front of this thing."

"What am I going to say to Dex Davenport?" asked August. "The man's a four-star general!"

"And your father's a war-hero," said Bill.

"My father is President of the United States," said August. "A sitting Democratic President, and a pro-choice Buddhist for crying out loud."

"Make it work," said Harry. "Dismissed."

* * *

Hickory Grove Steakhouse, UN Complex, Canterlot
12:16 PM

General Dex Davenport was a thin, wiry man with a face that looked like it was chipped out of stone. He had dry, pursed lips, and he often talked with his teeth clenched, like he was doing now.

"So then," he growled, "we start taking fire from the ridge. Buncha' Taliban with Chinese hunting rifles and old Soviet machine-guns. Damn rounds were going straight through the adobe walls and we were getting chewed up pretty bad. There's only been a couple of times I thought-- I knew-- I wasn't gonna survive, but that was one of 'em."

"Crazy," said August, munching on her sandwich. It was turkey, and it had cost a fortune since all meat products had to be imported. Worth it, though. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! We were royally screwed!" shouted the General, stabbing at his steak with his knife and fork. He chewed and swallowed. "But that's when we heard it. At first we thought we were imagining things-- that it was just the gunfire echoing off the mountain or something. But then a shadow passed over our lines, and next thing we know, your dad comes screaming in overhead with his cargo-chopper. He and his copilot start dropping hand-grenades out the windows into the enemy positions. You know, your dad was shot in both legs, but he just kept bombarding them until the Apaches showed up and forced those Taliban rats back underground. Saved my whole goddamn squad!!"

"I had no idea," said August. "I mean, everyone knows the story, but you were there??"

"I try to keep a low profile," said General Davenport. "I'm a Republican, so the suits don't exactly like me singing President Lansing's praises. But yessiree, little lady. I may not always agree with your Dad's social politics, but as a military man, he's earned my respect. So what can I do for you today? I assume it has something to do with the bombing at the Manehattan embassy? What a nasty turn of events that is."

"You said it. And while it may seem counter-intuitive, the reason I'm here is to ask you to stand down. The State Department needs you tell the Pentagon and NATO to hold off any troop increases across the portal. We all think ramping up military presence right now may be exactly the wrong move; that it could tip us over into war."

The General put his fork down and wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. August's heart pounded as she braced for a fight. Finally, the General looked at her and said, "I agree."

"You what?"

"Is that not what you expected? You liberals always think the military just wants to shoot everyone and blow everything up, is that it?"

"What, I didn't--"

"I'm just yanking your chain, kid. I'll talk to Washington about holding off a surge until we get word from your department. But it won't be easy. Not everyone is going to want to sit on their hands and let the detectives do their work. My advice to State is: take your time as fast as you fucking can."

"We will," said August, exhaling with relief. "Look, I have to get back to the office. Can I contact you again if I need to?"

"Sure, kid, call me anytime State needs a link to the Department of Defense. And the next time you talk to your old man, let him know that the 34th Rattlesnakes will never forget."

"I've got a meeting penciled in with him sometime around Easter, I think," said August with a wry smile. "But I will deliver the message. Thanks again, General. My office will be in touch."

* * *

Chapter 2: Between Jobs

Chapter 2

Sun News, Print Division, Fillydelphia
10:03 AM

Cold Type slapped the newspaper down on his desk, moving his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. "Eve," he said. "Let's talk."

Across the table from him, a tiny blue unicorn checked her watch. "Sure, boss, but seriously, I've got to get back to the newsroom. Our team is due in Manehattan any minute now, and I want to make sure they can get a fiber-optic back to the main office. I can't imagine why you dragged me in here when we're in the middle of the biggest story of the year, but okay."

"Evening Edition," he said.

"What?" she said impatiently. "What is it??"

"Look. You're fired."

She just stared at him with her mouth open for a second. "Are you bucking kidding me?"

"There's no need for that kind of language, here," said Cold Type.

"Buck that! Horseradish! I'll say it all!"

He rolled his eyes. "And you wonder why we're letting you go."

"You're darn right, I'm wondering," she said, pointing a hoof at him. "I've always been like this. But up until today, nopony cared as long as I brought in the numbers."

"Eve, this isn't some snap decision. This has been coming on for months. And I'll bet that if you think real hard, you can figure out why."

"Bigots," she said. "Bigots at the helm."

"It doesn't matter what you think of our sponsors, Eve! Because they're the sponsors. Without them, there is no newspaper!"

"Well, in my defense, I have tried to stay out of the spotlight--"

"We saw you on the PBS Newshour last week, trying to assuage fears about the trade deal, talking up human art and science. You couldn't stop singing the humans' praises! Didn't you think the board of directors owned TVs? Were you trying to get fired??"

"But that's not--"

"They were livid, Eve," said Cold Type, collapsing back into his chair. "And they've been up my plot all week. You know I've covered your rump more times than your cutie-mark, but you're finally out of chances. Their message was pretty clear: you, out, now."

"Humans aren't the enemy," she said, slamming her hoof on his desk. "Darn it, Cold Type, they're just... they're lost souls! The humans don't have divine leadership like we do."

"Ha!" said Cold Type. "The majority of them might disagree!"

"I'm not talking about religion, Cold Type. I'm talking about the Sisters-- something flesh-and-blood that we can turn to in times of crisis and weakness. The humans cast about aimlessly, searching for purpose, for guidance, in a way we haven't for a hundred generations. You might call humans savage, but everything in their history is a result of trial-and-error. And the result, of course, is war, disease, crime... But don't you see, we can help them. The people of Earth need our help."

"You're arguing with the wrong guy, Eve," said Cold Type, with a wave of his hoof. "I'm only the rubber stamp."

"Well," she said, setting her mouth into a hard line. "I guess I just got stamped on. Freedom of expression only goes as far as the gold coin, right?"

"You can't possibly be learning that for the first time," said Cold Type. He dug around in his desk for a second, then handed her a packet of papers. "Your severance package. We're going to want you to stay on for a couple of weeks in a consulting role while Scoop Story gets acclimated to his new responsibilities. We have faith in him, of course, but it'll be better if you can oversee things while we work out the kinks."

"You want me to train my replacement!?" she shouted.

"Pretty much. Look, Eve, it's all in your contract. If you want to walk out of here today, fine, but you're not taking your severance pay with you."

"I have to say, Cold Type, this is the first time I've ever wished I had fingers, because I would flip you the biggest bird in the world."

"You could always just slam the door on your way out."

Now that he'd suggested it, she couldn't. "This is horse-apples!" she said, throwing the packet of papers back onto his desk. "You can train your own blasted manager. And the next time you see me, Cold Type, it will be on the front page of the competition."

"Goodbye, Evening Edition," said Cold Type. "I wish I could say it's been a pleasure."

She slammed the door anyway.

* * *

Equestrian Ministry of Justice, Canterlot
10:45 AM

Double Jeopardy was young-- a rookie, really. But in his six years as a Crown Prosecutor for the Canterlot Ministry of Justice, DJ had already experienced a number of gruesome cases and convicted his share of psycho-killer ponies. In comparison to monsters like that, this wealthy, white-collar criminal sitting across the table from him seemed utterly harmless. DJ knew better. Sometimes the hardest criminals to deal with, he thought, are the ones who never even see their victims faces.

"Well?" asked DJ, once the pony defendant and his pony lawyer had gotten a chance to look over the documents. "Not good enough?"

"Not good enough?" exclaimed the lawyer. "Prosecutor, this deal is a hoof to the face! 100 months in the Cloudsdale Penitentiary for embezzlement? Outrageous!"

"Counselor," said DJ to the lawyer, "your client bilked twenty-three separate charity organizations out of tens-of-millions of bits. I'm not being metaphorical when I say that he took food out of the mouths of orphans. If we go to trial, he's going to get a lot worse than eight years in a minimum security cloud-castle."

"Your evidence won't stand up in front of a jury," said the lawyer, "and you know it! Your office should have thought twice about bluffing me, Double Jeopardy, because I don't blink easily. You want a trial, you've got a trial."

A mail-colt poked his head into the meeting. He held up a manila folder. "You asked for this, Prosecutor?"

"Yes, thank you," said DJ, accepting the package. He handed it straight to the defendant. "This is for you. I don't think you'll want him seeing it though." He motioned at the lawyer.

The defendant looked at DJ suspiciously. His lawyer leaned over to grab the package, but the defendant yanked it away and opened it. He pulled out a series of photographs and scanned them as sweat broke out across his forehead.

"How the hay did you get these?" he demanded.

"Oh, well," said DJ, "after what you did, there really wasn't a place the judge didn't let us search. We found some other things, too, but this was my favorite."

"It's not illegal," said the defendant.

"I really don't think ponies will care," said DJ.

"Darn it, let me see those!" said the lawyer, grabbing for them again.

"You're dismissed," said the defendant. "You're dismissed! Go back to the office and wait for my call!"

The lawyer stood up. He straightened his vest. "Fine," he said. "Good luck on your own." He left.

"Who else has seen these?" said the defendant, once he was gone.

"Just me and my boss and the detective who found them," said DJ. "And as long as it doesn't go to trial, nopony else ever has to know."

The defendant seethed. "I'll take the deal," he said at last. "Just show me where to sign." He finished up and the bailiffs escorted him away.

DJ scooped the file folder off the table and walked back to his office with it. He pulled out a few of the photographs and looked at them with macabre amusement. The photos depicted a pony dinner party, attended by a small number of guests in evening wear, all equines, including the defendant himself. In the middle of the table was a huge roast turkey as the centerpiece, but there also was pork sausage, fried chicken, steak, veal, fish. Plenty of oily apricot brandy to make sure the feast wouldn't kill anypony.

"Barbarians," said DJ, his stomach churning. He couldn't believe that this of all things had become the new, bizarre pony fetish. The defendant would have been ruined by these pictures.

The phone on the desk rang. DJ shoved the photographs back into the folder and tossed them in the cabinet. Then he answered. "Crown Prosecutor's office, this is DJ."

"DJ? Oh, thank Celestia I caught up to you."

"Evening Edition! What's going on? Are you in trouble?"

"I... damn it, DJ, I got fired."

"Sun News let you go? You've been there since you graduated! I can't believe it."

"It was my fault, DJ. I was shooting my mouth off about the humans again, and the hand-that-fed-me bit back. I had it coming and I knew it. I was just in denial."

"Hey, come on sis, this isn't your fault. I mean, I guess it kind of is. But Sun News just wasn't a good fit for you anymore. You could always go work for EQD..."

"I just got fired, DJ! I can't exactly walk over to the biggest paper in the kingdom and sit down behind a desk."

"Okay, okay. Here's another idea. Why don't I talk to August about a position at the American Embassy? They could probably use the help."

"Work for the humans?"

"Sure, why not? I can tell you from experience that they're not all murderous colonialists."

"I know that, DJ. It's just... I mean, she's with the United States. I'm not sure how I feel about them."

"How about I just ask her and we go from there?"

"Sure."

"Are you going to be okay? Really? If you hopped on the train, you could be here by dinnertime."

"DJ, tonight I just want to go to a bar where I don't know anypony and drown my sorrows in a mug of cider. I'll take a rain-check, though. And thanks for asking August. Let me know what she says."

"Okay, sis. I've got to go. Oh, uh, one last question."

"Yeah?"

"What do you think about eating meat?"

There was a long pause. "I think races that eat meat tend to bully others. But the humans are omnivores, so who the hay knows? Why, you getting hungry for a burger or something?"

"No," said DJ emphatically. "It's just a case I'm working on. Forget I said anything. I'll call you later. Take care of yourself, Eve."

"I will, big-bro," she said, and hung up.

* * *

Ivory Stables Condo Complex, Canterlot
2:02 AM

The moon was high in the sky by the time August dragged herself through the front door of her apartment. The only light was coming from the microwave clock. She tossed her keys on the counter and let out a huge groan.

"That bad, huh?" said Double Jeopardy, plodding in from the hallway.

"You're still up?" said August.

"Are you really surprised? I've just been finalizing the embezzlement case. Defendant ended up taking the deal after all, for some reason."

"Lucky break for you guys," said August. "We could sure use one of those right about now over at the UN."

DJ went to the icebox and threw something into the microwave. "No clue who did it yet?"

August collapsed into the couch and kicked off her shoes. "Department of Justice said they'd get back to us. We had to conduct the Trade Summit today with the bombing hanging over everyone's head."

"That sounds like one heck of an ursa major in the room."

"It was. Nopony wanted to commit, since everything is up in the air. We only have until the end of the week to make our case, and now... now, I don't even know."

"Don't worry, you'll figure it out," said DJ. The microwave beeped and he started preparing something in the kitchen.

"What are you making?" said August. "Smells good for a change."

"Oh, you're hilarious." DJ came in with two plates and handed one to August with chopsticks. "I figured you'd be stumbling in late like this, so I got Chinese take-out for both of us and saved it."

"Oh my God, thank you," said August, digging in. She wolfed down the orange chicken right away. Tofu, of course, but August did not care in the slightest bit. "Vegetarian Earth food, you are the best stallion in Equestria, DJ."

"Be sure to mention that to your father every chance you get," said DJ, maneuvering some egg foo yung into his mouth. August marveled to watch him use chopsticks. Ponies would never reach the level of manual dexterity enjoyed by humans, but the malleable, gel-like surface of their hooves could still perform some amazing feats.

"You've got nothing to fear from Dad," said August. "He likes you just fine. And as long as you keep treating me like an alicorn Princess, I don't foresee any issues. If anything, I think he's worried I'm turning into a pony."

"Please don't," said DJ. "It's so hot that you're a human."

"I honestly don't understand the attraction," said August. "I mean, you ponies are so damned cute! But humans? We're kind of, uh, lumpy. And we have beady little eyes, like a shrimp."

"No way," said DJ. "Compared to equines, humans are so long-limbed and graceful. Like beautiful willow trees in motion."

"Are you quoting something?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. The lines of the human body are ethereal, fae, at least in my eyes. You make ponies look like fire-hydrants in comparison."

"Harsh!" she said with a laugh. "And I am so far from graceful."

"You're graceful where it counts," said DJ with a half-smile, and he started getting that look in his eye.

So did she. Her cell-phone was ringing, but she didn't give a shit. Let it ring. She'd call them back in twenty minutes. "I bucking love you," she said as she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his warm body.

"And I love you," he said. "Bucking."

Suddenly the front-door slammed open and a half-dozen Secret Service agents rushed in.

"What the hell!?" said August and DJ together as they both leaped up from the couch.

"Package is secure," said the lead agent into his wrist-comm.

"You can say that again," muttered DJ.

"What is the meaning of this, Tomlin?" said August.

Agent Tomlin turned to her. "You weren't answering your phone, Miss Lansing. There's been an attempt on Ambassador Harry Kobayashi's life."

"What?" demanded August. "Where? How?"

"We don't have those answers, yet, Miss Lansing. Just stay put for now." He made a hand-signal and two of the agents broke off to head back into the bedroom.

"Uh," said DJ, "there's private stuff back there."

"It'll be okay, they won't touch anything," said August. She was far more used to this than she liked. The best thing was just to let the Secret Service do what they needed to do, so she could get back to her life. In the meantime, August picked up her phone and dialed Bill Wackenhut.

He answered immediately. "August," he said. "I was just calling you. Harry's been shot."

"Shit," she breathed. "Yeah, the Secret Service just put us on alert over here at my apartment. What the hell happened?"

"I don't know, he left the office a little after you did. The next thing we know, he's dialing 911 from his cell over on Shining Armour way, by the new Canterlot Costco. They found him almost dead in a pool of blood. We're talking cinematic assassination shit here, August. They're taking him to Starswirl Memorial. Beyond that, I've got nothing."

"Is Diplomatic Security with you, Bill?"

"Yeah. They are. And anyone trying to make me next on the hitlist is going to meet my other friends, Smith and Wesson!" Bill was one of those Southern Democrats.

"Remember, shoot to wound," said August sarcastically, "we need the perp alive to answer questions."

"Mock me if you'd like, but if Harry had been armed tonight, then maybe--"

"Bill, I'm not going to debate the Second Amendment with you. What are we doing about this?"

He took a deep breath. "I think we're going to have to delay the Summit."

"That was my thought, too," said August, "But the investors from Stalliongrad and Fillydelphia are only here until Friday. If we don't hook them by then, it's going to slam the brakes on this whole process."

"And your dad could lose the election in November," said Bill. "Right. Shit."

"Look," said August, resting her forehead in her hand. "Bill, I am just going to have to take over for Harry in the meantime. This is too important to throw in the towel."

"My backup's gone, August," said Bill. "You know Tracy went back through the portal last week, and it's been hard enough getting along without her. If you take on Harry's workload, then someone is going to have to pick up the slack for you on the other side."

"Maybe we should go down to the Canterlot Walmart and see if they've got any Communications Directors in the sale bin." That's when she noticed DJ waving his forelegs around like crazy. August put her hand over the phone's mouthpiece and said, "What is it?"

"My sister needs a job," said DJ.

"The one with Sun News in Fillydelphia? I thought that paper was anti-human."

"But she's not. That's why they let her go. August, she was an Editor in Chief. She knows how to run a newsroom. Maybe she can help you out."

August looked at him, not wanting to commit until she'd met the mare in question. But DJ was a good judge of character, and his sister certainly had the right resume. It was worth a shot, especially with things so close to the line.

"Bill," she said into the phone, "I might have a solution. What are you doing?"

"Well, I was sleeping, but now I'm wired as shit. So I think I'll go down to the hospital-- I mean horsepital--" (she could almost hear his eyes roll) "-- and talk to the doctors in person."

August checked the time. The sun would be up soon. "Look," she said into the phone, "let's compromise. We'll do a half-day today on the Summit, cut all the pageantry and stick to nuts and bolts. That will give me the morning to see if I can't put a few of the pieces back in our Jenga stack before the whole thing comes down on us."

"Okay. Just try not to hire any more ponies, okay? With you in charge, Congress is going to insist that the Embassy has gone native. No more ponies, August. Do you hear me?"

August didn't say anything.

"Goddamit, August," he said.

She hung up.

The phone rang in her hand. Blocked number. A chill went through August's body as she hit the talk button. "Lansing."

"It's Lukas," said the young German-British voice. "Sorry to call you on this number, but I'm over at UN Justice and our cell-phones don't work in here. Listen, August, Celestia sent over a few of her best pony diviners to try a temporal-luminescence echo-location spell and--"

"Layman's terms," said August.

"It's some sort of time-window. Like security-vid, only without the camera, ja? August, it was ponies that bombed the Manehattan Embassy."

August frowned. "Are you sure we can trust the diviners accuracy?"

"As much as we trust Celestia," said Lukas. "That's what she told us. Also, FBI's got a preliminary report on the Manehattan Embassy: plain, old, railroad-grade dynamite. Simple, but effective. That's a pony's style, don't you think?"

"Great," said August. "If it leaks out that it was ponies, they're going to hand Speaker Lomax the keys to the kingdom. Look, keep on this thing with the Equestrian Divination Corps. I've got to interview a prospective Comms Director this morning. In the meantime, whoever gets first-wind of Harry's condition calls the others, deal?"

"Deal," said Lukas, and he hung up.

"Miss Lansing," said Agent Tomlin. "This area is secure, but we're going to leave a few extra agents here tonight."

"Actually, I've got to head back to the office," said August with a weary sigh. "But you're more than welcome to tag along."

"Here," said DJ, texting a phone number to August. "My sister's name is Evening Edition, 'Eve' for short. You wanted a stroke of luck, and I think she's it."

"Thanks, stud," said August, then she collapsed against him for a moment while he hugged her tightly. "Sorry our date got ruined."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," said DJ. "Spock said that, and you know he's always right."

"I love you so much," she said and kissed him. August couldn't help but notice one of the agents had turned away with a queasy look on his face. One day, they'll understand, she thought for the thousandth time. She looked back at DJ and gave his soft ear a tug. "I'll call you at lunch and let you know how things went with Eve."

"Sure, when should I tell her to meet you?"

"Eleven will be fine." August stood up like a creaky scarecrow. "Jesus," she sighed, slipping on her shoes and grabbing her house-keys. "Back to the salt mines. Shall we, gentlemen?" And the Secret Service escorted her out the door.

* * *

Chapter 4: Top Down

Chapter 4

The White House
9:15 AM

President Samuel H. Lansing sat in the Oval Office, enjoying a rare moment of solitude from the sea of faces. Aides, press, Secret Service, foreign dignitaries, citizens, soldiers, allies, opponents, Congress, sports teams, elementary school classes, friends, family, and the gosh-darned poet laureate. It never ended.

There was an upside to the fame, of course: the President points at something and the world looks. But the fishbowl hindered him just as as often as it helped, and left him drained even on the best of days. This was one reason his closest friends and confidants had warned him, many years previously, that the introverted Sam Lansing was crazy to seek the office. Yet here he sat today, the unlikely Leader of the Free World.

Worlds, he reminded himself. We have to say worlds now.

He filled a cup with steaming green tea, dropping in a dollop of cream, watching the white billow out like clouds under the surface. The warmth of the sun pressed through the Oval Office's tall windows, falling across his shoulders and illuminating the Presidential Seal at the center of the room.

In the country's early days, the eagle on that seal had faced towards the arrows it held in its claw. It was a warning. The USA is small but mighty, and we will not be pushed around. But then the atom bombs fell and it would be another generation or two before America's military might was questioned again. Harry Truman, the man who dropped those bombs, ordered the seal changed. The eagle would now turn towards the olive branch, in a plea for peace in the future.

A plea, which ultimately went unanswered, thought Sam Lansing. As most pleas do. Again and again over the years, and today as well. This was not a day for the olive branch. This was a day for the arrows. And August would be calling him any minute now, regarding just that.

Or, thought the President, checking his watch, is my dear firebrand finally cooling off? Is she actually going to surprise everyone and go through the proper channels?

A chime sounded on his tablet, followed by a notification window. INTERCOM.

He chuckled to himself. How could he ever have doubted his daughter's tenacity? He tapped the intercom button. "Yes, Sujata, what is it?"

"Mister President," said his secretary through the speaker. "Sir, I have your daughter holding on line one."

"I told you she'd call, Sujata."

"Your powers of divination are as sharp as ever, Mister President," replied the voice. "Shall I refuse access, sir? It would save her the reprimand from State."

"No, no," said the President, setting down his stylus. "Put it into the record as a personal call. No need to let State know that she went over their heads. This time."

"Yes, sir. I'll patch her through right away."

"Thank you, Sujata."

A video-window sprung to life on his tablet, his eldest daughter in the frame. She looked exhausted as always, sleep-deprived, but with those beautiful green eyes that yearned for a fight. Her mother's eyes.

August cleared her throat. "Good morning, Mister President."

"Good morning, Ambassador. What seems to be the issue today?"

"Sir... I've been hearing some rather disturbing rumors over here this morning. Rumors that DoD is gearing up for some kind of big military expansion over the next few days. Rumors that nobody was planning to give State the news until it was too late to stop it."

Despite all our efforts to keep it secret, thought the President. Oh August, always with your ear to the ground. "Ambassador," he said, folding his hands, "I'm afraid the rumors are true."

August's face was a stone mask. "Why... why have you allowed me to be the last to know about this? ... Sir?"

"You know why, Ambassador. You would have laid down on the railroad tracks if you'd so much as heard the whistle. Or am I mistaken?"

Betrayal and anger flashed in her eyes, crashing waves against the bedrock. That girl... that face that had once been so small, cradled in his hands, and which stabbed at him now with a righteous, emerald gaze. She looks so much like her mother, he thought, and suddenly his own eyes threatened to begin to even consider tearing up. Christ, he thought. He missed them both so much, the ache of grief and longing was overwhelming. Or it would have been, to a normal man. But with great effort, he pushed the thought away. Far away, into another room, another building, another world. Because he was not normal. He was President.

Years ago, during the campaign, Sam Lansing had seen it coming, had known it was part of the job for which he'd worked so hard, for which he sacrificed so, so much. But when he put his hand on that book, when he walked into his office for the first time, the power blew him away. It was just the smallest taste of being a god. Wave my hand and millions and billions of people die. Or maybe are saved. Or follow him all the way down the gilded road to the achievement of America's primary world goal: the total elimination of fear in all its terrible forms. For Americans, definitely, or for most of them at least, and maybe even America's friends, too, if they didn't complain too much about the means to an end. Even a candidate with the very best talent and very best intentions would be hard pressed to accomplish this goal without literally conquering the world.

So that was the thing about Presidents. They had to feel in their guts, that out of all the people in all the country-- the cities and towns and villages and farms, the houses and mansions and trailers, the hundreds and hundreds of military bases--even the addicted, or forgotten, or sick, or all of the above, or none of the above--out of all the people, the President needed to believe that he was the one: The one who would make the right decisions for everyone. Sam Lansing felt this now in his stomach, this superhuman confidence, as he gazed down at the United States Acting Senior Ambassador to the Benevolent Marenarchy of Equestria.

"Mister President--" she started.

"August, you would have chained yourself to the bulldozer, we both know it. And we could not have that. We could not have you doing the talk-show circuit, saying one thing and insinuating another. And the worst part, August, is that you'd be doing it on the assumption that I wouldn't punish you because it would harm our family brand if I did." For just a second, he was a father talking to his daughter, and furious to be forced to bring his public life into his private life. But he felt this anger only for a second. He was the President. He had the power to do the right thing, and that was exactly what he was doing.

"Sir..." she said, "I won't... I mean, yes. You're right. You're right of course. I probably would have tried to make an issue in the press about it. But don't think for a second that I consider myself above censure--"

"You called my direct line this morning, August, and you did it because I'm your father. We shouldn't even be having this conversation." He watched her mouth work wordlessly for a second, then he said, "But despite everything, I'm willing to put this matter behind us for now. Really, I get it, August: you never give up, and I am God damned proud of you for that. But this is me talking. When orders come from this office, no matter what they are, don't you ever forget who in this relationship was elected and who was appointed."

August let out a long breath. "I promise I won't. I'm sorry I considered it."

"Good," he said. "I don't operate in vacuum either, you know. Equestrians are going to treat this news as a torch to tinder without any media preparation. I'm asking you for a lot, and your team as well. I saw Paradigm's speech-- everyone has seen it by now. You've got a talented Press Secretary over there, August. But as good as he is talking to ponies, his words do little to reassure us here on Earth. Terrorism still casts a hell of a long shadow, in the US and otherwise. We have not had a peaceful century. And now, to find that the equines are willing to use violence against us... August, everyone on Earth is just bracing for the next attack. The national mood is clear: we can't sit on our hands."

"Most ponies are pro-human, Mister President. We estimate that the New Dawn is actually just a very small group of radicals. Canterlot Intelligence says we're looking at a hundred individuals max, probably more like a few dozen."

"Canterlot Intelligence," said the President with a wave of his hand. "Ambassador, we can't count on Celestia. She's got her secrets to hide, just like we do. Even if Celestia comes up with something, she has no reason to be honest about whether this is a one-off or the beginning of a tidal wave."

"I trust her," said August.

The President raised an eyebrow.

"I trust her," August repeated. "If you spent some time with her, you would too. She actually is an honest, kind, and benevolent ruler."

"Careful," said the President. "Careful, August. She's a chess player, and the best I've ever seen. US Presidents work themselves to death on plans that might bear fruit in maybe ten years, and sometimes we are willing to sacrifice people's lives for those plans. It's just the reality of government. Celestia's plans stretch out over thousands of years. Just think of how insignificant that makes anypony, or especially any human, that should somehow stand in the way of those plans. Our lives are all just motes of dust to her, and we can't even begin to comprehend her agenda. So no, August, I don't trust her. Not at all, and neither should you. And to be perfectly honest, it worries me to hear you apparently buying into the cult of personality that keeps her ten-million worshipers under hoof."

"Mister President," said August, a touch of exasperation in her voice, "Equestria is not a police state. They have most of the same freedoms as us. Speech, press, assembly..."

"And only one religion, August. One."

She didn't answer. The silence began to get heavy after a few moments, and her mouth formed a hard line. "Very well, Sir," she said. "I'll hold onto the announcement until I get word from Davenport."

"I'm sorry August," said the President. "Even though I don't owe you an apology, I am sorry. But I need to get men and equipment farside of the portal as soon as possible so that they're ready in case this all starts to go to hell. The first tank battalion is coming over this evening, and we've got infantry and air power on its heels."

"The hyper-nationalists over here...," said August. "They're going to have a field day with this. Deadline and his bunch, Sun News. They have been on a power trip since the New Dawn video, and when they get footage of the rollout, it's going to confirm their invasion narrative. We'll be legitimizing the enemy."

"So handle them, Ambassador. I have faith in you. And in the meantime, let us catch the bad guys." The President pressed his finger to an icon in the corner of his tablet and dragged it to the outbox. He hit send. "The memo is on its way. Take it to the Princesses. Tell them that we are arming ourselves with a shield, not a sword. That they have nothing to fear from us. Make them believe it, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

There was another extended silence.

"Was there... anything else, Mister President?" said August.

I'm worried about you, thought the President. I love you. Always in some Godforsaken place with people dying in the streets... I thought it would be different this time. Equestria: a perfect paradise. Safe, prosperous, and beautiful. But apparently still too similar to Earth.

He let out a breath. "Just be careful, August," he said. "Please."

"I will, Mister President. Dad. I will. Goodbye."

Then the video-call window blinked off, and there was a universe between them again.

* * *

For a few moments, August just stared at the phone in her hand, replaying her conversation with the President in her mind. Then, she looked out the window of her apartment at Canterlot Castle perched on the mountainside. Silhouetted against the rising sun, it looked more like a temple than a seat of government. One religion, August. One. And in just a few hours, the United States would be bringing a thousand tons of guns, missiles, and bombs into their backyard, and she would have the privilege of going to that castle, and trying to justify it to a god.

Two gods. Four? Cadence and Twilight Sparkle... it was hard to know if they were immortal or not just by looking...

It's enough for a pantheon, in any case.

"Damn it," she said under her breath. Then in a fit of rage, she threw her phone against the couch. "Fuck!"

Harry, what would you have done? I'm trying as hard as I can here, but everything's still coming apart. But he couldn't answer, because he was lying on the brink of death in an Equestrian hospital bed. And she had to do his job now.

All of her people and ponies at the Embassy... They were feeling it-- the pressure, the exhaustion, just like her.

But she was the leader now, so she couldn't show it, and she couldn't show fear. That was the keystone of the whole thing. All of her friends and allies, and then behind them, four-hundred million Americans, eight-billion humans were counting on her not to show fear. Ten million ponies. And if this thing somehow devolved into a war... She didn't even want to think about it.

A knock on the door-frame startled her, causing her to jump up in surprise.

"Uh, hey," said DJ, walking in tentatively.

"DJ! What are you doing home? Don't you have a deposition?"

He gave her a funny look. "It's Saturday, August," he said, pulling off his sweatband. "I just got back from a run."

"Oh... yeah..." she said, "I thought... it was Friday..."

"You haven't slept," said DJ. "Maybe you should."

"No time for that." August shook her head, cradling it in her hand. "Now this is the part where you tell me you didn't overhear any of that conversation I just had."

"Well, not much, except something about the entire United States military coming to dinner."

She groaned, covering her face. "Ugh, you heard everything." Then, to her embarrassment, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She turned her face away. "Uh--"

"Hey, hey, come on," said DJ, sitting down beside her. "I'm just kidding. It's not the end of the world. Yet. Maybe later, but not yet."

She laughed through her tears, but couldn't stop them from flowing. She wiped them away angrily, choking off a sob. "What the hell am I even doing here?"

"From what I understand,," said DJ, handing her a tissue, "you're breaking bad news to powerful people. Or ponies. But it's okay, because that's your special talent."

August groaned, then blew her nose and threw the tissue into the wastebasket. "Right now, DJ, my special talent had better be 'not dying,' because that's the primary challenge of the day."

"What about the Trade Summit? You said it might have enough momentum to carry it through the crisis, even without the Princesses' help."

She shrugged. "There's still potential. Big oil is salivating over drilling rights at the edge of the Everfree, and then there's the auto-industry... But Celestia is going to have her hooves full for a while keeping the earth ponies and pegasi away from each others' throats. That could have stalled talks by itself, even in a vacuum. You know, I really underestimated the amount of frustration that earth ponies have with the other pony races."

"We don't talk about it openly," said DJ, "but yeah, it's one of those things."

"Did you see the news yesterday? Apparently, the Mayor of Cloudsdale made a speech where she compared the gasoline engine to chemical warfare. She implied that spiteful earth ponies are trying to weaken the pegasi by filling the skies with poison."

"You're kidding," said DJ. "That's... that's... well, it's not true, for one thing. This is a socioeconomic grievance, not racism!"

"They do tend to travel together," said August.

"I can only speak for myself, then. It's got nothing to do with spite. I have a number of friends among the pegasi, not to mention the unicorns, who used to be a ruling caste for crying out loud. I'm not prejudiced. No, no, this is about much more important things."

"Equality."

"That, or the sweet little motorcycle I'm going to be riding to work," said DJ with an innocent look.

August huffed. "Trust me, I'm sure the auto-companies can't wait to sell you one. And what a noble cause for polluting the skies."

"You can get one, too! We can ride his-and-hers Harleys around Ponyville."

"That would be the strangest Time cover ever," said August, looking into the middle-distance.

"Besides," said DJ, "we already use coal. Is oil really that much worse? We don't have anywhere near the kind of pollution that... well, that you have on Earth."

"For one thing, DJ, you guys haven't used either of those for electricity yet. You ponies had the phenomenal luck to be able to transition straight to hydroelectric, wind, and solar, thanks to your perfect weather and small population. But now the petrol engine is on its way, and the key word here is volume. While you're out buying your motorbike, everypony else is getting their sports cars, delivery vans, backhoes, speed boats..."

"Ambulances," said DJ. "Firetrucks. Police cars. Public transportation."

"That's a good point," said August. "But remember what I said about perfect weather? Right now, your agricultural economy is based on it, year-round. It rains when you need it to rain. It's sunny on all holidays, except on New Hearth's Eve, when it always snows. Ponies take so much pride in their connection with nature, but this isn't what nature actually is. It's all pre-programmed. It's completely unnatural!"

"This, from the species that invented polyester."

"Oh, humans are just as bad," said August. "We have buildings with massive video screens on them for fuck's sake. But the point I'm trying to make is that Equestria's environment can't be particularly sturdy. If it was, it wouldn't require so much maintenance to keep the whole thing in balance. The gas engine could really screw that equilibrium up."

"You think? I guess so, but it's only smog..."

"It could be worse than that, Deej. China found that out the hard way. Your country is about to go through one of the fastest industrial revolutions of all time, and even with careful planning, it could beat you guys down with water, air, and soil pollution like you've never seen before. I've lived in Mexico City and Beijing, and the best advice they can tell you there is 'stay indoors as much as possible.'"

"So this, here," said DJ, "this is the speech you give to potential investors at the Trade Summit? Yeah... uh... August? I think I might have an idea why it's been giving you so much trouble..."

"Jeez, DJ, I'm just describing the worst case scenario. Like I said, nobody knows what will happen. And the allure of the petrol engine is overwhelming, even without being 'talked up.' Humanity has made tremendous leaps up the evolutionary ladder thanks to fossil fuels. Wind, solar-- we're working on it, but make no mistake, Earth runs on oil."

"With an economy based on tractors and delivery trucks, we might not need perfect weather all the time. Earth sure as hay doesn't have it, and you've made it this far. And ponies have an advantage that you don't: magic. Think about it: what if we could even repair the environmental damage as it happened? The pegasi already do a lot of work similar to that. We could reap the benefits of fossil fuels while paying none of the environmental price."

"Magic atmospheric cleansing," mused August. "It's bound to become a major industry. And god, if some of that magic could be put to use on Earth... You know, DJ, I think I might have just become a proponent of the Equestrian gas engine again."

"Hey," said DJ suddenly. "The Cloudsdale pegasi... do you think maybe they're involved somehow? In the New Dawn thing, I mean. It's got a sky theme and everything."

"Huh," said August. "I don't know. It's a little on-the-nose. Maybe, though. I could ask my Canterlot Intel contact today, and Bill knows some people at the CIA. If you're right, we could collaborate on a message... Set a kind of a trap..." She was already starting to connect the dots in her mind.

"See?" said DJ, kissing her forehead.

"See what?"

"You're back to loving it again. You love your job. Sometimes you forget."

August heaved a great sigh and looked at him, bemused. "So does that make me a masochist?"

"Maybe just a Catholic."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Listen to you making Earth jokes! I knew it, I'm slowly assimilating you." Then an odd thought occurred to her. "DJ... have you ever thought about moving there? To Earth I mean. The Terran-Pony diaspora is growing every day."

"I... don't know. I've never really thought about it. Are you... are you thinking of going back to Earth? I thought you had two more years..."

"I do," she assured him. Then, when he still looked slightly alarmed, she leaned over and embraced him, burying her face in his neck. "We do. I'm not going anywhere, I was just being hypothetical."

"Okay, okay," he said with a laugh. "Whew! I mean... I guess I'd be open to the idea. I've seen enough bootleg movies and TV to imagine what it's like... but to be surrounded by cars and airplanes and air conditioners and fans and motors and televisions and computers all the time. It must be such a racket!"

"It's definitely a lot quieter around here, at least for now," said August. "But I think you in particular might appreciate the faster pace of Earth. Especially the US. There's an immediacy there that Equestria lacks, for better or worse."

"It actually sounds kind of nice," said DJ. "Roaring through the streets of New York City on my motorcycle. You could work at the UN building and be home by six every night."

"Now you're talking!" she said. Then the exhaustion really set in and she swooned a little.

"Whoah, whoah," said DJ, propping her up. "Let's table the discussion for now. At the moment, you either need to be sleeping, eating, or working. I highly recommend one of the first two."

"Right," said August, staring out the window at the castle again, weighing her options. Then, she started hunting around under the couch cushions. Eventually, she found the smartphone that she had thrown. She dialed her assistant, Lukas, who picked up after two rings.

"Hallo?"

"Luke," said August, "do you have that file I forwarded you from the White House?"

"Ja," he said, with a grim tone. "Ja, I got it, alright. I made sure it went out to the senior staff. We're ready to meet on it whenever you are."

"I'll be coming in around noon. I don't expect that Davenport will give me the go-ahead to meet with Canterlot until at least five or six, so that will give us some time to work. And I need some sleep, Luke." She felt embarrassed admitting it. "I'm... I'm pretty tired."

"You know," said Lukas, "you don't need to apologize for not dying at your post. Get some rest, August. You should hear Eve and Paradigm brainstorming with Bill already. We can handle it until you get here."

"Thank you," said August. "I honestly feel a lot better knowing that. Call me if there's an emergency. Or if we hear anything from Canterlot. Or if--"

"Goodby-y-y-ye, August."

"Okay, okay," she said. "Goodbye. Oh, wait!"

But Lukas had hung up.

DJ practically had to pry the phone out of her hand. "Go to bed," he said.

"Fine, alright, I'm going... Hey, Deej?"

"Yes, Ambassador?"

"I love you. I really, really do."

"I love you too, Earthling," he said, "Now move your ass before you pass out on the floor."

She laughed and kissed him and forgot about everything for one more blessed second.

* * *

Location Unknown

Pro Publica came awake to the sensation of motion. Every single part of him hurt; not just his skin, not just his muscles. Deep down, like he'd somehow bruised his bone marrow. Grinding and piercing pain in his joints, feeling of jagged edges where his ribs met his spine. He also felt drugged, although he was grateful for the small amount that it dulled the pain.

He pried his eyes open and the world swam into view. He was in a hallway. A long hallway, being pushed. He was in a wheelchair.

"Where... what..."

His chair slammed through a set of green swinging doors, into a freezing cold room with echoing metal walls. Pro Publica clutched at the thin robe he was wearing. Bang, through another set of swinging doors, down a short ramp and through an archway. The journey seemed to be at an end for now, and Pro heard a hoof press down on the chair's brake. Water dripped somewhere off in the darkness. He struggled to regain lucidity, but it was almost impossible. His brain felt scrambled.

The lights came on with a tink, and Pro Publica blinked away the pain and blindness until he could finally see again. A room came into focus: brushed-steel walls, inset with rows of drawers. It looked like...

"A morgue," he whispered to himself. The vacuum-sealed door closed behind them with a suction hiss.

He tried to stand up, but his joints ground together and he groaned in pain, collapsing back down into the wheelchair.

"Take it easy," said a voice behind him. Pro turned to peer over his shoulder and found himself looking up into the copper-colored eyes of a bronze earth-pony, who was wearing a doctor's coat and stethoscope. The bronze pony's cutie mark was shaped like a heart with white stitches.

"Who are you?" croaked Pro Publica.

"My name is Broken-Heart, M.D.," said the pony. "And no, before you ask, I'm not a cardiologist. Just a GP. May I ask how you're feeling?"

"Everything hurts," said Pro, eyeing the strange pony. "What are we doing here? Is this Starswirl Memorial?"

"Oh, no," said Broken-Heart with a wave of his hoof. "We transferred you out of there as fast as we could. They've had you in an induced coma for a week now. You were pretty severely injured in the collapse." The pony clucked his tongue in admonishment. "We tried to warn you, you know. But you went there anyway. Your pride just wouldn't let you shut your mouth for one minute."

"What... collapse?" stammered Pro. Scraps of memory bobbed to the surface. He seemed to remember an interview... a TV studio... or had that been a dream?

"The collapse of Manehattan Media Center 3," prompted Broken-Heart, "abutting the Manehattan Human Embassy. You were practically next door when our bomb went off, and it collapsed the studio wall. There were some of us who suggested that we just let you die from your injuries, as punishment for betraying us like that. Lucky for you, cooler heads won out."

"My assistant!" said Pro Publica with a gravely shout. "Is she alive?"

"She's fine. Cracked femur, a few cuts and scrapes, nothing major. In fact, from the casualty report, you probably got the worst of it. The wall came down right on top of you."

"Sweet Celestia..."

"Sweet Celestia, indeed," said Broken Heart, walking back into the shadows, his hooves echoing across the cold, tile floor. Pro could hear him tinkering with what sounded like surgical instruments on a metal tray. "Only a few other ponies were injured-- not bad when you consider how many of the meat-eaters we took out, not to mention the media coverage that played right into our hooves. We tried to be careful, but you know what they say about eggs and omelets."

Pro shook his head in disbelief, then winced as his neck bones ground together. "You could have killed me!"

"Mr. Publica, we didn't mean for you to be anywhere near that place during our attack. That was your own doing. We gave you fair warning, and you ignored it. And as I said, I was one of the few voices who argued against just letting you die of your wounds in Starswirl Memorial, which is probably what would have happened if you'd stayed there. Fortunately, our leader has certain useful talents. It's only because of his good graces that you're alive, at least, for now."

"For now!?" said Pro, anger swelling inside his shattered chest. "What does that mean?"

A loud whirring sound startled him. He craned his neck to see Broken Heart revving up a circular bone saw. The doctor put it back down on the surgical tray. "It means 'for now.'"

"How bloody dare you!" croaked Pro. "I went to that interview to forward our cause! My voice is vital to our movement--"

Broken Heart let out a clipped laugh. "You really think that interview was a PR win? Twilight Sparkle made a fool out of you."

"I... I wasn't expecting them to approve the petrol engine. And neither were you! But can't you see how this changes things? You are an earth-pony, surely you understand how it could help us get a leg up on the unicorns and pegasi. Finally! To Tartarus with the humans, but there must be some room for compromise. We'd be cutting off our nose to spite our face if we threw this opportunity away--"

"We are trying to get the humans out of Equestria, Mr. Publica. That means everything about them, everything they bring with them. Please excuse the crude analogy, but the humans have us head-down in the corner-stall, and their technology is the lubricant."

"Using human tech doesn't make us human! Don't... don't you see?"

Broken-Heart glanced over, unimpressed. He was preparing a number of syringes. "What I see, Mr. Publica is a pony who embarrassed himself and his allies, and then got himself blown up because he can't take orders. That is a clumsy pony, I must say. A pony who is turning out to be more trouble than he's worth."

"You ingrate!" trilled Pro Publica. Again, he tried to stand, and again he collapsed in pain. "Without me, there would be no New Dawn!"

"Your money has been useful," said Broken-Heart, "but that was then. Now, you've become a liability." He pulled on a pair of rubber hoof-gloves and slid a respirator over his face.

"What... what are you doing?" said Pro Publica in a reedy voice.

Broken Heart reached into his doctor's bag and pulled out an eyedropper full of amber liquid. The applicator-end was plugged with a rubber stopper. "I'm going to use this," he tapped the tube, "on you." His voice was hollow behind the mask.

"What... what is that?"

"This is an organophosphate nerve-agent. When absorbed through the skin or mucus membranes, it interferes with the signals between body and brain, causing a rather gruesome death. Can you imagine where we got this chemical, Mr. Publica?"

"The humans," whispered Pro.

"Very good. The humans use this type of chemical as a weapon. They synthesize incredibly potent versions of it called 'VX Gas' and 'Sarin'; poisons that can kill a living being with scant more than a few molecules of the stuff." He shook the vial and Pro Publica recoiled away. Broken-Heart laughed. "Oh, don't worry. This sample here is probably one one-hundredth the strength of anything the humans would deign to use. Our chemistry is still quite rudimentary compared to theirs. But a pony goes to war with the weapons he's got, am I right? We can still make enough to eliminate hundreds, if not thousands of our enemies at once."

"My goddess, you're going to put that in a bomb..."

"Well, not a bomb, per se," mused Broken Heart. "Something like that, though."

"You'll kill us all!"

Broken Heart laughed and laughed. "Not all of us! No, Mr. Publica, with a little more refinement, we can ensure that no innocents will ever die from the toxin. Not one pony, ever! Only the invaders." The bronze pony approached the wheelchair, strapping Pro Publica into a set of restraints. Pro tried to resist, but Broken-Heart was surprisingly strong, and Pro was too injured to put up much of a fight.

"Please," begged Pro. "Tell your boss he has to rethink this plan. Killing me will do him no good. And killing more civilians will only backfire on him."

"That's why you're here today, actually. To help make sure we never kill another pony again." Broken Heart leaned forward, grabbed Pro Publica's foreankle, and dropped a single spot of the nerve toxin onto his coat. Pro screamed for help, over and over again, even though he knew the room was soundproof. It only took a few more seconds for the convulsions to set in.

"Look on the bright side," said Broken Heart, as Pro thrashed about in his wheelchair, eyes rolling back into his head. A river of foam poured from his mouth. "Today, you are a hero," said Broken Heart. "Your sacrifice will save so many lives."

* * *

Broken Heart took notes on a clipboard as he watched Pro's body strain against the straps. Pro's eyes fluttered, rolled back in his head, and his teeth clamped down so hard that it was a wonder they did not break. Broken Heart pulled out a stopwatch and timed the seizures. They ran their course in four minutes and twenty-four seconds.

At last, Pro's body sagged and lay still. Broken-Heart approached, and took Pro's blood pressure and temperature.

The door hissed open, and a second pony stepped into the morgue freezer. He was a purple pegasus with one red eye and one blue eye. "He survived," remarked the purple pony. "Your experiment was a success, Doctor."

"Well, yes," said Broken Heart, taking notes on a clipboard. "Grand-mal seizure, but he's through it now. He'll be fine. And I think he'll have learned his lesson, too."

"Well done. It won't be long before we can put our PX Gas to good use."

"Sir, the PX Gas may not be fatal to our kind, but it's still potentially deadly," said Broken Heart. "A seizing pony can die just by falling on her head."

The purple pegasus harumphed confidently. "You can fix it."

"I'll do everything I can," said Broken Heart. "What's the word on the American diplomat?"

A shadow passed across the purple pony's face. "He's going to live, too, it seems. The humans are sturdier than they look."

Broken Heart was in the middle of packing his doctor's bag, but his hoof froze to hear this news.

"Listen," said the purple pegasus, "I can understand if you don't want to do it. You've been more useful to us than I ever hoped. Just say the word and I'll hand it off to somepony else."

"No, no, I can finish the job," said Broken Heart. "It's my mess to clean up, anyway."

"I imagine you have a plan to get close to Kobayashi? Diplomatic Security has Starswirl Memorial on veritable lockdown."

"I think I'll manage," said Broken Heart, closing his doctor's bag.

* * *

IMAGE CREDITS:
http://i0.wp.com/whatisusa.info/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/loud-noise-was-heard-at-the-White-House-whatisusa.info_.jpg
http://orig03.deviantart.net/4c0a/f/2012/172/6/6/toxic_syringe_by_xxvladki-d54bd44.jpg

Chapter 5: A Different World

Chapter 5

US Embassy, Canterlot
1:28 PM

Eve's horn pulsed with magic as she pushed the last of a half-dozen potted plants into the corner of her office and fluffed the leaves. There you go, ficus, she thought. I hope I have better luck than usual keeping you alive. Her special talent was not horticulture.

Still, she'd needed some green in the room. After just a week working in the embassy, she already felt disconnected from the natural environment. At least pony buildings tried to imitate natural surroundings-- wooden floorboards and walls, hewn stone for the castles. This building, on the other hoof, like so many other human buildings, made her feel like she sitting in a plastic box.

"Excuse me," said a voice from the door. "Are you Evening Edition?"

"Yes, that's me" she said, looking up. A man in a digital-camouflage uniform stood in the doorway. He had broad shoulders and dark skin, with dominant, black eyebrows. His shoulder patches identified him as a member of the US Army.

"Major Carlos Martinez," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Edition. I'll be your Pentagon connection here at the Embassy, at least for the time being. Anything having to do with US and NATO activity nearside of the portal, I'm the guy with the answers."

"Major Martinez," said Eve, "come in, have a seat. If it's classified material you've got there, close the door."

Martinez pushed the door shut, then sat down in the chair across from her. "Wood," he commented.

"Wood?"

"Not leather," he said. "Never leather around here. That's a shame. The smell of fresh leather is really one of life's finest pleasures."

"You really don't waste any time in antagonizing, do you?"

Martinez laughed. "Forgive me, I was just poking fun. Let's get started with the armament manifest, if you don't mind." He pulled out a tablet computer and swiped it open.

She keyed a wireless connection between their computers and dragged the files over to her screen. Her laptop decrypted the files on-the-fly, opening schematic after schematic of military hardware... Land vehicle manifest: M1A8 Abrams MBT, IAV SII, M113D APC, M116A4 MPV... "I think I'm having that spelling-bee nightmare again," she said.

"You'll get used to the acronyms. I can help you translate the list, if necessary-- there's a lot of cutting-edge stuff the Pentagon has given us in the last few days."

"Major, anything above a steam-engine is high-tech to us."

"Is that right? Well, try not to get any soot on me from your steam-engine iPad over there."

Eve swiped to a list of aerial vehicles. She'd known such things existed, of course, but the humans had brought over exactly two flying machines in the past two years. That would be changing now, with the heightened military presence. "AH-64Z Apache Advanced," she said. "Quantity: six. Helicopter gunships. I imagine those are pretty much what they sound like?"

"The Z-model with enclosed rotors is barely recognizable from the first generation, actually. Complete EM suite, ablative armor, redundant nano-tech repair systems, multiple smart hardpoints, and a nice, big 30 millimeter cannon. They're designed to carve up enemy tanks, but I think we'll find them pretty useful against pony insurgents as well."

"Careful, Major, you're drooling."

Martinez laughed. "It's the tech, I promise. My friends in school used to hang Playboy centerfolds in their rooms; I had posters of tank schematics, helicopters, submarines. In the end, though, it's the soldiers that win wars, not their machines."

"I guess I don't need to tell you, Major," said Eve, "this military escalation is not exactly making us feel any safer."

Martinez shrugged. "Look, I can respect that you ponies are pacifists. But Americans are just not. Not even the liberals are pacifists, even though they wish they were. Oh, they march and hold their signs for peace, but who do they call when someone is kicking down their door in the middle of the night? Their therapist? No, they'll call the cops to come beat the intruder with sticks, because violence is the only lasting solution to violence. Real pacifists get destroyed so thoroughly that even history forgets about them."

"As I understand, there are a number of pacifists who have made a great impact on human history."

"One was the Son of God, so that's not a good example. As for the rest, Ghandi, MLK, don't get me wrong, I revere them of course, but they are few and far-between, honey. The ones who usually end up in the history books are the George Washingtons and the Ben-Gurions and the Pancho Villas."

"Don't forget the General Custers."

His eyebrow went up, and a smile crept onto his lips. "Was that a warning, Miss Edition?"

"It may be a warning, but not from me. It's coming from all around you. We see all of this military hardware coming into our nation, and it's scaring the hay out of us. And Equestria has never been known to lie down in the face of a threat. You call us pacifists, but we've been at war as many times as you in the last fifty years alone, and if you'll excuse me, I think a threat like Tirek or Queen Chrysalis can stand in the same category as the Soviets or the Third Reich."

"That's not even close to correct. The Soviets had--"

"Consider our size, Major. We have less than a third of one percent of America's population here in Equestria, and I daresay that we have put up a hay of a fight several times in recent memory, despite being so small. We are not pacifists."

Martinez gave her a thoughtful look. "So why aren't citizens allowed to own weapons?"

"We don't need them."

"If I've learned anything in the past two years, it's that Equestria isn't as safe as it looks. So, I guess you just defeat the hydras and the timber-wolves and the ursa majors with the power of friendship, then?"

"Strangely enough, it does tend to happen that way."

"Thanks," said Martinez. "I'll use a gun. That's a minor issue, though, compared to the lack of even a semblance of democracy."

"Major, I think you'll find that the debate over founding a parliament is alive and well in Equestria."

"I understand that. But..." He made a prompting motion with his hands.

She sighed. "But I, for one, trust in the Marenarchy. The Princesses, as you humans say, can make the trains run on time. We have a good transportation infrastructure, a hearty economy, and very low crime, especially compared to human society. And before you suggest otherwise, the taxes here are not out of control."

"If you say so, Miss Edition, but just for argument's sake, consider if they were. What then? Your government has zero obligation to respond to the people's wishes."

"Yet, oddly enough, it does. Don't think for a moment I don't recognize and appreciate that every day. Equines have known real totalitarianism before. We were slaves once, in fact. It's a literal miracle that we have the Sisters to guide us. And you too, if you'd just give them a chance."

"Are you seriously suggesting that we put Celestia and Luna in charge of America?"

She cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "How do you think they'd do?"

Martinez just shook his head. "One day, you're all going to change your tune. Mark my words, equine. You guys are a lot closer to us humans than you'd like to think. Things are always great while things are great. But what happens when the radicals finally stop talking and really try to overthrow your government? What choice will Celestia have? She will rain fire down upon them. Then, what if she's not convinced that she's gotten all of them? She's going to have to start questioning ponies. What if those ponies won't answer her questions? Will she compel them with magic? Will she mind-control them? It's that easy, Miss Edition. One of these days, you're going to wish you had something as enduring as the US Constitution to protect you."

"So you say, but who's going to protect us from the US Constitution?" said Eve in exasperation. She dictated from one of the documents on her tablet. "'This military escalation is purely for self protection. This is not an invasion.'" She laughed. "Not an invasion. It actually says that."

"Well, yeah," said Martinez, "it's not an invasion. The President wanted to be clear, and so do I. We have no intention of invading Equestria."

"Just the motive, ability, and opportunity."

He shrugged "When you deal with the USA, some things are a given."

Eve huffed. "You really tell it like it is, Major."

"Hey, if you want someone to sugar-coat it for you, you can talk to your bosses at the State Department."

"You know what?" said Eve. "I actually prefer your method. It's only been a week since I started working for the government, but already feel a little starved for the truth. Your brutal honesty is kind of brutally refreshing. Kind of."

"I'm glad you think so. A lesser pony would have thrown me out of her office by now."

"The day is young, Major."

* * *

Camp Everfree a.k.a. "The Green Zone"
UN/NATO Base
Everfree Forest, Ruins

11:02 AM

Spike the Dragon had known Dex Davenport for the better part of two years now, and as far as he could tell, the General's eyes were permanently squinted. It was as if the General was forever pressing into an invisible wind, or peering down a set of iron-sights.

"Hey dragon," said the General, as they watched the parade of military vehicles rumble past. "You want to hear a messed-up story?"

"How could I possibly pass on an offer like that?" said Spike.

"Apparently, the first scientists to create the portal went insane. That's what happens to people who look directly into the event horizon. Other sentient life-forms too, I'd imagine. Some of our people think it's because it forces a person to witness the infinite possibilities of the multiverse. It makes a person's mind split like a log."

"You promised 'messed-up,'" said Spike. "And you delivered."

"It was a huge loss for the project," said Davenport. "A huge loss for science. It's a good thing we had their research notes and prototypes. As you can see, we made do. But after that first debacle, we made sure to set the portals up remotely and use robots to build a big metal box like that one." He pointed with a craggy finger at the portal trailer-- really more of a wheeled building-- which opened on one side with a roll-up gate. From this maw trundled a steady line of armored vehicles, which had been rolling past for the better part of twenty minutes now. Tanks, APCs, Humvees, trucks, all piloted remotely from Earth. Some of the trucks held men, Spike knew. Men who would shortly be waking up from the anesthesia required to survive the inter-dimensional trip.

The line of vehicles clattered down the ramp into the unpaved, dirt courtyard, lining up in neat rows along the treeline.

Spike shifted his weight uneasily. The might of the US military was finally beginning to dawn on him. Even this tiny fraction of US power was a bit overwhelming, even to a dragon. He was about a quarter of the way to full-grown these days-- about three meters tall, give or take. Huge by pony standards. But every single one of the human vehicles outweighed him by tons.

"It's like you have your very own army of dragons," Spike commented.

"What was that?" asked General Davenport. He was struggling to open a little foil packet that he'd retrieved from his pocket. "Damn it!" he growled. "We can put a man on Equestria, but we can't design a package that normal people can open!" At last, he managed to get the foil off and shake the contents into his hand. They were tiny white squares. He popped them into his mouth and chewed vigorously.

"Candy?" said Spike, his spines perking up.

"Sort of," said the General. "Nicorette."

"Can I have some?"

"Trust me, kid," said the General. "You're better off without it."

A tank rolled by, shaking the ground beneath them, and Spike had to steady himself on his haunches to keep from falling over. Black smokestacks roared, treads clattered. Just the size of the armored vehicles was intimidating, and of course, he'd been briefed on their armament. And there were dozens of them, one after another, now crowded the clearing. If the humans wanted to make a statement, they sure as hay were succeeding.

"I've had plenty of experience with dangerous magic," he said to the General. "But you just can't mass-produce magic like this."

The General just shook his head, looking solemn. After another minute or two, he cursed under his breath, then let out a grumbling and frustrated sigh. "It's too bad things went this way, dragon."

"You mean the bombing?"

"Everything. The bombing, Kobayashi getting shot, and now this." He motioned at the motorized armor column.

"I thought you wanted this," said Spike in an ambivalent tone.

"It's pretty safe to say that humans on this side of the portal know what a bad move this is," said the General. "Those of us who've been here since the beginning especially. This kind of thing is insulting to the Princesses and antagonistic to the public. But back home, dragon, well, it's a different story there."

"And literally, a different world."

"Damned right."

"General..." said Spike, deciding whether or not to check his candor. "I have to admit that the response is not entirely unwarranted. It may not seem like it, but there was a time when I was persecuted for being a dragon. I can sympathize with how it feels when pony prejudice rears its ugly head. And yet..."

"And yet, you're a sworn defender of Equestria," finished the General. "And how can this not present a clear and present danger? I get it. I just hope that Canterlot understands. And by God, we'd better smash the New Dawn fast, or this is going to get worse."

"General, you have every right to defend your enclave here. Just know that spectacles like this don't make the Marenarchy overeager to help out with what some consider the real business of cross-portal interaction. Things like exchange programs, and the trade summit, which, according to Twilight Sparkle, is hanging by a thread."

"Ambassador Lansing said the same thing to me." The General chewed his gum and shook his head. "It's bullshit: all of it. All of these machines. Mark my words, dragon, we'll never win a war on terrorism with conventional military units. Especially not heavy armor. What we need is special-forces, solid intelligence, and covert air drones. Find 'em, lase 'em, drop a missile on their head from orbit. Unconventional warfare in other words. The kind that has been leveled against us." He waved his hands at the thousand tons of steel before them. "This isn't for the terrorists, it's for the cameras." He pointed at the long rows of news photographers documenting the military roll-out. CNN. FOX. MSNBC.

There were ponies behind the lenses.

Chapter 3: Tipping Point

Chapter 3

Evening Edition boarded the 6:00AM northbound train in Fillydelphia and slept most of the way to the capital, tossing and turning in her seat from cloudy hangover-dreams. Several times she awoke, sure that she'd only imagined being fired from Sun News. But then realization set in once again, and she drifted back into her troubled sleep.

After what could have been any length of time, her cell phone buzzed, indicating that she was entering the range of the Canterlot cell-tower. She had arrived.

"Welcome to Canterlot!" the conductor-pony was saying. "Next stop, Pinkie Pie Avenue!"

Hmm, that's a new change, thought Eve drowsily, as the golden sunlight cut into her eyes. They don't usually name streets after living ponies. Guess the Elements have more than earned it, though.

The conductor stopped when he got to Evening Edition's booth. "Hi there, little missy. Are you all by yourself, or are your parents around? You should go wait at the ticket-office if you're lost--"

"I'm twenty-nine," she said.

"Oho, sorry about that!" laughed the conductor. "You must get that a lot, though."

"I do," she said, bemused. "But thanks for offering help, anyway. I think you still snagged some good karma for yourself."

The conductor kept chuckling as he walked away, and Eve found herself irritated by what really was an all-too-common occurrence. Black sheep of the family, she thought, runt of the litter... There were a number of other things she had left off her resume. She could only hope blabbermouth DJ hadn't told August everything about his little sister.

Evening Edition did a few deep-breathing exercises as the train swayed side to side and click-clacked along the city-tracks. Her jaw hurt, not only from the stress of an impending job interview, but from the unreality of meeting a celebrity-- August was, after all the First Daughter of the USA. There was also the inescapable drama of mixing business with family. Would DJ be mad at August if she didn't hire Eve? This whole thing was a recipe for disaster, but what the hay, she really, really needed the job.

"Rarity Boulevard, comin' up!" said the conductor. This was Eve's stop.

The train squealed and halted. Eve rose and jostled her way through the crowd, stepping out into the city of Canterlot for the first time in many years.

It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the sudden glare, and then she beheld a wide thoroughfare packed with ponies, each one headed somewhere in a hurry. It was easy to recognize the celebrities and politicians by the clusters of reporters huddling around them, shoving every type of recording device ever created right in their faces.

"Newsponies," said Eve, watching the crows feast. "Once my brothers and sisters. My kin. We were going to strike at the black heart of corporate corruption, weren't we? But all we did was snarl and nip at each other's heels. Now I head in to interview to be your enemy: the deceiver, the machine! Nothing to see over here, newspony. Nothing to see." She chuckled at her own melodrama. "Not bad." Eve scribbled it down on one of the many notepads she carried close-at-hoof.

She made her way to the front gates of the UN headquarters. Rather than a single building, this was actually a large, gated complex, containing a number of embassies and admin centers. Aside from a wrought-iron fence, there wasn't a lot of visible security.

Actually, it's kind of nice, she thought. Big green lawns, lots of flowers. There was a fountain out front with a massive bronze globe of Earth in the center. The plaque read:

UNITED NATIONS OF EARTH

Dedicated to promoting, preserving, and defending

the magic of friendship between Earth and all others.

Eve scoffed. "Promoting, preserving, and defending all the fancy new resources you guys stumbled upon. But okay, I'll bite." She headed in.

* * *

It was only once Evening Edition had passed through the first security checkpoint that she started noticing the guards. US Marine and Army MPs, NATO troops, and uniformed Secret Service from every country. They were everywhere. Clearly, the UN compound was under high alert, and with all the fiery news pictures from Manehattan, it was no mystery why.

Lots of guns-- big ones, small ones, black, silver, tan polymer. They made her nervous. When she'd been fresh out of college, Eve had worked the crime beat in Fillydelphia, and had seen more than her fair share of death. Mostly hoof-kills, a few murder-by-magic. None of it had really scared her though. But guns... the fire, the smell, the sound-- a concussion so ferocious that it could tear a pony's eardrums in half. Loud sounds were particularly devastating to her species.

Finding the US Embassy turned out to be as simple as looking for the biggest building with the best real-estate. As Editor in Chief of the Daily Sun, Eve had written a number of articles on the US and its Western allies. She knew that the West had managed to stay ahead of the Eastern powers well into the 21st century, despite damn near falling on its face in the first decade.

Eve encountered another checkpoint just inside the US Embassy. She had her bag searched, x-rayed, and passed in front of a machine that she could only assume was a bomb sniffer. Then a soldier brought out a gigantic green lizard on a leash.

"What the hay is that thing?" Eve exclaimed.

"This is Jerry," said the soldier. "He's a mood-chameleon. He turns pink in the presence of malice and harmful intent."

"You breed these things on Earth?" said Eve, surprised.

"No, no, we, uh, liberated a number of eggs from their nests in the Everfree Forest. These guys are so docile, they could be pressed into service immediately. Just in time I'd say."

"If they're so docile," said Eve, "then how do they defend themselves from predators?"

"Mood-lizards are incredibly poisonous," said the soldier. "But only if you eat them. So don't eat Jerry, okay? Because I'm not kidding. You would die."

Jerry rippled rainbow colors, moving from blue to green to red to purple. He stopped on black.

"Black means ambitious," said the soldier. "Are you feeling ambitious today?"

"Yes," said Eve. "No pink, though?"

"Nope, so I guess you're not an ambitious terrorist." He scratched Jerry under the chin. The lizard made no indication that it noticed or cared.

"Ponies have been afraid to go into the Everfree Forest for as long as I can remember," said Eve. "You humans just walk right in like you own the place."

The soldier laughed. "The Everfree Forest is still pretty dangerous for us, too, but our weapons are a lot more reliable within the forest boundaries than yours are."

"And the science-versus-magic debate rages on," said Eve. "Am I free to go?"

"Sure, stand on the dotted line and I'll buzz you in."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Evening Edition sat in August Lansing's office, shuffling her hooves nervously as the First Daughter shouted into the phone.

"Tell them that!" said August. "Don't tell me. If this report is for DoD, then why are you even on this line at all? This is the reason they call the game 'telephone,' Chuck. This is where it comes from! Stop bringing me information for other people!"

There was some talking on the other end. August held a finger up to Eve and smiled apologetically. One more minute, she mouthed.

She turned back to the phone. "It's not my concern that you're scared of them, Chuck. I expect you to be able to get things done without my authority all the time. Send the manuscripts to Wesley at DoD and don't call me again for at least 48 hours! Yes, I'm serious. You will? Good. Goodbye."

August set the phone in its cradle. She put both hands flat on her desk and exhaled. "I," she said to Eve, "am so sorry about that." She started going through the papers that Eve had given her upon arriving.

Eve just about had a full-blown coronary.

Then August said: "Alright, you're hired."

"What?" said Eve.

"Blame nepotism and fate," said August. "I actually feel sorry for you. You have no idea the shitstorm you just walked into. But I can tell you this: Canterlot relations are my government's top priority right now. That means the money is good. Very good."

"I..." said Eve. "You..."

"I'm supposed to give you this briefing packet on bathroom break laws, and this tax thing, and make you watch these videos on fire safety and CPR, but can we just not and say we did?"

"I, uh, don't play with matches at work. Unless it's somepony's birthday."

"Fantastic. It says here you've been a journalist your whole life. I don't think you'll find this job much of a stretch from that. You're still writing stories, just for a different type of audience. Tell me about any political experience you have."

"I did the Canterlot beat at the castle for a few years after I got out of crime reporting," said Eve. "Studied under a couple pros who are actually retired now. It was a long time ago, but I'm sure I can adjust."

"Why did you get out?"

"I didn't like being a stenographer."

August laughed. "Well, that's politics. Okay, so you're going to be doing a lot of speech writing for us, event coordination, handling media through the Press Secretary-- that's Paradigm, you'll meet him. He's a pony too, obviously. Now and then you might have to step in for a briefing or a press-gaggle. Know your way around that type of thing?"

"Piece of cake."

"Great, perfect. Add to that the newsroom skills and I think we've got a winner." She slapped the file-folder closed. "Well, Evening Edition, it seems like you'll be a valuable member of the team, and I look forward to a very productive relationship. And now that we've got all that formal crap out of the way..." Her face broke out in a genuine smile and she reached across the desk a bit sheepishly. "Hi, I'm August. DJ has told me so much about you!"

"Nice to meet you!" exclaimed Eve, laughing. She took August's hand in her hoof and the two shook with gusto.

"Sorry for the all-business intro," said August, "but we've got zero room for error right now. I had to make sure you had your shit together before we relaxed, otherwise this might have gotten pretty awkward."

"Don't worry, I understand," said Eve. "It was big risk bringing me on like this anyway, and in the middle of a crisis."

August collapsed back into her chair. "It's definitely been a hell of a day," she said. "And night. And day. Although I heard you've been having a rough time of it, yourself. It's no fun to get laid off from a place you've worked at for so long."

"I wouldn't exactly say I got laid off," said Eve.

"Oh, I would," said August with a wave of her hand. "Readership was up, but revenue was scraping bottom. They blamed you because you swim against the current. But I wouldn't hire you if I thought you were negligent or a yes-mare."

"Thanks," said Eve. "You're right about revenues dropping, though. It's even worse than the newspapers let on. All the bits are going into human media tech, TV and radio. The old media might have to fold up completely if Equestria finally gets the internet."

"So, you're against the Inter-Planetary-Net Project?" said August. "Seeing as you're a newspony, that surprises me."

"No, no," said Eve. "Actually I'm a big supporter of the IPNP. The Terran Internet is the human race's collective memory, just as the Equestrian Internet will be ours. I think allowing our digital consciousnesses to merge would bring our races together in a very powerful way."

"Yes, but maybe not a good powerful," said August. "I'll tell you the real reason humans don't want to share their internet with ponies. It's shame. All of the evil and vitriol humans are capable of is on display there in high resolution."

"But so is the beauty," insisted Eve. "The music, the artwork. Peoples' words, people's lives. The most important documents of your civilizations."

"Oh, yeah," said August. She pantomimed digging. "I just know they're somewhere under all this porn."

"I'll tell you the real reason ponies want access to the Terran Internet," said Eve with a huge wink. They both started laughing.

"You know," said August, "This is a total non-sequitur, but I assumed you would be an earth-pony like DJ. I'm a little surprised to see that you're a unicorn."

"Not as surprised as Daddy was."

They howled with laughter.

"Jesus Christ," said August, wiping her eyes. "I'm delirious from sleep-loss."

"I'm just relieved," said Eve. "I was so scared to come in here today."

"I hate to say it, but your instincts might have been right after all," said August. "This is a scary time for the human embassies, especially if the President has to bring over more soldiers, which is probably going to happen sooner rather than later. You might get some stigma from other ponies if things start going sour between our people. Can you handle that?"

Eve paused for a second, then nodded. "I want to help," she said.

"Why?"

"Because our races will be a hundred times stronger as friends than as enemies."

"Actually," said August, "the correct answer was 'the money,' but I'll take what you said." She checked the clock. "Okay, first thing's first. We've got to swear you in and get the ball rolling on your security clearance. Once the paperwork is done, I'll introduce you to your staff and bring you up to speed on all of the wonderful things you now get to deal with."

"Hey," said Eve, "can I ask who you were yelling at on the phone earlier?"

"Oh, that was Chuck. He's your secretary."

* * *

Eve had always felt a little strange walking around inside a human office-building. Rather than natural products like wood and stone, humans used mostly synthetics for construction. Even the rugs were made of plastic fibers. Eve had to admit, though, that once the humans had their machines in place, their buildings went up with surprising speed.

August guided Eve down a long hall to the Communications Hub-- a busy, bustling media center with TVs along one entire wall. A small army of interns, clerks, and policy-wonks were running around clutching papers and pressing phones to their ears.

Actually, thought Eve, it doesn't look so different from a newsroom.

They found Eve's office tucked away in the southeast corner of the media center.

"This is only temporary," said August, as she turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The room was empty, except for a desk and a filing cabinet. It smelled like paint. There was a single window.

"Hmm," said August, clicking on the light. "I thought I told Requisitions to get you some furniture."

A ridiculously handsome black unicorn with a cream-colored mane suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Ambassador Lansing," he said, in a light tone. "I thought I heard your voice in here." With his aquamarine eyes and ivory horn, Paradigm was even more a sight in the flesh than he was on TV. His cutie-mark was a silver flag whipping in an imaginary wind.

"Paradigm, come in here," said August. "I want you to meet Evening Edition, the new Comms Director. She goes by 'Eve.'"

"Charmed!" he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"The famous Paradigm the Unicorn," said Eve, returning the smile. "You're a talented pony. Handled the magic-radiation scandal for the Hi-Tech Corporation, what, six years ago? Amazing work. Hi-Tech Corp came through smelling like a rose, as I recall. The victims, not so much."

Paradigm looked over at August. August just shrugged and raised her eyebrows, as if to say, This is all you, buddy.

"Miss Edition," said Paradigm, turning back to Eve, "there was a time in my life when the thrill of the job was all I cared about. Hi-Tech came to me with an impossible task, and I took it because I wanted to see if I could do it. As it turned out, I could. Eventually, I did come to regret the harm that my work did, which is one reason I'm here now, doing this."

"Working for the humans?" asked Eve. "I thought you wanted to decrease your level of infamy."

"The humans are coming through the portal one way or another," said Paradigm. "This way, I can make sure they do as little harm as possible. No offense, Ambassador."

"Heck," said August, "that's sounds just about like our mission statement to me."

"Don't worry Paradigm," said Eve, "I just wanted to get your side of it. I am the last pony here who should be judging others for their past employers. I was with the Daily Sun, remember? If it was up to their sponsors, the portal would have a great big magic cork in it."

"Well, you still had the courage to speak out against your benefactors," said Paradigm. "That, to me, is bravery."

"Thanks," said Eve. "I might actually call it self-destructive behavior, but okay. At least I seem to have landed on my hooves."

"You mean right in the middle of the frying pan?" said Paradigm. "On a completely different note, is anypony else getting a little high off these paint fumes in here?"

"Ugh, yes," said August, going over to fan the door in the hall, while Paradigm wrestled the window open with his magic. The fresh smell of rain swept past the blinds. A lightning storm had rolled in from the coast, just as the Cloudsdale forecast had predicted.

"I'm really sorry about this crappy office," said August. "It's kind of been a spare since Tracy went back to Earth last week and took her assistant with her. Trust me, once things have settled down a little, we'll find you some place with a real wood desk, not these metal monstrosities that will cut your damn leg off if you're not careful."

"Ahem," said Paradigm. "Right next door?"

"I've been in your office, Paradigm," said August. "All your furniture is teak."

The black unicorn placed a hoof to his chest. "I choose to remain offended."

Just then, a young man poked his head into the room. He had short, brown hair, and his face was a galaxy of freckles.

"Oh good, Chuck," said August. "I was just about to page you."

"August!" stammered Chuck, almost dropping his papers. "Unless I'm mistaken, you told me on the phone that I wasn't to speak to you for forty-eight hours--"

"You're pardoned," said August. "Just please, please, Chuck. Please."

"Yes, ma'am," said Chuck.

"Evening Edition," said August, glancing over at her, "this is Chuck Pomeranz, your executive assistant. Chuck, this is Evening Edition, your new lord and master."

"May I call you Eve?" asked Chuck, bending down to shake her hoof.

"I prefer it," said Eve with a laugh. "Too many syllables otherwise."

"Oh, it's not personal," said Chuck. "It's our brains. The chemical matrices therein obviously contain a finite amount of storage, and yet most people go around carelessly filling up that space with nonsense. I think that's a shame."

"I couldn't agree more," said Eve.

Chuck glanced around the room. "Requisitions messed up again?" he said. "Those forms are seven-and-a-half pages long! Seven-and-a-half pages! What am I filling them out for?"

"Is Requisitions a pony or a department?" asked Eve.

"A department," said August. She put one hand on her hip and swept her red-blonde hair back with the other. "Well, no matter. Eve, I imagine you brought a laptop and smartphone with you?"

"Yeah," said Eve, "actually, if I just had a chair, I could plug in and get to work."

There was a moment of silence. A glance went around the circle.

Then Chuck said: "Oh! Hint-hint, right?" He ran out the door and returned a moment later with a straight-backed chair.

"Eve's a pony," said August. "She needs a pony chair."

"Of course she does, my mistake!" said Chuck, striking his forehead with his palm. He turned and ran back out.

"He's actually a genius," August told Eve.

"He hides it well," said Eve with a grin.

"Two-hundred-plus IQ, last time they checked," said August. "Eighteen years, three months old, with a Master's Degree in political science and another in mechanical engineering. This job is his way of researching for a PhD project, I think. He's a high-risk, high-reward employee, do you understand? Utilize him correctly and he'll be invaluable to you. Tracy did. But she had to stay on him like glue."

"Understood," said Eve. "He seems nice."

"Yes," said August. "He is definitely nice."

"Cue the organ music," said Paradigm.

Chuck returned with one of the ottoman-style padded-benches that the ponies used as chairs, since their legs didn't easily bend to fit human chairs. He set it behind the desk.

"Anyway," panted Chuck, "it's nice to meet you, Eve."

"It's nice to meet you too, Chuck," said Eve. "Paradigm, August. Well, as hard as you've all tried to discourage me at every turn, I'm getting the weirdest feeling that things are going to work out after all."

Just then, a pretty, young mare appeared in the doorway. She was stop-sign red with a blonde mane held in a pink headband.

"Sweet Talk!" said Paradigm. "Come join the party in the empty office!"

But Sweet Talk had a grave expression on her face. "Something is happening, guys," she said. "You'd better come take a look at this."

* * *

11:59 AM

They filed out into the Communications Hub. Sweet Talk shouted, "Monitors to four!" at a volume belied by her soft exterior. All the TVs on the opposite wall started switching to the same channel, as the media handlers queued them up on their own screens. The audio feed began to come through the overhead speakers.

"--delivered only minutes ago to this station. Once again, here is the video in its entirety. Although censored by our studio, the footage is still quite graphic. Those with small foals may wish to leave the room."

The video opened with brown skies and brown water. First Los Angeles, then Mexico City, then New Delhi, then Pittsburgh, then Beijing. Images of dead fish, strip-mined mountains, burning oil wells, poisoned wetlands. Typical environmentalist propaganda, but ponies were not inured to it-- had not experienced a lifetime of learning to conveniently forget.

"This is humanity," said a voice.

Then the screen lit up with images of war. Hiroshima. Auschwitz. Dresdin. Cities on fire. People on fire. Bodies floating in a river. Bodies baking in the desert. Serbia. Rwanda. Syria. El Salvador. Iraq.

"This," said a voice on the tape, "is humanity."

Eve had secretly wondered for months if something like this was going to happen. Clearly, the UN had been trying to spin and play down a great deal of the information trickling past the portal from the human side. The dirty little secrets. And the pony media had cooperated, because they wanted the human tech. No denying it now, though. This vid-reel was going to be the talk of the kingdom.

The screen changed again. Despite the war imagery preceding it, this was somehow the most horrific of all. It was PETA-type footage from a slaughterhouse. Chickens, sheep, pigs in the final seconds of their lives. The screen was blurred in places, but the audio was crystal clear.

"This is humanity," said the voice.

"Shit," Eve heard August mutter. Even the humans in the room were turning away, disgusted, from the images on the screen.

The video resolved on a purple pegasus against a dark background. He had one blue eye and one red eye. "Humanity is a race of slavers," he said. "Destroyers. Consumers. Mass-murderers. Some ponies in our society think we can help the humans, treat them as equals. Some think that the humans can learn to be like us. But the humans are not our equals. They are not like us. And the more we try to help them, the more we become like them. I barely recognize my own homeland anymore. Do you? And it continues to worsen. Even now, the humans search for oil in the gemfields, pillage the Everfree whenever they like, and transport our magical artifacts to their home planet for who-knows-what-purpose. Ponies everywhere turn a blind eye because they want dishwashers and microwave-ovens and Pizza Hut.

"But not us. We are the New Dawn, and our time is now. We destroyed the humans' temple of extortion in Manehattan; we attacked their puppet mouthpiece Kobayashi. Each time our message was this: Resistance is possible. But not for long. Soon, the humans will be everywhere, and we will be just another indigenous inconvenience to them. Our land will become their latest disposable resource. Make no mistake: It has happened to every species that man has ever encountered, including its own. It doesn't have to be that way here. Resistance is possible, everypony. But not for long. This is the New Dawn." The tape ended.

The anchor ponies came back on, reporting that the tape had been delivered via Pony Express with a fake return address. Beyond that, they had nothing but the usual vapid, useless commentary.

Eve turned back to regard the media center, where the humans and ponies in attendance were beginning to eye each other nervously. No creature knew quite what to do.

August broke the awkward silence. "Paradigm," she said. "Get in the briefing room and clean this up."

"With pleasure," said Paradigm. He picked his folder of papers up and leafed through it for a moment, then set it down. "I think I'll just ad-lib this one," he said. Then he straightened his tie and marched through the swinging door into the blinding flashes of a hundred cameras.

* * *

"Paradigm! What is the embassy's comment on the New Dawn video?"

"How will the video's release effect the Tech-For-Magic Trade Summit?"

"To your knowledge, is the material on the New Dawn video authentic?"

"Paradigm, will you be resigning your post with the US in light of the New Dawn video?"

Paradigm held his hooves up until the press room reluctantly got a hold of itself. He took a moment to look out at the familiar faces of the newsponies: two-dozen of them from every sector of the media.

This is it, thought Paradigm. The impossible task, yet again. They're going to call me the bad guy. Maybe that's just who I was born to play: the pony that pissed off the world. The pony who defended the indefensible. The pony on the wrong side.

But the thought just made him smile. The truth was that he loved the crisis, he lived for the crisis. Paradigm was on his best game when everything was falling apart. The humans were kind of like that, too. Maybe that was why he felt a kinship with them, despite their dark side. Sympathy for the devil, he thought, and chuckled at the human idiom. Ponyfeathers. Let's do this.

"Good morning," he said. "I'll start with the release. This embassy, and in turn, the US government, condemns the violence and threats carried out by the organization calling itself the New Dawn. Human authorities are working closely with the Equestrian government to bring these criminals to justice. There's a handout going around the room right now with the released names of the Manehattan bombing victims, and let me add that the third entry from the top, Thomas Howitz, father of three, died this morning of the wounds he sustained in the blast. Howitz was an American contractor who came over in the first civilian wave. He dedicated the last year-and-a-half of his life to building hydro-electric infrastructure for the Princesses, and if any of you are enjoying the electricity that is powering your cameras and microphones, not to mention the TVs and radios that your audience is using, then I'm sure you'll agree that this is a loss for both species. We extend our gratitude and sympathy to the Howitz family and the families of all victims."

The black unicorn paused for a long moment. "Okay," he said, "that's it for the official release. The rest of what I'm about say is a personal statement.

"Ponies, nothing we saw on that video was a surprise. We've known about the less-savory elements of human society all along, even if we've tried to fool ourselves into thinking that we didn't. So please believe me when I say that any faux-shock or feigned outrage will be dismissed and later ridiculed by yours truly.

"Earth is not like Equestria. It is a wild and dangerous place, and the humans are a physically weak species. They can't fly. They have no magic whatsoever. They have to accept whatever random weather they get, and if that means a tornado, or a hurricane, or a blizzard, then too bad! Unlike ponies, they aren't guaranteed food, shelter, or an immortal alicorn princess to remind them of the long-term consequences of their actions. They are born, live, and die inundated with dangers and disadvantages. As such, the human race has been forced to live a rather desperate existence. They've poisoned parts of their planet, invented any number of deadly weapons with which to kill each other. And yes, they eat meat. It's a big issue for us herbivores, but the truth is that if humans weren't omnivorous, they probably would have starved to extinction twenty-thousand years ago when their planet froze over.

"None of this is to say that the humans are blameless. I'm not going to lie to you, Equestria: I still haven't entirely made up my mind about which of mankind's dirty little secrets I can accept, which I can not, and where I'm willing to give the humans credit for trying. But I'll tell you who I won't listen to. I'll tell you who has no right to judge anybody: ponies who blow up buildings. Ponies who shoot diplomats in cold blood. Ponies who cultivate fear and distrust by targeting innocents. That's not what I believe in. That's not what you believe in, either, I'll bet."

Paradigm glanced down at his hooves, his expression pensive. Then his eyes rose back up to the crowd. "Mares and gentlecolts, I am a pony. As such, I can't stand up here and apologize for humanity. But let me tell you, even if I had that authority, I wouldn't do it. Humans have done the best they could against a stacked deck. You want the headline here? Ponies couldn't have done any better. That's all I've got. I'll go ahead and take any questions now, thank you."

* * *

Within a minute, every being in the Communications Hub was back in motion, working their way down call-lists, preparing reports, collating documents for the Summit later that day. At least in this particular locale, the crisis was under control.

"Good job, Paradigm," said August into the hand-mic. She knew he could hear her in his earpiece. They watched him on the press-room monitor, fielding questions with deft and entertaining answers-- exactly what a Press Secretary was supposed to do.

"Unorthodox performance," commented Evening Edition. "But effective."

"We solve too many of our problems like that, I'll tell you," said August, wiping her brow with a handkerchief. "By the way, welcome to the Embassy."

* * *

END OF PART I