Chapters “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for the warm welcome.” The shortish man in his late forties stood at one of the linen-draped dining tables, his polished ease reinforced by a bespoke three-piece suit, and expounded over the fading applause from the attentive audience filling the festively decorated canteen. “Just in case you missed it, my name is Cookie Pusher, and I am pleased and honored to serve as the new administrator of what I’m told most folks here just call ‘the Campus’—which certainly is shorter than ‘the Everfree Satellite Campus of the Foreign Service Institute’.” Scattered chuckles rose here and there, briefly bringing a crooked smile to the speaker’s stone-gray face.
“Ms. Dove here has done a heroic job over the last several years of getting this facility up and running smoothly.” He nodded to the equally well-dressed middle-aged woman sitting beside him and received a polite nod in return. “But as some of you may not know, there’s a limit to how long an active foreign service officer can remain in a domestic position before losing eligibility for foreign postings. As it is, the exigencies of the service already have resulted in one waiver; the law does not permit a second. So, back she goes into the pool!” He raised a hand with a humorous flick, like a fisherman tossing a fish into the water, as a rumble of surprised laughter punctuated his speech. “I for one hope her next assignment is at least as rewarding as this one no doubt has been.”
Cries of “hear, hear!” followed, and even Ms. Dove herself colored slightly, though she did not seem displeased.
“At any rate, I’ve bored you all enough now. I’m sure everyone is much more interested in the fine breakfast awaiting us than any speeches. I know I am, at least!” Another round of laughter and applause endorsed this sentiment as the new administrator resumed his seat, and the staff behind the canteen’s cafeteria-style serving bar busied themselves with a few last-minute preparations before the rush.
More than a brunch, not quite a party, the reception filled a slightly awkward middle ground—a seemingly odd position for an event put on by and largely for foreign-service professionals. On the other hand, those with any experience rose smoothly to the occasion, accustomed as they were to far more difficult circumstances. It was the other guests who sometimes weren’t sure how to split the difference between sitting at table and circulating to pay respects.
“I think they did it on purpose,” hypothesized Doctor Twilight Sparkle as she pushed her stylish half-frame eyeglasses up her petite nose with the tip of a forefinger. “I seem to remember someone talking about making every social event a learning experience. Who was that again, Sunny?” She cocked her head and eyed her companion sidelong.
Ms. Sunset Shimmer, Senior Consul for the Principality of Equestria, rubbed her chin and cast her gaze toward the ceiling in manifest thought. “Hmm. Kind of hard to remember that far back, Twi, but I think it was a diplomat, wasn’t it?”
The guest of honor spread his arms and sat back on his brushed-metal ten-oh-six chair, one of scores populating the dining hall. “Now, now. Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with this?” His tone brimmed with earnest innocence.
“I wouldn’t put it past you for a second, Cook,” the fiery-haired woman shot back. “You’ve always had an absolutely terrible sense of humor.”
The couple in their mid-thirties stood side by side across the table from the new administrator. A graceful indigo sheath dress flattered Twilight’s slender build and her violet hair was drawn up in an elaborate bun. Sunset looked smart in a pastel topaz business suit with tapered slacks tailored to her somewhat curvier figure, though her halo of shoulder-length red-and-gold hair remained as unruly as ever. Each wore a flat round crystal the size of a large coin, matched by color—and, to the knowledgeable eye, bas-relief symbol—to its bearer; Twilight’s depended from a fine gold chain, while Sunset’s was set in the clasp of a bolo tie.
The smattering of other senior guests currently seated at the table looked on, variously amused or bemused by the byplay, but only one spoke up. “This is the first chance I’ve had to meet Mister Cook in person.” Her Excellency Ambassador Ember’s eyes were alight with interest as she turned to him. “Terrible sense of humor or not, I know Grandmother Pin always has thought well of you, sir. It wasn’t until I was read into the Eloptic Machine compartment a few months ago, before this assignment, I understood why, though.”
Cook nodded with a more sober air. “Contacting and monitoring Sunset and her crowd was my very first assignment, Ms. Ember, while they were still in high school—good heavens, was it really seventeen years ago?” He ran a hand through his short crisp dark hair, only lightly salted with gray, as if expecting to find it somehow had vanished while he wasn’t looking. “It still feels strange, after all this time, that Eloptic Machine’s been reduced to confidential, but I suppose when they decided to build this place they really couldn’t do anything else.”
Sunset shook her head wryly. “Yeah, but I gotta say I don’t think they’re fooling much of anybody. Only half of it has anything to do with the Institute. The other half is my consulate and your embassy and customs and entry.”
“It really is Old Home Week.” The interruption floated past her and Twilight, and both of them turned. Cook stood as well, his smile expanding to an unabashed grin.
The figure literally marching up to the table was a bit startling to the unprepared. Still imposingly tall and sinewy even in her early sixties, Colonel Rose Brass wore an immaculate undress army service uniform with consummate panache; its dark brownish-green tunic contrasted sharply against her weathered brass complexion and age-silvered buzz-cut hair.
Cook reached across the table to shake the colonel’s hand, the only part of her sleek industrial-looking prosthetic right arm currently visible. “Colonel Brass! It’s good to see you again. Keeping the diplomats in line?”
The network of scars around the older woman’s left eye and on the cheek below it, far less prominent now than they once were, did nothing to dampen the answering grin. “Doing what I can. Good to see you too, Mister Cook, and congratulations.”
“Thank you, Colonel, and may I say you are looking better than ever.” Whimsical as his tone was, the comment seemed entirely serious.
“For a woman nearing retirement, you mean,” she teased. “But yes. Cosmetic repairs are getting better all the time these days, and I’ve been through a couple of treatments to reduce the scarring.” She pointed her other forefinger toward her mismatched left eye, a smooth cabochon of deep ruby red. “To be honest, though, I care about this a lot more. All it gives me is what amounts to peripheral vision across the whole field, but it’s sufficient to restore binocular vision, which is miracle enough.” She tipped her head toward Twilight. “Partly thanks to her. Some of the patents have her name on them.”
Everyone around the table suddenly focused on the scientist and engineer with admiration; she in turn blushed and looked down, then glanced beseechingly through her eyelashes at her sweetheart, who laughed and put an arm around her shoulder in a sideways hug, following up with a peck on the cheek. “You really do need to learn how to take a compliment, Twi.” The only verbal reply was an inaudible mutter, which everyone charitably ignored.
“Sunset, Applejack says the van is at the front gate,” a voice suddenly piped with the androgyny of childhood into the conversational pause. “She thinks they’ll be here shortly.”
“Thanks, Dawn,” Sunset replied easily. “Please give AJ directions to the S1 auditorium and let her know we’ll be there to help with set-up.” A brief guitar riff in response apparently concluded the conversation.
Most of the onlookers took the phantom presence in stride, but Cook’s brows rose and he commented dryly, “Somehow I can’t imagine the Campus already is haunted by the ghost of a child.”
“That’s my digital assistant,” Sunset informed him. “Another of Twi’s amazing inventions. Hers is named Dusk. They’re twins, sort of, though they’re developing different personalities.”
“Are they—?” Cook’s brows now were furrowed.
“We . . . aren’t sure.” Twilight bit her lip. “Machine learning and AI have come a long way, and the twins are state of the art, but whether they’re up to, say, Spike’s level or even ours, or just faking it, we can’t tell. They don’t seem to know either, or at least they aren’t saying.”
“What we are sure of is, they may be the most advanced in the world.” Sunset shrugged. “They’re hand-built, one—well, two of a kind, and they do still have their share of bugs, if that’s what you can call it. But they’re very helpful and they’re getting fairly good with social cues.”
Cook and Rose exchanged glances. Briefing papers likely not available to the younger women indicated there was a bushel of similar projects around the world, many of them dead secret, that might contest Sunset’s claim. On the other hand, Twilight definitely was a real prodigy, so it was even money.
“Anyway, we’ve gotta jet if we’re gonna help out with set-up like we promised,” Sunset added hurriedly. “Just one last thing: Raven sends her regards, and she’ll see you later, Cook—but office hours, y’know, one’r the other of us has to be around to hold the fort.”
“I understand, and I’m sure I’ll have a chance to meet up with Ms. Inkwell soon enough. Now scoot!”
The two Rainbooms said their farewells before trotting away to rendezvous with the rest of the band in the auditorium at the other end of the building. Those who remained behind saw them off before turning back.
Rose shook her head. “Those two really do need to tie the knot.”
“What’s stopping them?” Cook asked with a trace of concern.
Ember leaned her chin on an aquamarine hand. “Nothing, as far as I can tell. I think they just haven’t gotten around to it. They’ve settled down; all they’re missing is a marriage license to hang on the wall—or stash in a drawer, knowing them.”
“What she said,” Rose seconded. “And no, I haven’t dropped any grandmotherly hints, thank you very much. They’re grown women; they can handle their own affairs, and any nagging can come from Twilight’s family. Anyway, speaking of tying the knot—”
“Wide Angle is doing fine,” Cook assured her. “He’s already planning all sorts of expeditions to take pictures of the city, the mountains, the ocean, and just about everything else. He loves the place, and he’s sure he can make a fortune from photos of it.” A fond smile lit his face. “But then he’s loved everywhere we’ve gone. I’m tremendously lucky; an awful lot of spouses get tired of following the flag. He always sees it as a new opportunity.”
“And the kiddo?” Rose quirked another smile.
“Our little hellion—I mean precious angel—is doing fine too. Looking forward to exploring the city and meeting new friends at school.” A little sigh accompanied this. “That’s more of a cause for concern, at least in my mind. An unsettled childhood can make things tough for someone later in life. One reason I applied for this position was to provide some stability for a few years at a critical stage.”
“Not to mention a chance to see some old friends?” Rose asked gently.
“Yeah, that too.” Cook sat down again. “How about you? Heard anything from your favorite ex-clients recently?”
“Oh, come on,” the former youth social worker chided him. “It’s not like the Dazzlings are an obscure garage band, now is it?”
“Hellion certainly listens to them enough.” The observation was delivered in a rueful tone. “At least they’ve managed to conquer the music world—part of it, anyway.”
Both women burst out laughing. “Good point,” Rose conceded. “They’re doing fine, irascible as ever.”
“Ooh, big words.” Cook grinned at the finger-wagging he received before turning to Ember. “You haven’t said much.”
“One of Grandma Pin’s favorite pieces of advice is ‘two ears and one mouth means you should listen twice as much as you talk’,” Ember commented. “Works pretty well for an FSO.”
“I was sorry to miss her retirement ceremony,” Cook said with evident sincerity. “Pin Stripes shepherded my career right from the start, and I probably wouldn’t be where I am today without her guidance.”
“Following in her footsteps got to be pretty important to me.” It was Ember’s turn to flash an urchin-like grin. “My dad wasn’t as happy about it, but in the end he came around.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” Cook closed his eyes and put his fingertips to his head in a mock-psychic pose. “Lots of shouting. First disapproval, then when you stuck it out and commissioned, it was all his idea in the first place.”
“You’ve met him!” Ember looked startled.
“Well—not exactly. Rose and I met the other Ember and her father while I was chief of mission to Equestria, during the reception after Princess Twilight’s accession to the throne. That certainly was a memorable occasion, I can tell you.”
The ambassador sat back with a huff. “The first time I went through the portal . . .”
Rose took up the thread. “I went with her, of course. There’s a reason I’ve been the embassy’s senior military attaché all these years. I still think Princess Twilight knew, or at least suspected, what was going to happen.”
“A dragon,” Ember stated with emphasis. “A real live fire-breathing dragon. With wings. I nearly burned down the main hall by accident. I’ve met Spike—both Spikes. I thought I was going to be a pony.” What sounded like rambling made perfect sense to her audience, all of whom had their own experience of the portal and its idiosyncracies.
Cook and Rose both shrugged. “Nobody really understands the portal, or why the worlds look the way they do,” Cook pointed out. “Not even Starswirl, I think, and he built the blasted thing. As for Spike, well, Sci-Twi’s dog was the closest correspondence. It’s the only thing any of us could come up with.”
Ember’s brow crinkled. “Doesn’t it . . . bother you that we’re depending on a magical portal nobody, or nopony, understands? After all, at any given time there are hundreds of people from each world in the other.”
“A little, maybe,” the army officer and professional worrier confessed. “But it’s never shown any sign of problems, and it seems rock-steady. The best wizards in Equestria, and the equivalents in some of the other nations, all gave it a clean bill of health.”
“We don’t understand gravity all that well either,” Cook added. “But that doesn’t stop us from using it to our advantage.”
“If that’s so, why hasn’t Princess Twilight visited since she took the throne? For that matter, even here nobody of ministerial rank or higher is allowed to use the portal.”
“Because even if everyone is sure the risk is small, it still can’t be quantified.” Rose put her hands behind her back, standing at ease from a lifetime’s military habit. “There’s no pressing need for anyone at that level to travel through, so the principle of ‘better safe than sorry’ applies.”
“State visits?” Ember parried.
“Are appreciated but not vital,” Cook riposted. “I know Princess Twilight misses being able to visit, but more because she’d like to see her personal friends here, in their own home, than for any reasons of state. And I’ll be honest, some of our older and wiser heads seem to have at least a little trouble taking Equestria and its world seriously.”
“If they could just see —” For the first time a bit of heat entered the ambassador’s tone.
Cook held up a hand. “Preaching to the choir. You know their world is every bit as complex and rounded as ours, Rose knows it, I know it. But to anyone who hasn’t been there, it sounds like something out of a storybook, right?”
A sigh rushed out of the younger diplomat. “I can’t argue with that, but it rankles.”
“Are we suffering a bit of clientitis, Your Excellency?” Cook’s question was a bit delicate.
Ember bridled, then slumped. “I was going to say no, but I can’t swear to it. What I can say is, if the Foreign Service isn’t taking this seriously, maybe it means they don’t think my assignment is very important, which means they may not think I’m very important. I wouldn’t admit that to just anyone, but I trust you two.”
“Our lips are sealed,” Rose promised. “Look at it this way: if they think this is a ‘dunsel’ assignment, they might see it as a way to throw a promising officer into a weird, but low-stakes, environment for a bit of leavening before moving her on to bigger and tougher things.”
Cook shot her a curious look. “I distinctly remember you saying you didn’t know as much about naval affairs, back when we were stuck running around the countryside during the Storm King’s little party.”
“That was before I ended up senior officer over a Marine Security Guard detachment.” Rose gave him a gimlet eye. “And I wouldn’t have expected a diplomat to make that connection, either.”
The answering shrug was eloquent. “I’ve dealt with my share of navy and marine officers too.”
“And you watch a lot of old television.”
Cook got no farther than opening his mouth for a reply when Ember put in, “The files didn’t have a lot on the Storm King and what you three did while you were there, but I’ve wondered if that’s why you hold the Order of the Golden Sun, Rose.” She nodded toward the ribbon rack on Rose’s tunic, where an ivory-white bar with a tiny golden curly-rayed sun nestled among more familiar patterns, then turned back to Cook and indicated the moon-decorated medallion hanging from a midnight-blue ribbon over his shoulders. “And I recognize that, too—the Order of the Silver Moon.”
“Guilty as charged,” Cook admitted.
“It’s a long story,” Rose said at almost the same time. “Tell you what: now we’re all here, maybe some evening after hours we can spin you a good yarn. Mister Cook?”
“Sure.” The accompanying nod was amiable. “We’ll have to see if Sunset’s up for it too, of course. It’s as much her tale to tell as it is ours.”
After a few more minutes of small talk, the circulating continued. Rose wandered off; others wandered up. New conversations meandered along. At length a voice came over the PA announcing the imminent opening of seating for the Rainbooms’ mini-concert that would cap off the occasion. No stampede followed, of course—this was a community that prided itself on cool, considered deeds and actions. Instead a gradual social osmosis drew individuals from one end of the building to the other or out the doors to resume their day’s duties, starting with the youngest or least patient and ending with those who’d drawn out their discussions until the last minute.
Even so, the auditorium was nearly full when the house lights went down, the numbers made up by other staffers taking advantage of their lunch hour to catch the performance. The stage lights went up, picking out seven handsomely dressed women and their instruments, and on a four-count the hall was filled with upbeat pop music.
Somewhere’s a book With chapters still blank Inside—
Cook leaned back on his seat and smiled up at the band. This tour of duty held a world of promise.
Author's Note
The Emeco 1006 “navy” chair , introduced in 1944 at the behest of the US Navy, is the perfect furnishing for a government-issue canteen: it’s expensive, but it lasts forever. According to Wikipedia, “[m]ost of the original chairs from the 1940s are still in use.”
I do my best to ignore or avoid “Spring Breakdown”. Not only is it just plain bad, there’s no earthly way it can be made to fit any rational timeline, since if one keeps track of what happens when , the movie has to take place after the Rainbooms graduate from CHS.
For those who are wondering, the Marine Security Guard detachment is the minimum eight marines; Rose Brass is nominally in command only because she is the senior military officer present. The rest of the site’s security needs are filled by uniformed Diplomatic Security Service personnel and security guards provided under Protective Service auspices.
I originally created the Order of the Golden Sun and the Order of the Silver Moon as orders of chivalry or merit for my pony role-playing game .
Just to spell it out: FSO stands for foreign service officer , the formal term used by the US Department of State for one of its professional diplomats. “Officer” is technically correct, too, since an FSO holds a commission , the exact same legal instrument bestowed on a military officer. Foreign service professional, on the other hand, is a broader term, encompassing any position that involves international relations; military officers among others are included in this category.
Clientitis is a tendency, after a lengthy period immersed in a foreign country, to begin identifying with the host country or an organization within it to an extent that hampers objectivity in one’s job. There is some debate over its relevance in the modern world and indeed its relevance at any time, but its legacy lingers in policies mandating rotation of FSOs (or other professionals) from one post to another every few years.
“Ms. Shimmer, could you please come to the portal?” The Royal Guard officer’s tone was cautious and formal.
Sunset’s brow furrowed and her eyes slid sideways for a glance at the landline handset she held to an ear. “What’s this about, Lieutenant?”
“I . . . uh, Ma’am, I think it would be simpler if you saw for yourself.”
A thunderous frown joined the furrowed brow. “Lieutenant—”
A sudden muffled commotion was followed by a new and unfortunately all too familiar voice. “Is that you, Sunset dear? My goodness, what a delightful device!”
Senior Consul Sunset Shimmer bit her lip against a sigh of resignation, then promised, “I’ll be right down.” She hung up on what seemed, from the pleading noises in the background, to be a hapless young guard trying to reclaim control of the handset at the other end from a pair of fascinated visitors.
Sunset didn’t quite stomp down the pergola-covered concrete walkway from the consulate’s main building. She didn’t quite glower, either. Over the last twenty years she’d made great strides in mastering the temper that matched her fiery colors so well, but this morning’s surprise was enough to try the patience of a saint. Only the diplomatic training from which she’d graduated more than a decade past held her vexation in check.
Much as she loved the Distinguished Guests who apparently had seen fit to drop in on her, their unannounced appearance was a complication neither she nor any of her staff—not to mention the neighboring embassy—needed. On top of that, the aforementioned nature of that manifestation raised all manner of questions, and she had a sinking feeling getting answers might be roughly akin to prying nails out of boards with no tool other than fingers . . . or molars.
The cheerfully warm and sunny day positively glowed on the brilliant flowerbeds carpeting most of the expansive courtyard surrounding the walkway’s destination. The greens and other riotous hues of black-eyed susan, echinacea, geranium, coreopsis, begonia in full bloom set off the warm gray of the ashlar gazebo at the center of the quadrangle formed by three-story brick-faced buildings. Cool shadows pooled invitingly under red emperor maples and crepe myrtles spotted, along with a few native needle-leaf trees, strategically amongst the sea of color. Soothing scents of earth, pine, and blossom perfumed the air.
Normally this peaceful, carefully designed landscape was a balm for the soul. Now she had no attention to spare for it, her gaze instead on the plaza around and under the pseudo-classical dome and arches at the other end of the pergola. Already a small throng had gathered, their voices a low echoing hubbub, and she gritted her teeth. Another few long strides brought her to the threshold of the circle of decorative pavers on which the gazebo was set, whereupon she filled her lungs and all but shouted, “Break it up, everypo—everyone! Shoo! Go on now!” A wave of both arms reinforced the directive.
The lieutenant and sergeant, though resplendent in black high-collar tunics trimmed with scarlet and gold, red trousers, shiny-polished shakos and boots, and slung bolt-action rifles, looked distinctly uncomfortable as they made polite but ineffectual shoving motions at the bouncing and gesticulating spectators. Their comically earnest air of relief on catching sight of Sunset lightened her mood with a flash of humor, and her lips twitched before she regained her severe mien. “I mean it, folks. Back to work, or whatever you were doing.”
It wasn’t until she physically waded into the crowd that it started to shed bodies, individuals and small groups wandering off with marked reluctance and over-the-shoulder glances. At last, though, only a half-dozen remained in the grotto-like space. The guards, obviously hoping to fade from everyone else’s attention, resumed their wooden expressions and statuesque stances at order arms, to either side of the pale plinth that now stood miles from its original site in front of a suburban high school.
The consul was left facing three tall, fashionably dressed women well into vigorous middle age. One stood behind the others with every bit as much discomfort, and the same military bearing, as the uniformed pair; Sunset spared her only a glance before demanding of the two immediately in front of her, “What in the world are you doing here?”
“Hello, Sunset,” said the taller one. “You’re looking well—and so professional.” A downard gesture of a graceful pinkish-white hand indicated the younger woman’s flounce-collared blouse and pencil skirt. The same hand rose to brush back waist-length wavy pink hair before making a slight adjustment to the shoulder of the pale yellow sundress draping the fit, if somewhat maternal, figure.
“Indeed. You are doing Equestria proud.” The other was less than a hand-span shorter and wore essentially the same fashion, albeit in a deep ultramarine. Her blues and indigoes were the very antithesis of her companion’s bright pastels, and her physique was rangy but equally athletic; she stood hipshot, arms folded loosely.
Sunset couldn’t help clutching her hair. Through clenched teeth she grated, “Celestia. Luna. I mean, Your Highnesses.” Abdication might have subtracted Royal or Illustrious from their styles, but they still merited the courtesy title of Highness. One wag had suggested Highness Emerita; Sunset wasn’t sure exactly where he’d ended up after that little bout of lèse-majesté, but she suspected it might be a lookout post somewhere in the Crystal Mountains, watching by season for avalanches or wildfires. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” After a pause she burst out, “And why wasn’t I informed?”
“Ah. Yes. Well.” Celestia cleared her throat. “Hm.”
“What was that saying, Sister?” Luna put in. “‘’Tis easier to beg forgiveness than permission’, was it not?”
“But—” Sunset sputtered. “The other consulate, in Canterlot.” She waved a hand. “They just let you in ?”
“But of course,” Celestia replied. Her brows rose, the picture of innocent surprise.
“We merely produced our passports and requested entry,” Luna added.
“But—” The distant observation intruded that she really needed to stop saying that. “When?”
“Why, just now,” Luna informed her brightly. “Well, perhaps a half-hour ago?”
A scowl substituted for the word that kept popping into mind. “Visa?”
Celestia’s airy wave was not as reassuring as she probably hoped it was. “We shall obtain them at the chancery yonder, of course, and so we informed the consulate staff.”
Sunset’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, fine. That still doesn’t explain why nobody told me you were coming. ”
“Breathe, dear,” Celestia advised. The glare she got in return could have melted lead.
Another voice intruded. “They didn’t tell anyone, even Her Royal Highness. They just went straight from the Canterlot train terminal to the Ceremonial Palace.” Where, of course, the side wing had been renovated years ago as a consulate, staffed by transformed humans, that hosted the dauntingly steampunkish mirror standing against the back wall of the main hall.
Celestia looked prim. Luna studied the inverted bowl of ceiling above, strewn with powerful LED fixtures mimicking the night sky of the summer solstice over the Campus and providing a half-light to the gazebo’s interior.
Behind them, the third woman sighed and shifted her weight. “They’ve been planning this for weeks at least. They hired me as a bodyguard, but they made me promise not to tell Cadance what they were up to, and they covered their wings and haunches during the trip.”
Sunset’s frown went from angry to thoughtful as she peered more closely at the brawny form clad in a severely tailored black business suit. “Fizzlepop?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” An off-center smile quirked on the rugged, though not unattractive, rose-tinted face. A hesitant step forward brought her close enough to converse more comfortably; the sisters edged apart with native courtesy as she approached more or less between them.
“And how did they buff—ah, talk you into it?” Sunset was honestly curious.
“Lots of bits, for one thing.” Fizzlepop Berrytwist—or Tempest Shadow, depending on how she was feeling—shrugged. “And . . . look. I still get hassled once in a while. Maybe not as much as I used to, but still. They pointed out we’d be going somewhere nopo—no one would know who we are. We’d be strangers, just tourists out for a good time. That sounded pretty good to me.”
Sunset blinked at the barely suppressed emotion in the explanation. “Oh. I—oh.” She cooled visibly and finally let out the sigh that had been building for the last few minutes. “Let me make a few telephone calls. Misery loves company, after all.”
“Yes, Captain, I know.” Sunset spoke with elaborate patience as she leaned back on a button-tufted chair behind the paneled and pillared desk, a trifle worn but cherished as a gift from Principal Celestia when the latter moved up in the school district’s hierarchy and no longer needed it. Given all the individuals she would have to speak with in short order, it was easier just to make a series of phone calls from her executive office in the fourth-floor cupola of the building designated N1. “You’re not the only one who didn’t get any advance war—notice. I suppose you could take it up with Their Highnesses.” Her unctuously helpful tone went oddly with her slightly malicious facial expression. “No? Well then, we’ll just have to do the best we can with the situation we find ourselves in, now won’t we?”
When she swiveled back from looking idly out the windows to her left, a snicker threatened to break free. Fizzlepop sat upright on one of the overstuffed chairs grouped around the small coffee table on the other side of the room, still looking a bit uneasy. In flagrant disregard of normal royal protocol, while everyone else sat, Celestia stood, hands clasped behind her back, scrutinizing the display cases of books, awards, and memorabilia against the opposite wall. But it was Luna’s amused smirk that had caught Sunset off-guard; she lounged cross-legged on another chair, elbows on its arms and chin braced on laced fingers as she watched the younger woman exercise her pique as well as her authority.
“Look, they’re only going to be in town a couple of weeks, so there’s no time for the usual physical orientation, but Ms. Berrytwist needs something if she’s going to be any good as a bodyguard. Can you rig up a one-day version of the program?” The reply drew a slow thoughtful nod and a pursing of the lips. “Let me ask.”
She glanced over at the not-unicorn, who looked back alertly. “Fizzlepop, the portal’s transformations can be pretty weird sometimes, but it generally finds ways to discover—or create—correspondences. I know there hasn’t been much time for it, but have you noticed any symptoms that might trace back to your damaged alicorn?”
“Ah—I’m not sure. These are supposed to be pretty useful, right?” Maroon hands rose, palms forward, and opal eyes narrowed. “I think . . . I think one of them doesn’t work as well as the other.”
“There normally is a difference—” Sunset started.
Fizzlepop shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s more than just a dominant eye or limb. Just watching you do things, I can tell I’d have a hard time with this one, except maybe for punching someone.” She lifted one, powerful fingers curled in a loose fist. “But this one I don’t think I’d have any problem with, once I get a little practice.” The other waved open-palmed.
“Okay. And you’ve kept up with your martial-arts practice, right?” At the other’s nod, Sunset returned to her discussion with the consulate’s guard CO. “It looks like she may have some trouble with fine control of one arm, but it doesn’t seem to affect how much musclepower she can put into it. Right. Mm-hmm. Yes she has, and I’m sure that will help.”
Sunset lifted the upper part of the receiver away for a moment as it emitted outraged noises. “Yes, Ember, I know. I said the same thing. So did Captain Lorica. In fact, you’ve helped keep up a perfect record so far.”
When the volume dropped again she returned the handset to her ear. “Nope, that one’s more original—just you and me. I wondered too, but I’m guessing they didn’t want to deal with the complications, so they passed the bit to someone more senior.” A guilty grimace crossed her face. “Look, it’s not my job anyway. I just need to know if the customs office can expedite three two-week VIP tourist visas, especially with Your Excellency the ambassador breathing down their necks. Oh, and could you let Colonel Brass know? I’m sure she’d like to say hi to Fizzlepop, at least.”
“Ha ha.” Sunset didn’t know how many times over the years she’d rolled her eyes in response to one of the older diplomat’s witticisms, but it had to be in the hundreds. “Now that you’ve had your fun, Cook, can you do anything helpful ?”
Mention of his name caught the attention of both princesses, and they turned from their quiet conversation with Sunset’s obliging digital assistant Dawn to listen more closely, eyes alight with interest. Their dutiful no-longer-subject hoped they’d exercise some restraint, at least until she finished business. “Okay. I arranged for Fizzlepop to run through a quickie program, and that should tell us what your DSS people need to know.”
Letting the princesses wander loose in the city, with no more coverage than a single amateur bodyguard (however military her background) fresh from her first experience with the portal, simply was not on. Fortunately, the Diplomatic Security Service was accustomed to working with VIPs and guards of every sort, and the small staff assigned to the Campus had built up a fair amount of institutional experience with the sometimes outré vagaries of interdimensional visitors, let alone the comparatively mundane requirements and expectations of vacationing foreign royalty.
The quietly competent plainclothes agents, Sunset was sure, would make certain nothing untoward disturbed her temporary charges’ not-so-extempore otherworldly junket. By the same token, at least she also could rely on said charges being sensible enough to listen to those same agents’ demands, couched as polite requests and advice, during the initial briefing. Not every VIP principle or bodyguard was so cooperative, as everyone involved knew all too well.
“Okay, now we’ve got that out of the way.” Sunset leaned back again with another sigh and in dry tones addressed the small audience now seated across from her. “Somehow I’ve got the feeling you three didn’t stick around for the whole song and dance anypony using the portal is supposed to get before jumping through the first time, so I’ll give you the short version. It takes a while to get used to the transformation. Not a huge amount of time, especially if you’re ready for it, but we normally recommend sticking around for the day and spending the night in one of the accommodation suites.” Sunset waved a hand over her shoulder toward the corner of her office, more or less in the direction of the pair of buildings that featured rooms and suites reminiscent of a mid-range convention hotel.
“Once all the i s are dotted and the t s are crossed, you can take one of the shuttle buses down to the city and play tourist from there—we have a standard package for visitors, with brochures and stuff. DSS promised to provide a perimeter team and an extra close-quarter bodyguard who’ll double as tourguide. She’s got a lot of experience doing both at once, and the perimeter team will be very discreet, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” A knock on the door interrupted her, and she called out, “Come in.”
Immediately it opened to admit Raven Inkwell, wearing a blouse and skirt combination not unlike Sunset’s and a broad smile of genuine welcome, bearing the inevitable clipboard in the crook of an arm. A brief babel of greetings and well-wishes shook out into the vice-consul explaining, “I thought we might begin with lunch in the canteen downstairs. It isn’t exactly Restaurant Row, but the staff does a good job, and I’m sure they’ll make a special effort today. After that I’ll help you get settled in a suite, then conduct Ms. Berrytwist to the guard post for her physical orientation. After that, we’ll see what’s what.” She half-turned on a heel, flourishing her free hand toward the doorway in invitation.
The guests rose to follow, but Celestia said briskly, “I’ll be along in a moment, Raven.” Her former seneschal nodded and conducted the other two out, closing the door behind her. Celestia smiled after them, then turned back to the waiting Sunset, whose brows had risen in mild trepidation.
“I should apologize.” The warm smile went a little off-center. “But I won’t. It’s . . . refreshing once in a while to kick over the neat and tidy stacks of custom and politesse after so many years—centuries—of picking one’s way through them so carefully. Not to mention very entertaining.” A snort of laughter greeted Sunset’s slightly appalled look. “Instead, there’s something else I want to say.”
After a pause she went on in a quiet voice, “I am so very proud of you, Sunset.” The swing of an alabaster arm took in the well-appointed but workmanlike office. “You are serving your country and your people well. From what I hear you have found the love of your life and fast friends.” Celestia’s affectionate manner cracked briefly with a grin of delight at Sunset’s abrupt blush. “You have developed a considerable talent as an artist of many forms. In short, you are living a life of achievement and distinction, and I could not possibly ask more of my dear wayward student.”
It took a mighty swallow to get past the lump in Sunset’s throat. “Even though I’m not a princess?” she half-teased.
“Even though,” the older woman replied with the certainty of the ages. “It was never about becoming a princess, or indeed anything that specific. It was always about doing your best and finding your place. Anypony can see you are doing your considerable best. Have you found your place?”
This time there was no hesitation. “Yes. Yes I have. It’s not a place I ever imagined when I was your student, but here I am.” A note of wonder crept in. “Back then I didn’t think there was value in anything but being at the top. Now . . . how can I say it? Nowadays I don’t even miss wanting to be a princess—I guess I’ve seen enough of what Twi has to go through it doesn’t seem nearly as much fun as I thought it would be when I was a filly. But I’m doing a job that needs to be done, that Twi needs me to do, and I’m proud and happy to do it.”
“Even when your old mentor shows up to knock your whole day into a cocked hat?” A note of gentle irony suffused the question.
Sunset looked up with sudden realization, then surged to her feet and leaned forward in her intensity. “That’s the real reason you’re here, isn’t it? So you could tell me all that.”
Celestia beamed like the sunrise. “Well, yes, but we also wanted to see the city—and the world—that have stolen your heart. And can you imagine how much fuss and bother there would be if we announced our visit?” The answering wince drew another laugh from her. “Now then. I’ve disrupted your morning enough, and I’m sure Raven, Luna, and Fizzlepop are waiting.”
“Yeah, probably.” Impulsively Sunset rounded the desk and threw her arms around the tall, solidly built form, whose waiting arms returned the embrace. “It’s good to see you, Celestia,” she whispered. “Even if you did complicate things today. I hope you have fun in town.”
Author's Note
Telephony is quite new in Equestria, but is starting to spread; Celestia is reacting more to the refinements a century and a half have brought to the state of the art than to the mere existence of the technology.
Rose Quill graciously spent some time figuring out what trees and flowers should be featured in the courtyard’s landscaping—which, by the way, is Wallflower Blush’s work, or at least design.At order arms , the soldier stands at attention or parade rest, right hand holding their rifle below the muzzle, upright with its butt on the ground beside their right foot and its underside facing forward.
Normally, sitting while a social superior, particularly a royal, stands is a big, big no-no. However, I’m assuming since their abdication Celestia and Luna are much less formal about it, especially under conditions like these.
Embassy refers to the diplomatic mission itself; the facility housing that embassy is a chancery. Tempest Poppins—I mean, Shadow—is very good at punching things.
Colonel Rose Brass, in full army service uniform, looked around the executive office with considerable interest. “You know, in all the years I’ve been haunting this place, I don’t think I’ve made it up here before.”
Senior Consul Sunset Shimmer, equally well-dressed if in a more civilian mode, rocked back on her button-tufted chair. The paneled desk before her still featured the ocean waves, starburst, and crescent moon it had borne since it served then-Principal Celestia; Rose’s cap sat on its slightly worn top along with the usual computer peripherals and too many stacks of paperwork. “I . . . don’t think so either. But—well, this is a foreign consulate, and most of the time we just meet up at your chancery, the entry gate, or the portal. This is the first time you’ve really had business up here.”
“It was great seeing Fizz again—and the princesses too, of course—but we could’ve met at the accommodations building or in the canteen,” Rose pointed out as she idly glanced over the display cabinets against the wall across the room from Sunset’s desk, full of books and memorabilia.
“I thought about it, but I figured my office would be a little more private. And quiet.” Sunset’s mouth twitched. The day was effectively shot after the trio had appeared in the morning without even a vestige of warning, causing a sensation from which the whole consulate still hadn’t settled. “You would’ve had to compete with half the staff for their attention.” The suppressed smile became a small smirk. “Besides, there’s that rumor about you and Fizzlepop.”
Rose sighed and rolled her good eye rather than dignify Sunset’s last dig with any kind of verbal response. After a year cross-attached to the EUP Guard at Princess Celestia’s request, serving as minder, counselor, and bodyguard while the ex-enemy officer struggled to assimilate into civilian pony society, it was inevitable she and Fizzlepop would become close. Just how close was subject to considerable gossip, including persistent speculation about unrequited romance. The active colonel being in her early sixties and the retired colonel about a decade younger, both of them battered and scarred, seemed to make no dent in the talk—but then they were in excellent physical condition, and pony eyes, transformed or not, still tended to judge age by the standards of a culture in the midst of its Industrial Revolution. By that measure they looked like contemporaries.
Sunset did not fail to note Rose’s silence, which definitely left the whole question open. Regardless, spending an hour or two catching up clearly had been a joy for them both, which likely would have been dampened had they been forced to do so under the eyes of hovering crowds. She left off the teasing and let her expression relax into a gentler smile of genuine affection as her guest continued to browse the shelves of awards and knick-knacks.
“Huh.” Rose bent to examine a lower shelf with only a slight crackling of the knees. “What are these, action figures? Not something I would’ve . . . wait a minute.”
“Oh. Those. I almost forgot about them.” The chagrin in Sunset’s voice brought the other’s head up again. “Yeah, they’re us.”
Amusement bordering on unholy glee mingled with sharp curiosity on Rose’s seamed face. “I’m not leaving until I hear this story.”
Sunset did a lot of sighing these days. “It was a few years ago, when most of us were just hitting our thirties. You know we still have some connections to the media—Canter Zoom and his niece Juniper Montage, and through them, the studios in town. We still perform as the Rainbooms once in a while, too, so we’re minor celebrities, even if it is mostly local.”
Rose nodded. “And you’re a professional artist too, when you can pry yourself out of this place.”
“Right.” Said artist nodded back. “So somebody at one of the studios had this bright idea. They wanted to cast us as voice actresses, playing characters based on ourselves, for an animated sci-fi series.”
A glance back down scrutinized the small arrangement of articulated dolls. “Okay, that explains the uniforms. Don’t tell me, let me guess. Captain Sunset Shimmer, CO of the good ship—?”
One amber hand covered aqua eyes. “Harmony. We were going to be the senior officers of the starship Harmony. ”
A patently phony cough covered incipient laughter. “Boldly going and all that?”
“Sort of, but it was more about space battles. I think they were inspired by video games and the animation coming from overseas.” Resignation colored Sunset’s tone. “It was gonna be for high-school and college-age kids. They were trying to hook up with one of the big streaming services for distribution, and one of the big toymakers for merchandising.” She flicked a finger more or less toward the figures. “They ran off a bunch of prototype sets, which is a lot easier these days than it was, say, twenty years ago.”
“I think I would’ve remembered seeing this if it showed up anywhere—in the news if nothing else.” There seemed a singular lack of sympathy in Rose’s grin. “I take it the project didn’t work out?”
Sunset shook her head. “No, they couldn’t get enough interest for the kind of investment it needed, even though it woulda been cheaper than a live-action series. And I have a feeling the toy people were flinchy about the military angle.”
“And,” Rose observed shrewdly, “at least some of you weren’t sure you wanted to go all-in on it.”
“Most of us.” Reluctantly, Sunset added, “We weren’t sure we wanted to put that kind of time and visibility into it, and to be fair, they did make a lot of changes, including pitching it as an animated series, to address that.”
“Those figures look an awful lot like you girls.” It was Rose’s turn to wave her prosthetic hand at the display.
“That’s part of why they ginned up the prototypes.” Sunset raised both hands palm-up. “They were experimenting with different character designs, but even if they went with the originals, at least it wouldn’t be our actual faces hanging out there on the screen.”
Rose thought a moment, still wearing a small smile. “And did the good Doctor Sparkle insist on scientific accuracy? I’ve got enough technical education to know the way space combat is shown pretty much everywhere looks almost nothing like the way it probably would in real life.”
Sunset couldn’t help choking out a giggle. “Yes, she did, but at least she recognized the need for artistic license, so she tried to work out good compromises, and she talked me into doing some concept design. Apparently it started looking a lot like submarine warfare. They said that was fine for a suspense thriller aimed at adults, but the audience they were interested in would be bored by it; what they wanted was action-adventure more like age of sail or age of steam.”
“Yeah, that sounds like media people. They live in a completely different world than we uniformed types do; ’s why they usually do such a terrible job depicting the military.” Rose chuckled a trifle sourly, then cleared her throat. “Anyway, I hope that didn’t sabotage the project. I imagine Twilight would be devastated if she thought she’d helped sink it.”
“No, they were good sports about it, mostly—though come to think of it, I s’pose they may have been just humoring us.” Sunset shrugged off the belated epiphany. “A few months later it all came crashing down and they let us know the whole thing was canceled. All we really got out of it was the usual temporary contract and those figures.”
“And how come I’ve never heard any of this before?” Rose’s brow was halfway to her buzz-cut hairline.
Sunset blinked at her in bafflement. “You’ve heard of NDAs, right?”
“Okay, that just changes my question. Why are you telling me now, in that case?”
“Besides the fact you threatened to squat in my office until I did?” Sunset grinned. “The NDA was for three years, and mostly it covered details of the setting rather than general background stuff like what I just told you. I guess they figured if things went ahead they’d have us sign another one.”
“And I suppose embarrassment had nothing to do with the fact you didn’t bother to say anything after it expired,” Rose mused in an ingenuous tone. The well-practiced glare she got in response bounced off her genial manner. “So who’s who, anyway? I can tell from the, lessee, four cuff stripes you’re supposed to be a captain, and the others are commanders except . . . is that Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash?”
Sunset ran a hand through her red-and-yellow hair. “Yeah, I was gonna be captain, both the rank and the position—I remember your little lecture about that when we were in Equestria running ahead of the Storm King’s troops. AJ was executive officer, Twi was engineering officer, Pinkie was supply officer, and Rarity was, um, operations officer, I think; you’re right, they’d be commanders. Fluttershy was gonna be medical officer and Rainbow Dash would be senior pilot, the next rank down. Uh, lieutenant commanders? There’d be a few other top officers, too, but they weren’t considered major characters.”
“I think they’re called department heads.” A wrinkle of doubt crossed Rose’s brow. “Well, at least that’s a little better than the usual hand-waving.”
“They were really proud of the research they were doing. It seemed fine to me, but then none of us know much about the subject.” Sunset was about to add more, only to be interrupted by her digital assistant.
“Colonel Brass, you are wanted in the chancery.” Dawn’s childlike voice was polite. “You have been absent more than two hours.”
“Ah! Good point. Thanks, Dawn.” Rose took a few long strides and scooped up her cap. “Sorry, Sunset. Duty calls.”
Sunset waved a hand with a crooked smile. “No problem. It was good to have a chance to chat. We’ll have to do it again sometime soon.”
Rose waved her cap in acknowledgement as she breezed toward the door. When she reached it, she paused, hand on the doorhandle. “Hey, you know, I just had a thought. If they ever declassify Eloptic Machine, those same folks would back up dump trucks full of money to the consulate here. Can you imagine an animated series and toy line based on Equestria?” With that she slipped out, leaving Sunset behind her, bolt upright and eyes huge with horrified realization.
Author's Note
Not much to say this time around; this is just a bit of silliness.
Addendum: So the impression I’m getting from folks who’ve watched it is, Pony Life is what might show up in the Twin Canterlots human world after Eloptic Machine is declassified.
