Ordo ab Chao

by Integral Archer

Chapter V: The President

“The President of the Union holds supreme Power in Congress, and, acting in Its name, exercises Congressional Authority over the Union and its Citizens for their future Welfare.”

—Article XIV, Section I of the Constitution of Meeting Tribes of Immediate Siblings

The Horseshoe Office is located in the Presidential Mansion, right in the heart of Canterlot. A large mahogany desk sits right in front of the room’s only window. The window, which is nearly seven feet high and ten feet across, faces the eastern horizon, so that the occupant of the room may have the sun shine on him as he begins his work for the day.

On the north wall of the room, above a bureau that spans the length of the wall, sits the portrait of President Platinum. In the five foot by three foot painting, Platinum is sitting on a chair, her hind legs crossed. Her mane, other than being combed to one side around her neck, has no decorations; and, instead of one of her extravagant dresses, that she was so known for exhibiting with glee at social gatherings, Platinum is wearing a black gown made out of a single piece of velvet, under a small single-knotted white scarf—in the same manner and dress as a judge overlooking a court. And, like a judge, her face is austere, and her eyes seem to be staring straight at anypony looking at the portrait.

The president, as he walked into the Horseshoe Office for the first time, looked at her, and she stared straight back at him. He then took a deep breath to absorb the room’s smell, and in the smell, he absorbed the entire meaning of this room. The smell, unlike a mental assessment, allowed him to savor it fully within an instant, and it let him gather the full implication of his presence in the room. Three months ago, he was a cynical and disturbed politician; now, everything had completely changed.

He chuckled to himself. That’s not completely true, he thought. I’m still a cynical and disturbed politician—it’s just now that I’m a cynical and disturbed politician who’s the president.

From here on in, the only place he could go was up.

The information of his victory had interrupted a very deep sleep, such that when Princess Luna had burst into his office, slamming the door loudly on the wall behind it, he had convulsed like a foal that had been hit on the soft spot of its head; and he had sat up, his legs shaking, his breaths shallow and rapid—and, above all, feeling very poorly rested.

“Two seats in Congress!” she had yelled. “That’s by how much the Unionists beat the Royalists!”

He had sat up, rubbing his eyes vigorously with his forward extremities. An unintelligible grumble of his throat was the only vocalization that he had managed to make.

“Well, let’s get going,” she had continued. “The barouche is here.”

“The what?”

“The barouche, to take us to Canterlot. Thou are delivering thine inaugural speech tomorrow.”

“Barouche? Fine, let’s go to the barouche. I like me a good barouche.” He had got up and, still rubbing his eyes, had stumbled along the floor of the office and had finally made his way out the door, but not without running into a few walls before getting there.

He had stepped on the running board into the carriage and then had sat down on the cushioned bench. His head had begun to nod; but, all of the sudden, he had felt an extreme pressure on his claw, as if it was being crushed, and he had started in the same manner as he had done when he had been awoken by Princess Luna—and the interruption had been just as traumatic.

He had looked in the direction of his tormentor, and he had seen a teal pegasus pony who was ecstatically grabbing his claw with both hooves and was shaking it with a death grip. While shaking it, as though he had been waiting his entire life to do so, the pony had said: “Glad to meet you, sir! I’ve heard nothing but good stories—nothing! You have no idea how happy I am right now, to see you, to be able to came face to face with you and say: wow! Just . . . wow!”

The president-elect had exchanged a nervous glance with Princess Luna. The pegasus had not stopped talking, and it had not appeared that he was going to let go of his claw anytime soon.

“My name is Enforcer, and I’ve been the humble assistant to the president of the Union for five administrations,” the pegasus had said. “I haven’t let any of them down, and I’ve been nothing but eager to serve them. Believe me when I say, sir, that this old sack of dust is nothing but happy to see you and is eagerly looking forward to serving you. Have I said how much of an honor it is to meet you, sir? It is—it really is.”

It was only just then that the president-elect noticed the pony’s countenance: the pegasus’s graying hair betrayed his age, but the virility which is peculiar to young ponies had not waned in him at all. Not a wrinkle ran across his face; and, through his eyes, the president-elect could see that Enforcer’s mind was sharper than most ponies he had encountered, and Enforcer reflected this in both his quick speech and his expeditious manner. In addition, his firmly tied necktie, and his sharply pressed tailcoat which nearly completely obscured his cutie mark—which the president-elect had caught a glimpse of and had seen that it was an overfilled manila envelope—spoke of a time where his intellect, efficiency, and style were the most valued skills in the world, if they were not now.

As if on cue, Enforcer had slammed a large folder down on the president-elect’s lap, and the president had wheezed with surprise as the unexpectedly large mass crushed his thighs. “These are a few legal technicalities that you need to look over as president, sir,” Enforcer had said, ignoring the president-elect’s winces of pain. “It looks like a lot; but, trust me, it’s not that much. You’ll find that they’re all organized in terms of priority and highlighted in a system that optimizes productivity and speed. It shouldn’t take you that long to look over, and—”

Enforcer had choked on these last words, as the president-elect had put his large paw over his mouth. “Nice to meet you, Enforcer,” he had said calmly, as the assistant had stared at him, wide-eyed. “But, as much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I would like to use this carriage ride to enjoy my last few moments of idleness. In addition, I’ve never seen Canterlot, and I’ve heard it’s nothing short of amazing. I’d like to see it for the first time while letting nothing distract me. Can you let me do that?”

The old pony’s face had turned a bright red, as the president-elect had taken his paw off of his mouth. “Of . . . of course, sir. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Please forgive my indiscretion. I never intended to interfere with your experience. I apologize again, and I hope that this doesn’t interfere with our relationship, nor does it make you look any less of me. I’m sorry.”

Enforcer had said nothing for the rest of the ride to Canterlot.

It had been a long ride, despite the strong pegasi who had pulled the carriage with all haste, and the president-elect had fallen asleep the second they had reached their cruising altitude. But, as if the city’s energy was transmitted in a form which his body had perceived even in its deep state of slumber, the second they had emerged from the tunnel in the mountain on which Canterlot was built, the president-elect’s eyes had opened just in time for him to see the spires of the towers, the tops of which could not be seen as they exited from the tunnel.

Unlike the miserable piles of concrete in Fillydelphia, which have the audacity to call themselves “skyscrapers”—which seem to groan beneath the weight of their approaching, unwashed visitors, the travelers who grumble in their turn as they near the buildings, the structures’ dull, monochromatic colors appearing to reflect their daily trundles through life, those buildings which sigh relentingly as they are approached, conceding to the whim of their visitors, the only complaint coming from their facades being the shedding of a thick layer of dust—the skyscrapers of Canterlot are immediately seen by commuters as proud and imposing, majestic and regal, terrifying any lesser souls with their superiority as they see them loom over the horizon, causing the barbarians to huddle against the seats of their carriage and shut their eyes as the buildings draw closer, intimidated as they are by the power of the city conveyed through these monoliths.

The president-elect had stuck his long neck and head through the window—all signs of fatigue gone in him—and had faced the city head-on, a daunting cry consisting of a mixture of admiration, provocation, and incredulity coming from the bottom of his throat.

Princess Luna had looked at him and then had looked back at the city; and even though she had seen it many times, having lived there for most of her life and having only came to Fillydelphia for the purposes of her campaign, she had to restrain herself from making the same act of filial amazement; because, even in the worst depression Equestria had even seen, the city—at least to passersby—still stood tall and proud, not letting any sign of hardship show on its ramparts.

But like a cheery host who puts on a smile for his guests and then promptly scolds his family for their insolence after the party is over, the city’s interior, after the initial impression of its elegance had been received, reflected reality just as harshly, if not more so, as any other city. As they had flown past, Princess Luna had noticed just how bare the streets were, how cold and dark the shops looked through their translucent windows, and how much litter tumbled through the streets. The evidence of the depression was, in fact, more convincing here, at least to her, for she had seen the city at its height and had seen its full potential—and then she had seen what it had been cast into.

The inauguration had went without incident. The ponies watching fully expected to be inspired—and, no matter what he had said, they probably still would have been. What they did not know was that, while every single president-elect taking the oath before had been nervous, as they had the entire weight of the world bearing down on their shoulders and was worried that they would not be able to uphold what they were about to say, the brand new president never felt more right in his position; as soon as the chief justice of the Supreme Court had finished administering the oath and had introduced him as the president of the United Republic of Equestria, he had felt the importance that the title carried, felt the honor, felt the dignity; and he could not imagine any other title belonging to him and, at that moment, could not recall a single moment in the past where he had not been the president.

He had delivered his short, but informative, speech that, like all inaugural speeches, inspires its listeners when they hear it, but which promptly vanishes from their memories the second the speaker leaves the stage. The president’s theme, his argument, was that it was time to stop the blaming, to stop the scapegoating, to start Equestria anew with each pony responsible for nothing but his actions, and to take responsibility for the fortunes and misfortunes that came their way— and it was promptly forgotten.

As soon as he left the stage, about five minutes after his opening line, the political activists immediately started dissecting his speech and were trying to find ways to use it against him; but, at that moment, that was the last thing on the president’s mind, as he had been flown to the Presidential Mansion.

In his delightful miasma of having just experienced the highest honor any citizen of Equestria could ever hope to achieve, he had not noticed the Presidential Mansion as he walked through it: a tall, ovular building with many great spires decorating its roof and, with its illustrious design, instantly conveyed to any viewer the importance of its resident. He had been led to the Horseshoe Office, where, after he had spent a few minutes admiring the portrait of President Platinum that watched over the room, he sat in the sacred chair behind the sacred desk, where he immediately requested that he be left alone.

As he sat in the chair that every president had sat in before him, his eyes started to close, as his conscious mind had finally absolved himself of the stress of the last few months. At first, it had fought back, yelling that there was still too much to do, that it was too late to rest on his laurels, but it was soon silenced by the feelings of accomplishment and fatigue, working in tandem in an effort to give him his well-deserved rest. I’ve earned this, he thought—I deserve this.

He slumped in the chair and allowed his head to nod—when his eyes snapped opened, his heart pounding at nearly three times its normal rate, as he heard one of the doors to the office open. Enforcer and Princess Luna had entered, the former with a briefcase slung with a strap across his back.

Enforcer approached the desk, while Princess Luna stayed back to partake in the sort of pleasure one feels at seeing their friend accepting the responsibilities of a new position to which they were recently elevated.

Enforcer slapped the briefcase on the desk and out of it took fifty or sixty sheets of paper which he then proceeded to arrange in front of the president. “Here are the bills that are about to reach the Senate,” he said. “The former President Cadenza was working on these before her impeachment—a formality really, as they’re probably going to get voted against, all things considered, but it’s important that you look through them nonetheless. And here is . . .”

Enforcer was looking down at the documents, so he did not see the president look from his papers to Princess Luna, give her a playful smirk, and make a gesture toward him and his papers as if to say: “Look what I have to put up with from now on,” which resulted in the vice president responding with a muffled smirk.

Enforcer was still speaking. “And here’s the budget, which Congress insists on talking about during the next session. Does the president have any questions or services he wishes me to perform? As your assistant, I’m obliged to your service. Do not hesitate, even for a second, to call me if you need to perform your duties as president.”

The president smiled at his precision and his loyalty. “Actually, I would like to make my first presidential decree,” the president said while tapping the fingers of his paw against the talons of his claw. “What would be the official procedure to issue a presidential pardon, if I may ask?”

“Ah, that’s quite straightforward, really; and, unlike most things the president will request from me in the future, I can bring forth this particular article immediately. The president must simply fill out a document with the prisoner’s name and number, and he must list a reason for the pardon. The reason is a formality, really; it’s there for the more conservative members of Congress, and it is almost never called into question. But if the president feels that he can not put it so eloquently, he may wish to ask me to put a reason in for him. Would the president permit me to fetch him the appropriate documentation immediately?”

“Please do, as I feel that it is my obligation to myself and every Equestrian to not get complacent and to begin my work immediately.”

Enforcer gave a polite bow and, not using his hooves, flew away in a flash through the same door from which he and Princess Luna had entered.

When he had left, Princess Luna looked toward the president, her face beaming.

“Do not think,” said the president when he saw her reaction, “do not think, even for a second, that I’m using my position with sentimentality, or as a favor to thee as my friend and vice president. Thou said thyself that thou were a mare of justice first, and that’s exactly why I chose thee: I look for the moral values I see in myself in other ponies. I’m sure it goes without saying that I expect thee to not take this next action out of context.”

She said nothing and still looked at him with that eager grin.

Trying to change the subject, the president said: “Have thou seen the assistant? How is that possible?”

“How is what possible?” she replied.

“That a stallion his age could be so adept, fast, and so eager. He must be twice thine age!”

“I appreciate thy flattery,” she snorted.

“But how is that possible?”

Princess Luna shrugged. “I know the type.”

“What do thou mean?”

“He lives for his work; he can’t imagine ever being without it. I guarantee thee: if ever he were to come into work and find that there was nothing for him to do, he would die. His work is his food, his lifeblood.”

“I’ll never be able to understand that,” the president replied, kicking up his hind legs onto the desk and leaning back in his chair.

At that moment, Enforcer had returned, balancing neatly, with an admirable skill, a piece of paper and a pen upon his forehooves. On his approach, the president immediately took his hooves off the table and sat erect.

Setting the paper and the quill down on the desk, Enforcer said: “Here is the order that the president has requested. I’m sure he will find it self-explanatory. Regardless, if the president has any questions, he will, most of the time, find me in the very next room, over there.” He gestured toward another one of the doors to the office.

“No need,” responded the president. “I’m quite confident that I can complete this immediately. Besides, I believe that all three of us are going to have a strong relationship together for the years to come, and I desire that this positive moment be remembered as the start of it.”

The president dipped his pen into some old ink sitting on the right side of the desk, which was still wet. He said, as he brought his pen to the page: “‘Be it known that the president of the United Republic of Equestria, acting with the authority as head of state and as a vessel of justice, formally pardons the former president Evviva Cadenza, for her crime of Bribery and her Crimes of Misdemeanor.’”

With his large eyes and his wide view of peripheral vision, the president could see Enforcer assume a rather flummoxed look. Princess Luna was still grinning.

“I sense that you are confused, are you not, Enforcer?”

“It’s just that, as the president no doubt remembers,” said Enforcer, who spoke this time in a strangely resolute voice and did not make eye contact with him, “the former president committed the most heinous crimes against the state and its citizens, and broke the trust of every single honest and hard-working pony in Congress.”

“I’m quite aware,” the president said in an airy, dismissive voice. “But what I’m thinking about right now is not her crimes, but rather that you would miss my inaugural speech, if you’re going to be working for me for the next few years. If we’re going to start a new acquaintanceship, it is most undesirable for you to miss one of the biggest days of my presidency.”

“Sir, I was with you in the carriage to the Hall of Congress and when we came here to the Presidential Mansion. I’ve never left your side.”

“That can’t be true; because, if you were there, you would’ve known that I emphasized that, as a country, we must start fresh. We need to wipe the slate clean and stop blaming some particular pony for our plights, whether it be the Canterlot investment banker, or the unfortunate former president. It’s time we took responsibility for our own actions, and make sure that in the future, we do not put ourselves in a position to be so dependent on another pony to such an extent that we feel that any of our misfortunes are of their doing.”

The president looked up from the pardon, and he glanced at such an angle that it appeared to Enforcer that he was looking right at him when, in reality, he was staring directly into Princess Luna’s eyes. They both watched the president, as his smug, foreboding, and malicious smile crept onto his lips. Princess Luna felt her mane hairs stand up on their ends.

“What I mean,” said the president, grinning in an even more unsettling manner than before, “is that I’m giving her—and Equestria—one last chance.”

* * *

When the delegates entered the Congressional Chamber for the first time, they were surprised to see the president already there, sitting at the front of the stage in the speaker of the house’s chair with his head slumped into his paw.

The United Party delegates, as they occupied the seats on the left slightly closer to the president’s seat, entered first. Each and every one of them flashed a big smile to the new president but were disappointed when he did not return them and only responded with the same impassive look.

It was not until the delegates belonging to the Royal Party—the official opposition—walked to take their seats that the Unionists noted that the president had instantly assumed an erect position, his blood-red pupils enlarging and a smile creeping onto his face, as if something had aroused his attention. They turned back to look.

Princess Celestia, the leader of the Royal Party and the official opposition, was escorted to her seat near the front. Her subordinates stood as she walked by and bowed, but if she had recognized the gesture, it was not apparent from her manner: she walked by brusquely without showing any sign as to what she was feeling—of course, the keen president knew.

The delegates who were bowing as she walked past were not offended by her impassivity; they would have felt the same way had they been the leader of a party favored to win and only lost by two seats.

“I’m new to this,” were the president’s first words before Congress. “And I think that the best way for me to start is to follow one’s example: it was President Platinum, who watches over my every action in the Horseshoe Office from her portrait, who introduced the ‘Hooves-off, hooves-clean’ policy, and it is up to us to honor her name by adhering to her version of Equestria.”

There was an immediate voice of protest from the Royalists who insisted that, while they had nothing but respect for President Platinum and her ideas, the policy was unfit for Equestria.

Princess Luna looked toward the president, expecting him to point out the contradiction, but he just leaned back in his chair and smiled insouciantly.

The session was unstimulating and unremarkable; but even if it had been exciting, Princess Luna would not have noticed, for, throughout the entire sitting, she was looking at the president who would never take his unwavering eyes off of Princess Celestia. When the president was presented with a proposition or asked a question, he only responded to each with monosyllabic and dismissive answers. When there was an uproar of protest from the Royalists at a passing comment he made, with Princess Celestia carrying the loudest voice of dissent, Princess Luna would see the president form the most ugly sneer she had ever seen. She could not tell what he was thinking, but it must have been something unnerving; for, when she caught a glimpse of this mendacious smile, she felt a surge of fear run through her veins.

As is usual in a president’s first sitting in Congress, the session served as an orientation to the new administration; regardless, it wasn’t long before the political commentators criticized the president’s behavior at the meeting and insisted that the Royalists stay wary of his actions.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, because the president had only been in office for a week and had not implemented any of his policies, the economy had not seen any radical improvements: unemployment still hovered at around twenty percent; and there was, more often than not, an editorial in the newspaper that was always accompanied by one of those ubiquitous pictures of the crowds of homeless ponies sitting on the street, with the author insisting that the president redistributed the wealth and stopped making concessions toward the Equestria’s richest.

The president always laughed when he saw these editorials: even if he were to follow their advice, what wealth remained, and what entrepreneurship was left to create it?

But some disagreed, because on December the third, 182 BC, a mere two weeks after the president had been inaugurated, came a historic and unprecedented response: the city of Los Pegasus declared secession from the Union.

“We find the president’s actions to be unjust and indicative of a creature that uses his position to further his own goals as opposed to the benefit of the welfare of its citizens,” read the Los Pegasus Deceleration of Secession. “As such, we, the delegates of Los Pegasus, with the permission of the mayor, hereby declare that Los Pegasus is, henceforth, a free and independent state, with all her ties to the Union to be severed immediately.”

An emergency session was called into Congress the following day. Once again, the delegates arrived to find the president there before all of them tapping the talons of his claw nosily on the desk in front of himself.

Once they had taken their seats, the president, disregarding the preliminary formalities to the commencement of any congressional session, stood up, and, in an alarming and urgent tone, began to speak. “No doubt all of you are as perturbed by this message that Los Pegasus has sent the citizens of the Union as I am,” he said. “You are all probably wondering what the proper course of action is to take.

“Well, as the president, I say: Let there be no further debate, as the answer should be quite clear and obvious to all here. Let it be made clear to Los Pegasus, to Congress, that any recognition of Los Pegasus and its surrounding boroughs as a separate entity by Congress would be in violation of Article II, Section I of the COMTOIS.”

A rummer rose through the hall. The president raised his paw, asking for silence, and continued: “Therefore, we are obligated to act. The Union Army should be sent into the streets of Los Pegasus tonight, to implement a state of martial law, until the insurrectionists are found and brought to justice.”

The president sat back down, with a satisfied smile on his face, expecting to receive a resounding applause from all of Congress; but, to his surprise, there was silence—dead silence. He shrugged, as he waited for the gravity of his words to sink in.

Finally, Colonel Buckner, in the front row, stood up and said: “If I may be permitted to speak, Mr. President, and if I may do so with all candor for the sake of expediting my ideas—allow me to say that your actions, your proposal, are rash and unwarranted.”

A surge of energy went through the room, agitating the delegates, each one now slowly gaining the courage to speak their minds.

“Mr. President,” said a Unionist in the balcony, standing up. His voice was piercing and loud, which managed to get the attention of all of Congress despite its secluded position. “As much as I’ve agreed with you in the past, as ardently as I’ve fought the Royalists and their opposition to you, I begrudgingly must agree with the colonel. We’ve so little information about this; all we have is a telegram with a list of demands, and I hardly think that’s enough to justify a military action.”

The delegates now began to speak among themselves loudly, as an audience does before the curtain draws open to signal the beginning of a great drama, and individual conversations could be heard, growing in intensity.

“Allow me to take this one step further,” said a young Royalist in the middle of the crowd on the ground floor, loudly, and with a fiery baring of his teeth—in the gaps of which, one could almost see foam—“and say that the president is acting contrary to the spirit of the COMTOIS. He’s completely disregarding the founders vision of the harmonic Union: if Los Pegasus feels that only depression and disharmony can result in remaining in the Union, then I disagree with you that we should chain them to the iron ball of the COMTOIS as its slave!”

At this, every single delegate sprang up from their seats in an explosion of rage and fury. Each one tried to yell louder than every other, hoping that the president would hear them; but, no matter how loud it got, the president just sat back at his chair, and smoothed out his black robe with his paw.

Princess Luna buried her face in her hooves.

The president did not slam his gavel against the block to call for order, as was usually customary for a president to do should Congress get too enthusiastic; instead, he twirled it between the talons of his claw, a bored look on his face. He stared back at the floor, at the epicenter of the calamity, and said, in a very quiet voice: “May I respond?”

When the request went unheard, he shrugged, and pulled his mouth back in a strange sort of smile, the end of his large protruding tooth digging into his lower lip.

The speaker of the house, noticing the president’s reaction, and noticing that he had absentmindedly let his gavel fall to the floor, reached down beside him, picked it up, and offered it silently to him. The president completely ignored the gesture; he did not even glance in the speaker’s direction.

Worried, panicked, the speaker braced her teeth, and rapidly slammed the gavel with all her might against her own podium until the outburst had waned. Sweat was beginning to form on her temples by the time she restored order to the house.

The president did not begin to speak immediately; he waited until even the last few mumblings that remained after the shouting had ceased and silence reigned unobstructed. He even gave silence a few seconds of dominion before saying, in the low volume that he had used earlier: “You should be ashamed, everypony, either Royalist or Unionist. Some of your proposed actions are contrary to the COMTOIS, and they disregard the very principles upon which Equestria was founded. Have you forgotten the principle of Perpetualism? You’re traitors, each and every one of you, to the Union.”

Princess Luna let her face fall into her podium as she heard another uproar, even louder than the first.

While the president said something unintelligible, in an even quieter voice than he had used in response to the first outburst, the speaker of the house slammed the president’s gavel again until her teeth began to hurt.

Amazingly enough, after this process repeated in a similar manner for about an hour; and, equally amazingly, the president relented and reluctantly agreed—or rather, grew weary of being berated and nagged, as he frequently became—to make a compromise.

After a further hour of debating, which was surprisingly calm and collected, the course of action was settled: although allowing Los Pegasus to secede was strictly out of the question, as it was expressly illegal under the COMTOIS, because no activity of militia was observed in the city of Los Pegasus, the president would simply make a public appearance to declare the secession illegal and assure the city that no disciplinary action would occur should they decide to stop protesting. When this had been resolved, the president had sat back in his chair, grumbling some short words under his breath, which the delegates could see but could not hear.

For his part, the president got Congress to agree to send an order to all cities to call up local militias in the event of an “emergency scenario.”

When the president got the press together to explain the current circumstances to the country and to issue the ultimatum to Los Pegasus, he also took the opportunity to make a quick note on his own behalf. After he had read off the page containing insipid statement Congress asked him to make, he added briefly: “On another note, mares and gentlecolts, there is a disturbing concern that I have about the amount of libel that is targeted toward not just me, but to some of the other members of Congress. Let me make this perfectly clear”—and at this, he leaned closer toward the journalists, as if he was speaking directly toward them—“To Los Pegasus, and any others who believe they can use the pretense of a constitutionally protected right to violate the integrity of their fellow citizens or the Union: if you do not cease in your activities, you can be assured that I, acting with the full authority of the government, will respond with all the force necessary to put an end to it.”

* * *

When the president read the editorials in the Horseshoe Office and learned that his announcement had only angered the opposition, who claimed that he was using the threat of force against Los Pegasus and his opposition in place of a persuasion, he simply scoffed, tossed that section of the paper in the trash can, and stared at the portrait of President Platinum hanging on the north wall of the room.

After he had discarded the evidence of the signs of objection, the president had looked at her. She had observed the scene, and her expression of cold, merciless judgment had not changed. The president kept staring at the portrait, squinting so that maybe he could see it talk or give some signs of reaction; but, despite the expert brushstrokes that gave life to her cheeks, the president received no signs of approval or censure. The only thing he was sure of was that she had indeed come to a conclusion.

At that moment, his concentration was broken by the sound of the door conjoining the Horseshoe Office with the office of his secretary, and Enforcer flew into the room, carrying yet more documents. He approached the president, who was still facing the portrait, and nudged him on the shoulder.

The president spun around, and Enforcer was surprised to see him smiling, given the circumstances. “Yes, what is it?”

“I simply thought the president might like to see that the orders have been carried out: here, I have the latest figures on the Union Army,” said Enforcer, as he laid down on the president’s desk sheets filled with technical information that only a hoof-full of ponies, not including the president, understood.

“On this first paper,” Enforcer began, “you can see the receipt for the order of three hundred thousand Trottingham Rifles from Stallion’s Manufacturing Company—”

“If anypony asks,” said the president, addressing the unspoken question that Enforcer had been pondering for the past few hours, “the Union Army’s weapons are outdated, as we haven’t fought a war in decades. How are we supposed to keep our citizens safe with obsolete weaponry?”

“Of . . . of course, sir,” replied Enforcer. Enforcer quickly hid the receipt and rearranged the papers until another one appeared forefront on the president’s desk, which bore the seal of the Union Army. “As the president can see, over the past twenty-four hours, the Union Army recruiting offices in Canterlot has managed to gather approximately one thousand and sixty-seven volunteers, and they expect to gather thirty-seven thousand strong by the end of the month.”

“Hmm, not bad . . . not bad at all.”

“That’s not all,” Enforcer responded, more enthusiastically this time. “These are only the recruits from Canterlot which, as I’m sure the president can agree,” Enforcer said, while forcing a strained laugh which was intended to cut the stress of the precarious situation, “that the soft, cushy lifestyles of the bankers and their foals hardly makes the Union Army recruitment in Canterlot indicative to the statistics of recruitment in the rest of Equestria.” Enforcer flipped over one of the papers. “Here, we have the statistics for recruitment in Manehattan: they’re reporting approximately forty-seven thousand two hundred sixty-eight volunteers in the past twenty-four hours alone. Their offices are completely swamped, and they predict approximately one hundred and thirty-seven thousand recruits by the end of the month.”

“Those Manehattanites . . . they’re a tough bunch, aren’t they?” said the president, in a sort of depressed snicker. The remark had been made as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but he could not hide the sadness he was feeling, and it came across in his voice.

Enforcer looked up at the president, who was viewing the documents with a sort of placid look on his face. The assistant gave a sad smile and said: “You see, Mr. President, the citizens of Equestria are good. Look at these figures, and then tell me that no more loyalty remains. If you want my advice, it’s that you shouldn’t let a vocal minority cloud your view of the goodness of the majority.”

The president glanced at Enforcer with languid eyes. “We’ll see,” he said. “Is there anything else you need to show me?”

The smile dropped from Enforcer lips. He swallowed nervously, realizing that what he was about to say contradicted what he had just said. “Unfortunately, it is at this moment that I must bring the president undesirable news,” said Enforcer, as he looked the president in the eyes, the tone of his voice dropping in pitch and volume, as if to reflect the solemnity of what he was about to say next. “Ponyville has not responded to the congressional order. Although Union Army intelligence does not detect any violent activity there, the same cannot be said of Los Pegasus, who has also not responded to the order. Scouts of the Union Army have seen recruitment offices that lack the flag, or the authorization of the Union—they report approximately twenty-three thousand militia recruits within the first twenty-four hours.”

At this point, Enforcer quickly looked around the room, as if he was trying to keep something a secret. He stepped closer to the president and, in a very hushed voice, said: “If the president desires, I can call the delegates into Congress. They won’t be able to refuse this new evidence; and the president can, as he wished earlier, implement martial law and have the Union Army in the streets of Los Pegasus within the next hour.”

The president closed his eyes and exhaled, while putting his paw on the shoulder of the secretary. “Enforcer, you are a saint, and I mean that wholeheartedly,” he said, as he opened his eyes with a profound feeling of pride. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Congress was right to refuse the order of martial law.

“After all,” he continued, suddenly erupting into the most chilling of laughs, which Enforcer could feel resonating its way to the marrow of his bones, “they’re bankrupt, aren’t they? Where are they going to get the weapons and supplies that could rival any modern police force, much less the force of the Union Army? Let the little tin soldiers have their fun.”

Comments

[NormalBipedalHuman]

Civil war anypony?

[Oddend]

Viva la Ponylution!

[Soge]

Finally caught up. I really like the premise, but the way the characters talk is very strange. It reminds me a lot of "The Fountainhead" or other Ayn Rand Novels. Still, I am curious to see how you will tie this story with show cannon, and I love how you essentially switch Discord's and Celestia's roles, without deviating too much from their personalities on the show.

[Ramenclaw]

Me gusta
Pony world-domination!
Disce is playing the long game, getting the opposition to act how he wants. Oh the chaos.

[Griffomo13]

But how do they get there god powers?