Four days. The exact time it took for the Equines to respond and issue an ‘immediate request for a diplomatic meeting’ as they explained it, was four days.
A figure surfaced in his mind then and again: twenty-three thousand one hundred and twenty-five; twenty-three thousand one hundred and twenty-five; twenty-three thousand one hundred and twenty-five. That was a strong figure, especially for such a small time. It was hundredth of the Griffin Capital Island’s population. What were the figures for the newly rebelling colonies, it wasn’t known yet. But the estimates were far, far worse.
The speaker sipped his tea very, very carefully, and the advisor didn’t even touch his own. It was important to spare one’s life as long as the cloning process was sloppy and slow, and there weren’t enough people with diplomatic skills onboard the Mothership.
“We wish to make clear that Equestria and its adjoining Pony nations do not respect the measures you’ve taken to quell the Griffin uprising.” Luna’s gaze was met evenly only by the advisor, and even he didn’t dare to look at Celestia.
“We’ve been forced to bring our ground forces down. Otherwise, our ships would’ve been scanned and very dangerous technology taken by the insurgents.” The speaker himself looked humbly to the side, or at Celestia’s lips. He never chanced to look either Princess in the eye.
“You have remained in the position later,” continued Luna, “killing tens of thousands of Griffins in the process. You still remain stationed at the castle. Beyond that, you’ve destroyed every ship heading toward the main island, killing further thousands. It has been confirmed that there were civilians on these ships.”
There was a hazy mist in the speaker’s mind. He felt pressure, barely suppressed some force that drove him forward to lash out at the Princesses.
“I wouldn’t say civilians,” interrupted the advisor. “These were battle-ready warriors. Their King had warned them not to traverse the sea. They knew where they were going.”
“We have confirmed information,” drawled Luna through clenched teeth. “The warning had been issued approximately only a few hours before the first shots were fired at the ships. There were still civilians heading for their homes and families on the main island.”
The speaker knew very well why not even Luna would look at her sister. In Celestia’s eyes there was no fear, nor anger, merely the disappointment. That frightening disappointment of one’s parents when the child they’ve given a credit of love and effort turned its back on them. He felt as if it was his own fault. As if he didn’t misuse the trust of Princess Celestia, but Fleet Command herself.
If she were to speak, there wouldn’t be any of that scared urgency she displayed when rallying Twilight Sparkle and the Elements. Not even an inch of hesitation. She wouldn’t even raise her voice. She wouldn’t need to.
“Either we took their ships down, or we had to fight them at the main island. It would result in even more and more dead, but this time on both sides,” said the advisor.
The speaker was silent. The mist grew stronger in his mind with each minute. He clenched his hands into fists and grit his teeth.
“Is that the reason? To spare your ‘clones,’” she almost spat the word, “as you call them, you kill females and infants?!” Luna’s voice was presumably a pitch higher than she intended it to be. And at least ten decibels louder.
The speaker studied her. She was different, far different than she’d been on the first meeting, but he wouldn’t put a finger on it. The advisor, on the other hand… it seemed the same mist got to him.
“Our clones are sentient, feeling, and emphatic. I believe they can show a more altruistic approach than some of you can. And most certainly more than nearly any given Griffin.”
Luna stood up and shouted, “How dare you compare living, breathing, and feeling Griffin to any of those test-tube-born machines!?”
The advisor also stood up and smashed the table with his fist. “How dare you regard thinking, feeling people as lesser just because they look the bloody same!”
The advisor has never been this angry. He’d grumble; at worst, he’d yell at a layman. He’d never shout at a diplomatic leader of another country, even if that one insulted his family.
“Silence,” said Celestia before Luna could take a breath and strike back. Although it didn’t sound like an order, nor like a threat, it worked well. The advisor and Luna both sat down, still glaring daggers at each other.
Celestia nodded at the speaker, who only then managed to look her in the eye for a moment. There was no anger in her eyes, but the uneven disappointment had also faded. Her gaze was cold, deadly freezing, as the legends said was her hatred.
“What would you wish for us to do?” the speaker asked. He flinched, but didn’t break his eye contact even as the figure before him seemed to grow more threatening and imposing with each passing second.
“Leave,” Celestia said. “Leave and never come back.”
The speaker flinched again. It felt like a poisoned dagger stabbing his chest, as if he himself, and not the circumstances, or the Fleet, had caused the situation. He was pulling the trigger on the King’s guards, on the innocents aboard the ships, on the Griffin and Kushan soldiers lying dead on the islands.
“We can’t,” the speaker whispered, guilt clenching, pulling and stabbing his chest. “Because a hundred, or perhaps a thousand years from now our children will build an armada of ships, and reach out into this world to destroy it, or take it for themselves.”
Luna and the advisor were silent. They seemed… embarrassed? They looked as if awoken from a dream, yet still somewhat angry.
“You can educate them. You can forget about Equestria.”
“They’ll remember. And even if they forget, there will be wars, scores of times more horrible than the one with the Griffins.”
“These will be your wars, waged on your worlds” stated Celestia, her voice unflinching. “We will not allow them to be brought here.”
Both Luna and the advisor looked at Celestia in disbelief. The speaker stared at the ground, trying to fight the mist.
Celestia looked both in the eye, but nothing showed in her expression. “The meeting will be adjourned now. We... we will discuss the matter at a later date.” With that, she left, not looking back, not waiting for Luna to follow.
The advisor and the speaker were led out of the city hastily. A few passersby cast a curious, some more a scorning glance. To their great dismay, they became the messengers of the end times, the embodiment of the whole Fleet’s sins.
They both breathed audible sighs of relief upon entering the metal asylum of their starship. Only then the mist was gone.
“Think they’ll strike back at us?” asked the advisor.
“I hope they won’t,” muttered the speaker. “Think of that creature they have. Discord was its name, wasn’t it?”
“Global weather change, chaos everywhere. How do we kill this thing?”
The speaker sighed. “If only we could do without killing. That’d be a victory.”
“That’d be a victory,” echoed quietly the advisor before feeling the pockets of his uniform. He produced a packet, took out one of the pills and swallowed it quickly.
“Nerve meds?”
The advisor nodded. “I’ll scramble myself sometime. Need to cool down after, well, you know what.”
The speaker nodded and cast the advisor a supportive glance. The latter never did smile, though, and the speaker’s glance went right through him.
The advisor looked out the window blankly. “That’d be a victory,” he muttered thoughtfully.