Well, That Was Unexpected
Special Agent Jason Higgins wasn’t exactly the kind of person you could label as ‘average’. The average doesn’t go and serve time in Korea and get medically discharged, only to find a way to continue his career by joining the FBI and working his way up the ladder to becoming the Chief Officer of Foreign Diplomacy under the President himself. No, Agent Higgins was not your average man, nor was he extraordinary. He was 5 foot 11, had black hair, and was clean-shaven. He had a wife, 2 beautiful children, and a modest apartment near Capitol Hill. He was an American man, serving his country in any way he could.
That's why when a talking purple unicorn hijacked a TV broadcast and made her and her nation's presence known to millions worldwide, he was the perfect combination of freaked out and knowing what to do.
—
“So, Dorothy, which suitor do you pick? Suitor number one, suitor number two, or suitor numb-“ The voice and image of the game show host started warping as the television started spewing out loud static, causing Jason to cover his ears in pain.
“Butch! Turn it down, son!” Butch, Jason’s son, started to rise from the ground only to be stopped in his tracks when the static cleared and showed a purple horse that nearly took up the whole screen. They didn’t have one of those newfangled color TVs, either, so the sight was certainly an odd one. But what took Jason by surprise the most was that the horse talked.
“Uh, hello? Braeburn? Can you hear me?” The horse seemed to be frantic, the animals figure darting around the screen. The image focused more, allowing Jason to see that the horse was not just so, but was a unicorn!
“Wow, Dad! Look at that!” Butch leaned in closer, entranced by the talking animal.
The image panned out, revealing another horse, this time in a more familiar form without a horn.
“I know we done made up and all, Twilight, but what in tarnation were ya’ thinkin’!?”
Jason got up from his seat and rushed to the phone, dialing a secure line to the Pentagon. The phone only rang once and a click let it slip that the phone had connected to its intended target.
“Why do the birds fly south?” Said a voice on the other side.
“Because ducks don’t have parkas.” Jason replied cooly.
“Jason, what’s the issue?” Victor Asimov, despite his name, was one of the highest-ranking government officials in the US Military. He was an older man, having marched into Berlin with Eisenhower during World War 2 and serving as his platoon leader over on the 38th Parallel. They were good friends, and he also happened to have his eyes and ears everywhere on the globe during his station in the Pentagon’s Waroom, allowing Jason to call him up whenever he needed more information than he already had.
“Vic, are you seeing this?”
“I’m assuming you are talking about the purple horse?”
“Yeah. What do you make of it?”
The television started to produce static again, but the image of the two horses stayed. The purple one, Twilight he assumed, seemed to be under a lot of duress.
“Applejack, I can’t keep this spell up with you nagging me like that.” The Unicorn's eyes went wide. “Braeburn? Braeburn!”
“Hold on, cousin! We’re comin’ for ya! Don’t you-”
The TV went into another bout of static before eventually returning to the gameshow from earlier, during the credits portion. The moment didn’t last long, though, as it immediately turned into the broadcast testing screen, showing that the broadcaster had been shut off.
Victor let out a breath. “I hate to say it, but I think it’s real.”
Jason shook his head in disbelief. Victor was not the kind of person to make such assumptions lightly. “Wait, you mean to say those… those… things, were real!?”
“Yes. The frequency isn’t within anything we knew even existed, and reports of the broadcast are coming from Japan. Chances are we’re dealing with something beyond our current understanding of science, and I doubt the Russians have gotten this far ahead in such a short time.”
“Holy Hell, Vic.”
“Holy Hell indeed, Jason.”
Jason massaged his temple, a headache starting to form. “What do you think is going to happen?”
“I don’t know yet. The President’s in lockdown, due to the unknown frequency, and our allies in Europe are just as confused as we are. I’ll update you if anything comes up.”
“Thanks, Vic.”
“No problem. Stay safe out there.”
“I will. You too.”
Jason hung up the phone and walked back to turn off the TV. His wife had led the children back to their room, but the ringing of the telephone drew him back to the kitchen where it rested. He picked the device back up, holding it casually, as though a friend were calling to ask him about the television broadcast.
“Agent Higgins, it’s nice to speak with you. I don’t have much time though, so formalities will have to wait.”
Jason immediately straightened his form and cleared his throat. He, and millions of Americans, knew that voice all too well.
“President Kennedy! What do you need, sir?” Jason nervously barked.
“Calm yourself, Agent Higgins. I need you in tip-top shape for your new assignment.”
“Sir?”
“Outside of your home should be a black sedan. Get in. It will take you to where I am. I can say no more, Agent Higgins, I’m sure you understand. Godspeed, son.”
With that, the President hung up the phone and Jason found himself quite relieved. He was worried the President might have been in danger, but if he was making phone calls, then he must have not been in too much danger. Jason, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that his new assignment had something to do with the little TV incident.
“Honey, get my suitcase ready, I’m going out on business!” Jason called out to the other room, for he had to get his finest suit and tie on.
The President was not to be disappointed.
—
“So, you two do this very often?” Jason had been trying in vain to break the glacier-sized ice wall that the Secret Service agents had put up. These guys were true professionals, not even offering a greeting, just saying “Get in” when he approached the vehicle they were now riding in. It was cramped, there being little room between the two Secret Service agents, him, and the heavy armor that lined the car. It wasn’t completely devoid of comfort, though, there being a little bar in the center console. Jason took out some red wine, offering a drink to each agent, both of which were denied with a grunt.
Lighten up a little, would you?
The driver of the vehicle lowered the small window that separated the cockpit from the passenger area to be able to talk to the three sitting in the back.
“We're approaching the compound, gentlemen.”
The agent to Jason’s right moved up his hand to his mouth and spoke. “Agent W to Agent C, We are approaching the compound, over.”
The agent to his left pulled his hand to his mouth and responded. “Agent C to Agent W, Copy, over.”
Not once through the whole interaction did the agents ever look at each other, despite not even being more than three feet apart.
“You two always this by the book?” Once again, his question was ignored. Thankfully the lack of interaction was to be soon ended. The car lurched to a stop, a soldier in his green combat fatigues pulling the right side door open and giving a salute. The three men filed out of the vehicle and returned the salute before continuing on their journey.
The compound wasn’t much on the outside, a single checkpoint at the front gate guarding a cement structure built into the side of a hill. This was probably intentional, to not draw too much attention from passers-by and therefore possible Soviet spies. The great steel doors lurched open and the three men walked inside. Another soldier approached, and the Service agents flashed their IDs, allowing them to pass. Jason fumbled out his own ID, and the soldier waved him off. The building was brimming with life, men and women constantly moving between different parts of the complex like bees working diligently in a hive.
Agent C motioned for Jason to follow him as Agent W walked off to another portion of the structure. “Follow me, Agent Higgins.” They walked down a long, dimly lit corridor that seemed to be cut off from the buzz of the entrance. It was noticeably colder in this part, and it certainly didn’t make Jason very comfortable. Coming to the end, Agent C pushed the door open, motioning for Jason to enter. He did so and was immediately stunned by the utter complexity of the room.
Monitors lined the walls of the oblong room, playing security footage as well as 24/7 news broadcasts from around the world. France, Australia, Britain even. It was quite the sight, and in the middle of it all sat the President and a few of his most trusted cabinet members. The only one Jason recognized, however, was Robert McNamara, the Secretary of Defense.
The President looked over with a warm smile. “Ah, Agent Higgins. Please, sit down.” He pointed towards an empty seat with an open palm. He moved towards the seat, trying to find something interesting to look at, to not offend the men all staring at him. He felt like a schoolchild who showed up late to class. He took his seat with a bead of sweat forming on his brow.
The President sat up in his seat, readjusting his suit as he did.
“Gentlemen, today might be the single most important day in this country’s, nay, in all of humanity’s existence, for today we have made contact with another intelligent species. They call themselves ‘ponies’, but they do not fully resemble that sort of animal. They speak our language, surprisingly enough, and they are capable of magic. I know not of what their intentions may be, but the fact of the matter remains: They are not our friends, nor our enemies. Therefore, information is vital.” The President sat back in his chair and looked at the Secretary. “McNamara, give the rest of these fine gentlemen the report you showed me earlier.”
The Secretary of Defense cleared his throat and pulled out a stack of freshly printed papers.
“The subject was picked up in Manhattan three days ago by the FBI. He identifies himself as ‘Braeburn’, stands about 3 and a half feet tall, wears a cowboy hat affectionately called ‘Lil Apple’, and speaks in a southern US accent. Initial interrogations revealed he came from a place called ‘Equestria’ ruled by a diarchy of two princesses, Celestia and Luna. He himself claims to have little contact with his leaders, and instead talked for hours about how much trouble he was going to be in when he got back home, citing that ‘…it’s harvest season right now’.” The group laughed a bit at that. “We have also deduced that the ‘pony’ found his way here through magical means. The recount of the event claimed a one Twilight Sparkle asked Braeburn if he could be the subject of a new spell she was testing, to which he obliged. He claims the next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of what we assume was Times Square, incapacitated by the sights and sounds of the locale.”
McNamara shuffled the papers and set them back down on the table. He then sat forward, looking pleadingly at President Kennedy.
“Mr. President, if I may say so, I don’t think these ‘Ponies’ aren’t here for a nice cup of tea. This has the Russian’s claws all over it.”
The President nodded, turning towards Jason, whose eyes had glazed over in thought.
“Your thoughts, Agent Higgins?”
Jason sat up. “Well, uh, we certainly need to establish some sort of contact with these princesses, or somebody who can have contact with them. As you might know, during the broadcast earlier, two ponies, Twilight and Applejack were attempting to contact this Braeburn. Maybe we could use this as a bridge for communications?”
President Kennedy nodded, deep in thought. “Very good, Agent Higgins.” He looked at a news broadcast on the wall, this one being from London. It had an image of the purple unicorn next to a very disheveled-looking man wide-eyed in doubt.
The Secretary, however, seemed to be disturbed at the thought. “Agent Higgins, I don’t think you are seeing through the farce. This is obviously another scare tactic by the Russians. This is just another Sputnik.”
Jason shook his head. “I’ll have you know I have on good authority that the Russians aren’t the ones behind this incident, Secretary McNamara.”
The Secretary got up on his feet, staring daggers into Jason. “And what authority is that?”
Jason responded by doing the same. He wasn’t about to be dogged down. “General Victor Asimov, Secretary.”
The Secretary rolled his eyes. “Oh, the Four Star Russian. What's next, we trust our coffee to the Cubans? Let’s see how long we live with that!”
“With all due respect, Secretary McNamara, Victor is an American, not a Russian. He is one of the most trustworthy individuals I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I think you would do well to respect his name.” Jason and McNamara were but a few inches apart at this point.
The President joined the standing pair. “That's enough, gentlemen. We must be strong in these times of uncertainty.” The President pulled his chair out and walked a few feet away, re-buttoning his suit jacket as he did. “Follow me, gentlemen. I have something to show you.”Jason and McNamara glared at each other in contempt, but followed the President quickly, leaving the others behind to do their business.
They were led down another corridor, this one being a lot shorter than the previous, and into a portion of the building labeled B-7: HOLDING. The President opened a door and walked inside. Jason and McNamara seemed to have a non-verbal pissing battle as to who should enter first, Jason finally succumbing after half a minute of the waving of hands and pointing into the room.
The room was one typically used for questioning potential spies and the odd corrupt official, but this time it held a more special captive, the pony named Braeburn.
The President turned around to address his two followers. “Agent Higgins, would you mind joining me in the interrogation room?”
“Of course not, Mr. President.”
McNamara stepped forward, genuine concern plastered on his face. “Mr. President, you can’t seriously be considering going in there with that thing! It could be dangerous, for all we-“
The President held up his hand, silencing the Secretary in his line of thinking. “I wasn’t asking for permission, Robert.”
McNamara cleared his throat and slinked back to a control console. “Yes, Mr. President.”
The President made a full 180 and entered the small room with the pony, Jason following shortly after. The ponies huge eyes seemed to light up at the arrival of new guests.
“Howdy there, sirs! Names Braeburn! Nice t’ meet ya.” The pony held out his hoof, as if he were asking for a handshake. The President obliged, and after he was done, so did Jason.
“Hello, Mr. Braeburn. I am President John Fitzgerald Kennedy of the United States of America, and this is my cohort, Special Agent Jason Higgins, Chief Officer of Foreign Diplomacy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The two men took their seats across the table from the pony.
“Gosh, the pleasures all mine President John Fitzgerald Kennedy of the United States of America. My, what a long name you have!”
The President chuckled. “Please, just call me John, and if my friend here doesn’t mind, Jason.”
“I don’t mind at all, sir.”
The pony beamed from ear to ear. “Well, John and Jason, what brings ya’ here?”
Jason spoke up first, the President listening in closely. “Mr. Braeburn, we are interested in making contact with your leaders in Equestria, is there any way you could facilitate such a meeting?”
“Well, uh, not me, but ma’ cousin Applejack’s friend seems t’ see the Princess more often than most ponies. Maybe she could help you? A’ course, you would hafta find a way to get t’ her, and from what I’m gettin’, none a’ y’all got a clue where Equestria is.”
Jason turned to the President, him giving an inquisitive look to Jason. “Mr. Braeburn, if we showed you a map, could you point out where Equestria was?”
The pony seemed to laugh at that. “Well, sure, but it would be pretty difficult not to!”
Jason nodded. “Secretary McNamara, could you get us a world map by any chance?”
The speakers of the room clicked to life. “I’m not your errand boy, Agent Higgins.”
The President turned to look back towards the one-way glass. “Then do it for me, Secretary.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
The President turned back to the pony, smiling warmly for a moment before getting serious. “Mr. Braeburn, as the leader of this fine nation I have to ask you this: Do you, or anybody you know have any connections to the Russians?”
The pony’s face scrunched up. “Well, I don’t rightly know what you mean by ‘rush-ins’. While it is harvest season, most ponies are rushin’ out, rather than in, on the count to sell their apples before the others, sir.”
The President just nodded, adding a sense of relief to Jason. He was worried the leader would automatically assume the worst of the creature, but the honest answer it gave was enough to lighten the room up a bit, as well as his demeanor. A click of the intercom interrupted Jason's observations, however.
“Mr. President, I have the map.”
“Send it in, Secretary.” The President replied calmly.
The entrance to the room creaked open and McNamara handed the map to the Commander in Chief, seemingly trying to keep as far away from Braeburn as possible.
“Thank you, Secretary.” McNamara, instead of talking, just turned back around and ducked back through the door as quickly as he could. President Kennedy handed the map to Jason, who in turn lay the paper out on the table flat.
Braeburn reached out his hoof quickly, only to retract it as if he expected he knew where to point only to not see what he was expecting. “I, uh, this isn’t no map I ever seen. I don’t know where Equestria is, let alone Appleloosa.” The pony pointed to the center of the map, in the gulf that sat below Western Africa. “If this map had Equestria on it, tis’ where it’d be, but t’ain’t nothin’ there.”
The President leaned forward. “Mr. Braeburn, tell us more about how you got here. Maybe that could help us find your way back home?”
The pony looked up at the ceiling and massaged his forehead. The oddly human action left Jason feeling a bit off-put, but he dispelled the feeling as soon as the pony began to speak.
“Well, I was gettin’ ready t’ buck some trees on the ol’ apple orchard when Twilight Sparkle came up and said she needed me to help with one o’ her experiments.” The pony pulled a hoof to his chest and grinned widely. “Said I t’was ‘The optimal test subject’, whatever that means. Anywho, we go on and we’re in the barn and she’s fidgetin’ wit a mess o’ gadgets and doohickeys while I’m standin’ on this weird metal platform.” The stallion got a stern look on his face, gave an angry huff, and held out his hooves as if pushing away the assumptions of the other non-existent ponies.
“Now, I don’t normally mess with all that fancy magic nonsense, but I trust Applejack, and she trusts Twilight, so I was ready an’ willin’ t’ do what she needed me to, but after this, I don’t think I’ll be asistin’ her wit’ no more of her ‘experiments’.”
“What happened then, Mr. Braeburn?” Jason inquired further.
The pony got real solemn then. “Well, she told me t’ stand real still and don’t move a muscle. I tried, I did, but the dust has been kickin’ up real bad lately and when she flipped a switch, I sneezed real hard an’ next thing I knew, I was standin’ in the middle o’ Manehattan, ‘cept this wasn’t my Manehatten. Had a bunch o’ your folk walkin’ around oglin’ and jeerin’ at me like I was some sorta clown. It was demeanin’, really.” The pony looked down at the floor, his failure weighing heavily on his conscience, the people of New York not exactly being a help to the situation.
The President reached out his hand and patted the creature's shoulder. Jason could have sworn he heard a scream come from behind the glass, which made him smirk. “I’m really sorry that those were the first impressions of our people, Mr. Braeburn, I hope our hospitality here has been satisfactory in an effort to make up for the experience.”
Braeburn’s eyes lit up again, a smile coming to his face. “Oh yes, John. There was this real nice lady, think her name was Margret, came in an’ gave me some of her salad. Said I might have been a bit hungry, which I sure was! It was really good, sir. Wish I had more, no doubt.”
The President smiled back. “That's good to hear, friend. I’ll make sure Margret is commended for her efforts. Now, if you’ll excuse me and Jason here, we have some business to attend to.”
“No problem, John, I’ll probably be here waitin’. Have a great day, y’all.”
“You too.” Jason and the President walked out of the room with a wave, closing the door gently behind them. The President walked to the second door which led back to the hallway and turned around.
“Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have to consort with a few delegates and get some second opinions. I’ll be around. McNamara, take Agent Higgins here to the staff room at B-4.” The President nodded goodbye. “Good day, gentlemen.”
As soon as the President shut the door, McNamara turned to Jason and gave him a disgusted look. “You shouldn’t have let him touch the thing.”
Jason fanned his arms out in a shrug. “Wasn’t my call. The ‘things’ name is Braeburn, by the way.”
McNamara turned and motioned for Jason to follow him. He obviously didn’t want to do this, but orders were orders, and ones from the President could not simply be ignored. He led Jason to the staff room labeled B-4 and closed the door behind him with a huff. It was dimly lit, sparsely furnished, and had a fresh batch of coffee.
Jason laughed a bit to himself. Well, McNamara, it’s very possible the Cubans could make great coffee if you gave them a chance…
—
Jason had been twirling his thumbs waiting for somebody to return to the room when a knock came at the door. He swiveled himself around to see the President walk in with… Braeburn!?
“Agent Higgins, it’s nice to see you.”
“O-of course, President Kennedy, always a pleasure!” Jason stammered in response. He still wasn’t used to talking to the President, despite working directly with him for well over a year up to this point. The President walked over to where Jason was sitting, pulling a chair out so his companion could sit with them.
“Agent Higgins, I’m sure you have been wondering what the assignment I called you about earlier entailed, no?”
“I- yes Mr. President, I have been wondering.”
“Well, and I don’t ask this lightly, I need you to take care of Braeburn here.” The President put a hand on Braeburn’s shoulder. “Treat him as you would your own kin, Agent Higgins.”
Jason felt like a jolt of electricity had run through his body. He had certainly not expected this, and not from the President himself either. He had taken care of family members before, but that was for maybe a couple of weeks at the most, and typically during the holiday season. What the President asked for was unprecedented, to say the least.
“Uh, Mr. President, may I ask why me?”
“Your apprehension is understandable, Mr. Higgins.” The use of his civilian name in a talk about work caught Jason a bit off guard. “But as my Chief Foreign Diplomacy Officer, you are responsible for all matters regarding other nations and their people even if those people are…” The President paused, looking for the right word. “…of otherworldly origins.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“Jason, what you are doing is essential to our political relations to this new world of Equestria, please, do not take this as some babysitting mission. I assure you, this is an assignment of utmost importance.”
Jason let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “If so, then I will do so whole-heartedly.”
“Very good.” He turned to the miniature horse. “Alright, Braeburn. Under my command, Mr. Higgins here is sworn to provide living accommodations for you. He will take you to his house in Washington D.C. and there you will live until we can find a way to get you back to Equestria.”
“Uh, alright John. How long do ya think it’ll be?”
The President took a lengthy pause to think of a response. Jason could clearly see this whole ordeal was taking a toll on the young president. After a while, he exhaled his response with stress.
“I know not the trials and tribulations that await you in your future, friend, but rest assured, for I can say with certainty that I will try my hardest to assure your safe return to Equestria. You have my word.”
Braeburn seemed quite upset at that answer, but he understood and trusted the President's judgment, even if it would bring him inevitable grief. He sat back in his chair and nodded.
“So, Jason, where do ya’ live?” He asked, attempting to hide his sorrow unsuccessfully. Jason tried his hardest to brighten up the pony.
“Oh, you’ll love it. Great view of the Capitol Building, and the missus makes the absolute best green bean casserole.”
—
The ride home had been even more cramped than before, on the count that there was now a pony subtracting from the already small space. The sight even sparked an ‘Oh, wow.’ out of Agent C before he returned to his stoic personality from before. Even so, Jason still tried to talk to them nonetheless, a new companion joining in on the effort.
“Braeburn, this is Agent W,” Jason pointed to his right using his left hand because it was too cramped to articulate his right hand. “And this is Agent C.”
Braeburn popped his hoof out in an attempt to get a shake, but the ever-steely figures didn’t even blink under their aviators. Jason leaned over to Braeburn, who was sitting to his left.
“They don’t talk much.”
Braeburn giggled. “I couldn’t tell.”
They laughed together, taking the awkwardness of the night away with it. Jason hadn’t had a genuinely casual conversation with someone from work in years, save the occasional call with Victor, and even then it usually turned into something less than appropriate for casual conversation, classified information, and the like. Jason had the mind to understand that their relationship was about to change, given that Braeburn was soon to live with his family.
And it was certainly going to be an issue convincing his wife to let the stallion stay.
—
*SCREECH*
“Get it out! get it out of here NOW!!!” Jason’s wife was currently swinging a broom in Braeburn’s direction, attempting to shoo him out the door.
“Jason, who is this crazy lady!?” Braeburn was shielding his face from the onslaught while Jason tried to shield him from his wife.
Introductions were not going well.
“Crazy!? I’ll show you… wait a minute. DID IT JUST TALK!?”
*LOUDER SCREECH*
When Jason’s wife fainted, he found himself coming to the rescue and scooping her up before she fell on the floor. The broom was not spared from this cruel fate, however.
“Braeburn, meet Joanna, my wife, my love, my life. Please forgive her for her actions, she isn’t used to seeing talking horses walking around her home.” Jason hoisted up the unconscious woman and gently carried her to his bedroom, Braeburn following him.
“Well, I guess that makes sense enough.”
Jason pulled a blanket over Joanna, giving her a gentle kiss. “You’ll love her, I swear. Like I said, she makes a mean casserole. Have you had casserole before, Braeburn?”
Braeburn tipped up his hat and gave his forehead a good scratch. “Can’t say I have, Jason. What's in it?”
“Well, for starters, green beans, cheese-“
Braeburn cut Jason off. “Cheese? What's cheese?” Braeburn said the word like he was talking in a different language, and for what it’s worth, it technically was a different language, but not by much. The confusion did reveal something that Jason neglected to notice before though. The fact that ponies don’t eat cheese, meat, or really much of anything that his family normally ate on a daily basis.
“Uh, it’s like… uh, it’s something we humans eat. Not in your diet, though.”
Instead of latching onto the cheese, Braeburn instead thought about the name of Jason’s species. “Hoo-mans. What an odd word. We don’t have nothin’ like y’all in Equestria, though I’ve heard there are these cat folk down south who sorta walk like like y’all.”
“Cat people? Well, you are going to have to tell me about that sometime.” Jason got up from his bed and walked out the door into the main room of the house. “Come on, let me show you around the apartment.” He did so, keeping out of sight the things that might frighten the pony, like the inside of the fridge. He made a mental note to make sure that they didn’t eat anything that a pony wouldn’t eat, as to not offend the new addition to the family. As Jason came through the living room, Braeburn’s attention was taken hold of by the stunning nighttime view of Washington D.C. at night.
The lights that illuminated the Capitol Building reflected off of the great pond that preceded it, leading an enchanting trail down to the Washington Monument, its lights proving to have the same heavenly glow of its symbolic partner, all encased by the crystal clear night sky above.
“Wow.”
Jason walked up next to the mesmerized equine. “Yeah, ‘wow’ indeed. Count it among my blessings that I got so lucky as to live here.”
Braeburn pulled that hat off his head and put it up to his chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen nothin' so stunnin’, Jason. Heck, even Canterlot ain’t got nothin’ on this.”
“Really? You ponies must have a real drab place to live.” Jason felt a bit like an ass for saying so. “No offense.”
“Er, none taken, I suppose.”
Jason mentally berated himself for his uncouth words. Wow, Jason! You are a stunningly fine example for this displaced, and possibly quite afraid person just trying to be kind!
The two sat in silence for a bit, just looking at the Monument basking in the starlight until Braeburn cleared his throat.
“So, uh, where am I gonna sleep?”
Jason scratched his head. “Huh, guess it is pretty late. Well, I guess I could pull a few blankets out of the closet and you could sleep on the couch until I find something else to accommodate you. You fine with that?”
Braeburn smiled. “That would be wondrous.”
Jason pulled the necessary bedding out of the closet and handed them over to the waiting pony. He took the items and laid them out on the sofa appropriately, curling up into a little ball.
“Goodnight, Jason.”
“Goodnight, Braeburn.”
Jason retired to his bed, trying his hardest to not disturb the sleeping woman resting there unsuccessfully.
“Oh, honey, I had the worst dream. Some weird-looking horse in a vest and cowboy hat started stomping around our house, and it talked to me. Could you even imagine such a thing? A talking horse?”
Jason chuckled. “Well, before today I might have said ‘Most definitely not’, but now, I’m sure it is possible.”
Joanna seemed to roll over to go back to sleep, but the realization of what Jason had just said caught up before Mr. Sandman found her. Turning back over as quick as a cheetah runs, she stared at him wide-eyed in the darkness.
“What do you mean you're ‘sure it is possible’?!”
Jason just laughed in response, prompting a proper reaction out of Joanna.
*LOUDEST POSSIBLE SCREECHING*
Author's Note
I've been sitting on this one awhile now, doubtful as to whether I should post it or not. Eh. It's been a month since my last story, so might as well release it.
Thanks for reading, and have a great day!
Author's Note
First story update for any story in almost an entire year now. Feel kinda weird about uploading ngl. I hope you still enjoy it.
PS, I've also fixed up the grammar of the previous chapter, so it should be a lot more readable now, in case you wanted to start from the top. Thanks for reading and have a great day.
Siberian Sunburn
Sergei Ivanovich is a man of little pleasure. He is soft-spoken, thinly built, and knows a good drink from wastebin booze. If someone were to tell a child to draw your average Russian soldier then they would probably draw something not too far off from the appearance of Sergei. Despite this, Sergei rarely found himself in normal situations. While he worked the mundane task of operating a radar tower out in the middle of Nowhere, Siberia, he still found ways to keep the time going by. It was rare to see anyone, but the local wildlife were aplenty.
Monthly, a new shipment of everything a lone man in the middle of nowhere could need was airdropped out the back of a plane. It was mostly expired rations and moral boosters like Soviet magazines, booze, and the monthly news report. Occasionally however his babushka in Lepro would send him letters and even a cookie she made.
He wasn’t entirely alone mind you. He was in close enough proximity to another radar operator, a man by the name of Olav. They chatted on occasion, shooting the shit about the news or women.
This wasn’t exactly the life Sergei had wanted for himself. He reasoned that back home they would probably have him working at the docks or some other terrible job. He supposed he was a bit luckier than most in that regard. Working the radar wasn’t very difficult or demanding of him so he had plenty of free time.
No, this wasn’t the life he wanted. But it wasn't the worst he’d ever had, and he didn't have much ability to change that.
Well, maybe a magical flying horse could. Imagine that!
Rainbow Dash awoke from a casual nap only to find herself freezing and in freefall. She screamed confused to no end as to what was happening. Had Pinkie tried to pull one over on her again? She managed to find north and pull herself back to a stable flight but felt dizzy. All around her for as far as she could see there were tall dark trees coated in snow. Maybe she drifted off on her cloud? But where? It was supposed to be summertime!
She could feel the cold creeping in and panic followed suit. Rainbow dashed off into wherever and began picking up speed. This had to be all a bad dream, it had to. She found it harder and harder to breathe but she saw something in the distance, something to latch onto. A deep red glow in the distance on a metal tower. That's where she needed to go.
“Come on Dash. Keep… it… AH!” She hadn’t taken into consideration her speed and accidentally Sonic Rainboomed before she got to the tower. She wasn’t prepared and found herself tumbling down again. This time she couldn’t stop it. This time she crashed.
Sergei was launched back into reality as a red alert began blaring. An unscheduled aircraft was registered on the radar array. A small blip appeared and was rapidly approaching the center of the screen. Sergei quickly hailed Olav on the radio.
“Are you seeing this Olav?”
“Yeah. We don’t have anything scheduled for today. Can you see what it is?”
Sergei examined the radio receiver. Nothing.
“It’s not displaying any radio signals. What is this thing?!”
“Calm down brother. It might just be-” A violent explosion rocked the entire building and sent Sergei to the floor. He cupped his ears and grunted. The sound reverberated throughout his body and almost made him vomit. There were a painful few moments before he climbed to his feet, checking the radio console and RADAR.
The system was almost fried. Whatever had just hit them ruined the tower and caused damage to the facility. The only noise coming from the speaker was pure static. “Shit.”
Sergei walked over to the front door and pulled his coat on. He had a rifle, an old Patriotic War Mosin Nagant, and a few bullets. While hunting wasn’t officially allowed, he found solace in the thrill of it. Nothing ever happened here, so what's a few hours spent away from the station? With that being said, It had never crossed his mind that he might actually have to use this rifle for the purposes for which it was issued. He gripped it tight and pulled the door leading to the outside world. The wind pushed him back but he persevered through the force. Out in front of him for what he assumed was 300 meters, was a large narrowing line reaching down to the dirt. He thought for a moment that maybe a meteor had struck the area, but quickly shot down the notion.
“I would be dead.” He reasoned. He pulled the rifle to his shoulder and walked towards the ending destination, hoping to the heavens it was something mundane. Was it a plane? Aliens even? He felt his heart push harder and harder as he got closer. He started to see flames soon enough, and to his amusement, they glowed like a fierce rainbow. Maybe if it had been under a less stressful situation, he could have spent hours staring into the constantly shifting pearlescent waves, but now was not the time. As though what he saw could get more spectacular, as he approached the base of the newly formed hill he could see a smoking ball of blue and rainbow. He froze up nearly instantly trying to access the item. As he stared, a deathly realization hit him. The damn thing was breathing!
“Hands up! Don’t you dare move!” Sergei racked the action, loading a round into the chamber. His mouth felt dry and he struggled to keep his composure, but he moved closer, keeping his sights trained tightly on the writhing figure.
Once he was close enough he poked the thing with the end of his rifle. Nothing. He kicked it lightly. Nothing again.
“H-hello? Are you awake?” Nothing but the harsh blowing winds of Siberia met his ears.
Sergei let a deep breath out of his lungs with a sigh. Whatever this thing was, it was asleep. He could work with that. He slung his rifle behind him and flipped the thing over. “A horse? What the fuck?”
The ‘horse’ looked nothing like he had ever seen before in his life. Small as a foal, but built much thicker and appeared fully grown despite its diminutive size. The rainbow-colored mane and the blue coat didn’t help much either. Maybe aliens were tiny horses?
A gust of wind picked up and blew straight through him. He wouldn't last in this cold, not for long anyway. And neither would his seemingly extra-terrestrial guest. He carefully picked up the small horse in his arms and began the walk back. The trip back was much shorter than the trip to. The adrenaline was fading away and he could see and think with a clearer mind, although that didn’t help with grasping what had just happened, or what would happen. One thing it did help with however was what was around him, and that's when he realized that he was going to have to repair the station by himself.
“Shit.”
A catchy tune played on the car radio and Braeburn couldn't help but sing along.
“On the tooown of the ranges, Bella can't you see what you’ve done to me?” He air-guitared a trill and let out a laugh that had been building up.
He turned to his newfound friend and bumped his shoulder. “Y’alls human music ain't half bad, Jason.”
The man adjusted his glasses and turned the music down a notch. “Oh yeah? What’s music like in Equestria?”
“Well, I s’pose it ain't much different than this. Does come with more mentions of hooves and manes of course.”
“No doubt.”
“Yeah. Where did ya say we was headin’ out towards again?”
“Bella Greens, it’s a nice restaurant near the DuPont Circle. You’ll love it. We're going to meet with a friend there, a guy named Victor. I’m sure you’ll like him too.”
“What’s he like?”
“In one word? Gruff. But don’t let his hardy exterior fool you, he's a smart man.”
“Oh Jason, I’d never assume that sort of thing.”
“I know, just a warning is all.”
“Fair enough.”
As they pulled closer to their destination, People stopped and stared at Braeburn with curiosity. In the week since he had arrived, he had become somewhat of a local legend. Everywhere he went he’d get asked about his hooves and how he could grab things.
Can you hold a pencil?
“Er, yes.”
Well, what about this, uh, apple!
“Of course, didja see my flank?”
In truth, it was as tiring as it was fascinating. There was this whole weird world out there, and to his knowledge, he was the only Pony with brains enough to ogle it all.
The car screeched to a halt in front, and Braeburn hopped out, feeling the oddly textured concrete clop under his hooves. He had to be careful or he might injure himself on it. Jason handed the keys to a valet and they headed inside. The aroma blasted Braeburns nostrils like a buffalo in a hoofball match, although much more pleasant. He shivered remembering the dogpile.
The waiter seemed a bit surprised at Braeburn. She didn’t miss a beat though and treated Jason and his otherworldly companion the same as any other customer. Maybe she had been warned about this reservation beforehand, who could say? All Braeburn could think about was how refreshing it was to have some sense of normalcy again after a month of nothing but holding things for strangers. A man popped out of a booth on their way over to the table but Braeburn couldn’t see him on the count that Jason was in front of him.
“Jason! So nice to see you. How are the kids?”
Jason smiled. “They’re quite well Vic. Thanks for asking. Although I have someone here who might want to speak to you. Vic, meet Braeburn.” Jason stepped out of the way of the pony's sight and a lively man in a military uniform stepped up and extended his arm.
“Pleasure to meet you, Braeburn.”
“The pleasures all mine, sir.” Braeburn shook his hand. It still felt weird to have all those fingers over his arm but he reasoned it wasn’t much different compared to a dragon's grasp with fewer pointy bits.
Once they were all sat in the booth they got to talking. They spoke of Equestria and Braeburn’s family. Victor seemed to show a genuine interest, unlike the mean guy who had interrogated him when he first arrived in the United States. Braeburn went into detail about his entire family and where they lived and what they farmed. Most ponies fell asleep halfway through but Victor didn’t. Then again, Victor wasn’t a pony so maybe that had something to do with it.
When the food had arrived they shared what they ate when at their respective homes. For Victor, it was a fascinating dish he called Okroshka, a sort of cold soup. For Braeburn, it was his grandma’s signature Zap Apple Pie. Getting across what a zap apple was was a bit more complicated than explaining why someone would want cold soup, but Braeburn managed.
“Tell me, Braeburn. How have you been adjusting to life in the States?”
Braeburn blushed a little. He didn’t like to be rude so he hid his shame with a smile. “Well, it’s been here and there at times.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You know, if there’s anything you need all you have to do is ask for it.”
“Oh, pfft, now ah couldn’t. Y’all already give me just about everything a stallion like me could ask for. Rest of it’s just me tryin’ to get used to it all.”
“Of course. Now, it’s been a real-”
Victor was cut off by a loud crashing sound and a cloud of white powder filling the air. Upon closer inspection, the group realized that a man had just fallen through the ceiling! When Jason looked he realized exactly who it was.
“Agent C?!”
The Agent dashed up and dusted himself off. He seemed quite embarrassed about the whole ordeal and only managed to get a quiet ‘Gentlemen.’ out before hastily making it towards the door and leaving. Vic, Braeburn, and Jason all just stared in disbelief as he went.
Vic shook his head. “They’re spying on us. Figures.”
“Well, why would they ever be doing something like that?” Braeburn asked, genuinely confused.
Jason made eye contact with Vic and an almost audible exchange went between them.
Vic adjusted himself. “Braeburn, the world out here is dangerous. Very dangerous. Some individuals within my government would see to it that I’m eliminated from my position in it. Some look for any reason to do that.”
Braeburn seemed ashamed without any fault. Seemed his Southern heart couldn’t bear the weight of such things. “Vic… that’s awful. Why don’t you just talk to John about it?”
VIc’s face was a bit confused. “John?”
Jason chuckled. “He means the President, Vic.” This made Vic smile.
“If only things were that simple, Braeburn. Now, I think I ordered a bit too much for my plate. Do any of you want leftovers?”
Sergei climbed the rungs of the mangled corpse of the radio tower, a spool of wire in tow. Command had trained him on this. Sure the idea of a field repair was more done so for the potential of an outbreak of conflict and not for horse meteorites but the solution was all the same.
The heights terrified him. He thought back to his childhood when his sister Vedanya had playfully shoved him while they were climbing a tree and he had just barely managed to hold on. He didn’t have much of a choice in this case though. It was either repair the radio tower now or wait until the summertime for a stern talking to by the commander for incompetence and shipped even further down the rung to God knows where.
The cold would have made the wire too unworkable, so he had been holding it in the looser part of his jacket and slowly feeding it down from the top to make something resembling an antenna. It was bitterly cold work. No post-blizzard warmth could save him from the howling winds of the arctic.
He took one final step down and continued to feed the spool down and into the bunker he had called home for some time. He closed the door, careful not to clip the wire in the door, and shimmied his coat off. He took a cursory glance at his guest and pulled the spool to his terminal, clamping the bare copper into the emergency terminal on the console. After a bit of tinkering, he was able to catch a signal.
“Olav, can you hear me?” Nothing but static. “Olav, this is Sergei. Please come in.” Sergei feared the worst. What if this creature had somehow-
“Sergei you dullard. Why are you broadcasting on an open frequency??” Olav seemed distressed. More than normal that is.
“I am sorry, comrade. My tower was damaged, I had to make emergency repairs and my signal simply is not strong enough to broadcast in such ways.”
“Damaged? By what? Americans?”
“Hardly. Although if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I’ve seen plenty of things in my years, kid.”
Sergei steeled himself for the inevitable laughter. “There is… horse. With wings. In my bunker.” Sergei slapped his head in embarrassment as the line went dead. No doubt Olav was laughing his ass off.
But no laughter came through. “Sergei, please tell me this is not a bad joke.”
Sergei leaned forward. “It isn’t. It is on my bed, sleeping. I did my best to tend to the wounds but the damage was very great.”
“Sergei, I swear if this is another chuchunya fantasy of yours…”
“I swear on my Babushka.”
Olav went silent again. Sergei hadn’t expected him to be taking this so seriously. “I need you to open your mission statement.”
Sergei was honestly surprised. He never read those things. They came with every supply drop the military shipped them, but they always said the same thing. “Be on the lookout for subversive activity.” He had just tossed them into a corner whenever he unpacked his supplies.
He stumbled his way over, pulling back a tarp he used to keep the sleeping quarters warmer than the rest of the bunker, and past his guest in rainbow colors, flipping through the pile before finding the one with last month's drop.
‘Mission Statement: September, 1962.’ Bingo. Sergei rushed back to the console. “Okay Olav, what do you want me to see?”
“Flip to the second page.”
“There’s a second page?”
“That’s what I said when I first got it.”
Sergei did as he had instructed. On the page at the top in bold lettering was a very stark warning.
TO ALL UNITS: IF YOU COME ACROSS ANY EQUINE NOT CONSIDERED NORMAL, REPORT IT IMMEDIATELY UNDER ORDER OF THE COMMITTEE OF EXTRA ANOMALOUS AFFAIRS
“Oh… that’s new…”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Well, it’s not like I can say much else.”
“So are you going to radio this in or am I going to have to?”
“With me and my jerry rigging? Take a wild guess, Olav.”
Sergei flipped the switch to turn his microphone off and leaned back into his chair. His mind rushed thinking of the implications. Could this be his ticket to a better life? He looked at the rainbow alien horse and sighed.
Nah. He’d probably just continue freezing half to death in this hole he called home.
Sitting at the kitchen table back home, Braeburn couldn’t help but think he worried too much. Sure, it was kind of a part of his job as the head farmhoof, but it didn’t make it any easier. While his job as the head was gone and dusted, the worries of this human world simply replaced them. He felt simply awful for Victor. He hoped that this would all blow over with a few words and a sturdy hoofshake. Things seemed to work out that way.
But maybe not here.
“Braeburn, how are you feeling? You look sick with worry.”
Braeburn couldn’t help but smirk and pull his hat over his face. “Oh Miss Joanna, you know me too well.”
“Please, drop the ‘miss’, would you? You’re making me feel old.” Joanna chuckled.
“It’s only proper. I’d feel awful if a decent woman like you felt disrespected.”
Joanna grunted. “I suppose there is no sorrow to be had with intentions like that. But truly Braeburn, you need something to occupy your mind.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“Look, I found this ad in the paper about a company that’ll connect you with a penpal somewhere in the United States. I’ll pay for any costs, you just draft up a letter and I’ll send it off for you. How does that sound?”
“A penpal? Well, I’ll be. I had one when I was younger. A pony named Valor.”
“Well then, you know what it’s all about then. I’m eager to see it off Braeburn, don’t let me down now.” Joanna excused herself from the table. Braeburn thought about it for a while. The worries melted away as he thought of the conversations he and Valor had had all those years ago.
He was just a colt growing up on a farm near his cousin at Sweet Apple Acres, and his mother had the thought to sign him up for it when he complained of being so isolated on the farm. Valor was a draft pony on the West Coast of Equestria. She spoke of long days of hard rewarding work, and Braeburn couldn’t help but relate.
They sent letters back and forth almost weekly, talking of the monotonous but rewarding work they shared. Unfortunately, one day a letter came in from Valor that broke the little colt’s heart.
Valor had found better work outside of Equestria and had to tell her friend that she would no longer be able to send letters. Even if it only lasted for a few years, for Braeburn it meant everything. For a time the world seemed just a bit bigger than his little reality.
Now he couldn’t help but want the world to be smaller. His wanderlust was more than satiated with his travels around Equestria as a farmer. The revelation that there was an entire new world out there frightened him, and he couldn’t help but wish he was just a colt in his bedroom sending letters to a far-off mare again.
He retired to his room, thoughts heavy with what he should even write. I mean this was a different person, and he didn’t know what he should even say. He held his heavy head in silent contemplation for some time, only interrupted by a now familiar jingle of keys. Jason was home.
Braeburn put down his pen and came to greet Jason as he came in. Jason seemed surprised to see Braeburn up so late but softened once he had heard the reason.
“Why don’t you just write from the heart?” Jason and Braeburn took a seat on the couch.
Braeburn thought about that for a moment. He hadn’t exactly known what that meant, but a lingering sense of earth pony pride stopped him from admitting as much. "Oh yeah. I can do all the heart writing."
Jason chuckled. "It's a saying, Braeburn. Just write down what you feel."
"Ah'm quite worried about a lot of things Jason, Ah don't want to scare them off..."
"I'm sure they'll understand. Don't see why they would be writing to a stranger if they didn't want to hear an interesting story."
"Ah s'pose you're right. Thank you."
"Anytime."
Jason went to go sleep in his own bed, and Braeburn returned to his room. This time, he felt a little more confident.
He wrote about his struggles with adjusting to this new world, the people he'd met, and his thoughts about how it all tied together. He wrote of home, the work he did, and the ponies he cared about. In the end, he was left with a few pages.
It isn't much, he had thought, but maybe it was enough. Maybe Enough would have to do. He folded the pages carefully and stuffed them into an envelope. He'd found some stamps in the kitchen's miscellaneous drawer and placed the completed letter on the kitchen table for Joanne to find in the morning. "That's that then."
Braeburn let out a deep yawn and looked at the mounted clock in the kitchen. It was 2 in the morning. He instinctively wiped his forehead and sighed. He hadn't realized he'd spent so much time writing. He snuck over to his room and crawled into the comfy bed, placing his hat on the nightstand and falling asleep.
“My fellow Americans, today is a momentous occasion in not just American, but human history. Man has spent such a small time on this Earth, but for all that time we have thought we were the only ones. We stood alone as the patriarchal lion of the animal kingdom, our ingenuity and empathy putting us head and shoulders ahead of the next ‘Apex Predator’. But now we have been humbled by the knowledge of another.
A short time ago, a visitor to our great nation made their presence known to the world. A pony, somewhat different from our idea of one, seemingly appeared out of nowhere and caused quite a stir when his friends came looking for him. The nations of the world all seemed to stop for those few minutes, and we have all felt the consequences.
The harsh feelings that hung over our heads not too dissimilar to a guillotine have been alleviated, and a more worldly mindset has taken root in the void left over in its absence. Even now, relations with our counterparts in Moscow are softening, and we seem to be on a cusp of newfound exploration not seen since the days of Christopher Columbus and Ferdinand Magellan.
As we speak, the flyboys at NASA are working on a machine that will take us to new frontiers never dreamed of. New horizons, new lives. A New Humanity.
Make no mistake. A month ago I fully planned on coming out to this stage in beautiful Houston, Texas to tell you of a new initiative to go to the moon. But with previous events, the moon doesn’t seem so far anymore.
America, mark my words. We will have a man in this ‘Equestria’ by the end of the decade. We choose to go to Equestria. We choose to go, not because it is easy, but because it is hard. That is the American way.
But don’t take my patriotism for close-mindedness. I extend an arm out to the capable nations of the world in hopes of a new Administration. We will not take that step alone, this I can promise you. When we set foot on that new land it will be with the weight of all peoples on this Earth. We take these steps not just for America, but for all mankind.
Thank you for this amazing crowd Houston…”
The whole family looked on in awe, as though they had just seen history in the making. A thick air filled the room, as nobody wanted to interrupt the feeling. But all things must come to an end. Like most silences, this one ended with a cough. Braeburn had to let an itch in the back of his throat know it wasn’t welcome, and he made eye contact with Jason when he came back to.
A smirk slowly crawled across both their faces. Braeburn was gonna go home.
Director Katarina marched down the halls of the hidden bunker, through disused hallways that showed clear evidence of recent movement. Where once a noticeable dust layer caked the junk stacked up to the ceiling and all over the floors, a footpath had been etched out by nervous foot traffic.
The bunker had been built during the Great Patriotic War. It was designed as a shelter for party members but was quickly abandoned soon after the Germans were routed. After that, it became a storage facility for anything the party considered too valuable to scrap but not valuable enough to use.
At least the beds are comfortable… the Director had thought to herself. She sighed. This assignment seemed pointless. She was an agent of the KGB, not a zookeeper. Ever since that damned horse showed up on all the capital's televisions the entire population of the Union seemed to have a magical talking horse.
It wasn’t even always a horse, either. Some came with dogs, cats, and even chickens! It was a carnival show at this point. Still, the party demanded a deep analysis of every ‘submission’, no matter how ridiculous it may have seemed. She shoved her office door open and plopped down into her chair. Today was going to be a rough day.
She had new files on her desk. 3, to be specific. All headed with the brand new Committee for Extra Anomalous Affairs’ seal. Katarina grabbed her pen and flipped open the first folder. The sight of it made her scoff.
“This must be a bad joke…” she muttered. She sat, staring at a photo of a very clearly normal horse painted green. They hardly even tried to make it look legitimate. It’s as if the old granny who concocted this just dumped paint over the poor animal and had it shipped to the facility.
The next was similar. Although at least the subject was atypical, the ultimate fate of the animal was clear. It was a common chickadee. Dead, in a box. Katarina marked it for disposal. Katarina massaged her temple and opened the last one with disgust. Except, this one wasn’t like the others.
At first, she had simply glazed over the report. There was no image attached, only a note that read ‘IN TRANSIT’. But as she continued to read, it became clear that this wasn’t a hoax. It was the real deal.
Subject H4D. Avian-Equine hybrid. Possibly a pegasus. Subject was found in Sahka, near a Radar Station. Subject appears to be in post critical condition. Subject appears to be suffering from hypothermia. Described as blue with rainbow colored hair. Possesses wings and a distinctive cloud mark on the flank. Subject is considered mission critical. Further instructions below.
“I’m speechless.”
“You probably shouldn’t speak to yourself, Director. It’s bad for your health.” Private Anatoly, my assistant, came walking through my door and offered me some coffee. He was young. Maybe too young for Intelligence, but there is no punishment for patriotism in this bunker.
“If it weren’t for this brew I’d have already gone insane. The party must think we are very important to give us such creature comforts.”
“But this is important. Didn’t you hear? The Americans have their own horse now.”
“The Americans…” Katarina squeezed her hand and cracked the casing on her pen. “... the Americans will get what is coming to them. Besides, we may have our own horse.”
“Do you mean the normal horse painted green? We already had that disposed of, ma’am.”
“No. Something better. Take a look at this.” Katarina handed the folder over. Anatoly’s expression quickly widened as he continued to read.
“Wow.”
“Wow indeed, Anatoly. You may just get a promotion out of this.”
Anatoly’s expression changed to that not too dissimilar to a dog being given a nice bone to chew on.
Katarina smiled. He was far too easy to please. “We must get going. The creature is marked as being in transit. I want to personally oversee every aspect of its being. Understand?”
“Yes, Director Katarina!”
Anatoly ran out of the room and Katarina slowly followed after him. H4D was no doubt going to arrive in the loading bay. In what condition she could not predict, but the possibilities tantalized her. Maybe being a zookeeper wasn’t that bad.
