Twenty years ago, when Twilight was taking her first stumbling steps as a filly, Tawantinsuyu had cut a deal with the Guild. Tawantinsuyu had always been a notable country, with a rich mystic tradition and some of the world’s most powerful sites of natural magic. But it had also always been a very poor country, and the king wished that to change.
Knowing that wealth required railroads, steam engines, and electricity, but having no funds with which to purchase such items, he asked the Guild if a trade might be arranged. His country had a great deal of land it was not using, as well as natural resources the Guild could exploit.
At first, negotiations struggled. The Guild was a trade association for the advancement of its members, not a bulk resource supplier, and they had no interest in diversifying. The king offered lumber, mystic artifacts, rich fishing rivers, and mountains filled with silver, all of which were refused.
Finally though, with the assistance of a third party, an arrangement was made. The Guild’s associates at the Imperial United Fruit Company would cover the entire bill in cash. All they asked for in return was a legal monopoly on the export of a fairly minor commodity item. Apparently, they thought there might be some kind of profit to be made in the banana trade.
After Twilight and Spike’s train overturned, they had not been able to find another. The entire Katwasu rail line was down for critical repairs. The best they had been able to find was a rickshaw pulled by a pony made of steel. Writing on her left flank where her cutie mark should have been said that her name was KLE-O43, and that she charged one bit for every five miles. Her right flank had a slot for coins.
Spike put a bit in. “Tampuli City,” he said. Kleo started walking. Five miles later, she came to a stop, and he had to put in another bit. And so it continued. Kleo didn’t seem to like taking more than one bit a time.
Their train ride to Tampuli City was supposed to take two days. Factoring in Kelo’s slower maximum speed, the less efficient mountain roadways, the need to stop for food and water, and the requirement of one of them staying awake to put a bit in every five miles, Spike estimated that reaching the Tawantinsuyu capital by rickshaw would take roughly three weeks.
“We’ll find something better,” Twilight said, “when we cross the border.”
But they didn’t. The first settlement over the border had no airships and no steam cars, and its railroad line served only to carry cargo to the nearest port. It was a little banana farming town.
They were all little banana farming towns. Fields of banana trees stretched as far as the eye could see on either side of the road.
It didn’t take long to finish reading all of the books they’d brought with them. Neither of them felt like talking with the other. Days stretched into weeks. Weeks of dirt roads and banana fields and the steady clip-clop of Kleo’s iron hooves. Twilight grew sullen. Then she grew quiet.
To distract herself, Twilight wrote letters. She wrote them to Celestia and to her friends. She asked how things were in Ponyville. And other ponies wrote her letters too, and had them delivered to her via Celestia and via Spike. Not a day passed that Spike didn’t belch up a bundle of telegrams wishing Twilight well or inquiring about her trip.
It was 4 A.M. when the telegram came. 10 A.M. in Vineigha. It was Spike’s turn to stay awake to keep putting bits into Kleo. Twilight was curled up sleeping next to him when his stomach convulsed, and he belched up a neatly rolled telegram. He read it silently to himself, then shook Twilight until she woke, and then read it aloud to her.
“At 8 A.M. this morning local time,” Spike read aloud, “The Aero-Lipizzan Imperial Air Corps commenced a general offensive against all provinces currently aligned with the Black Hooves or otherwise in a state of rebellion against the crown. At 9:15 AM, Princess Silver Dove of Orlovia, speaking for her father, issued an ultimatum: twelve hours to withdraw, or a state of war will exist between their two nations.”
Twilight’s breath came quickly. She sharply sat up in the rickshaw, her ears coming to attention. “And?” she demanded.
Spike shook out the telegram in front of her. “That’s all it says, Twilight.”
She began sending letters again: to Celestia, to Luna, to Emperor Iron Cross, to Princess Silver Dove, and Empress Kifo, and every other leader she’d met. She pleaded. She threatened. She promised Equestria’s treasure and its magic and its friendship. And when those letters went unanswered, she wrote more.
It was noon when they came to their scheduled stop at a little village by the roadside. Spike suggested they stop here for the day, but Twilight refused, insisting they keep the best time possible. They asked after express trains that didn’t exist and bought food Twilight couldn’t keep down. By 12:30, they were on their way again.
When responses came, they were scattered and inconsistent. Many simply consisted of a single line, or a curt “message received.” Twilight’s language grew increasingly extreme, the promises and threats she made growing in turn. The clock ticked past one. Then two. Three rapidly approached.
“Spike,” Twilight said. “Take a letter to Princess Celestia.” His claw grasped his quill, lifting it to the page. “Tell her…”
Twilight hesitated. She squared her shoulders in the little rickshaw. She took a breath. “Tell her to threaten not to lower the sun. It’s the only way to turn things around.”
Spike froze. The quill didn’t move. “Twilight…” He said slowly. “I don’t think…”
“Millions of ponies are about to die!” In a flash, fury filled her eyes, her expression twisting into a snarl. In the tiny, confined rickshaw, her voice echoed off of the walls, every bellowed word assaulting Spike from all directions. “And zebra. And dragons. And diamond dogs. Millions of innocent creatures! Do you get that, Spike? Because lately it feels a lot like nopony, nopony except me understands that!”
“I get it, Twilight. I get it.” His voice fell soft. “But what you’re asking is--”
“Is what!?” she screamed. “A threat? I tried the diplomatic approach, and they weren’t interested. So fine, if they won’t listen to reason, then there’s no point in trying to reason with them, is there!?”
“Twilight,” Spike said softly. “Please remember what happened to Princess Luna. Please listen to yourself.” He swallowed. “You’re frightening me.”
The breath was swept from Twilight’s lungs. She pulled her head back. Her eyes were suddenly unfocused, sweeping over objects around her at random. She reached out to Spike as though to hug him, but pulled back her hoof at the last moment. She stared at the road. She opened her jaw, but only stammering emerged: “I… no. I… it’s not… we.”
Finally, she managed to croak out: “Spike, send the letter, please.”
Spike did.
A response from Celestia arrived almost immediately. He unfurled the scroll, and read it.
“My Dearest Twilight,” he said slowly. “I understand that what you are doing comes from a place of love. You love all the ponies of this world, as I love them, and it is unbearable to you to think of so many of them being hurt. And it is true, I could threaten to freeze half of the planet and incinerate the other half if they do not stop. But what would come of it if I did?
If they call my bluff, I will have accomplished nothing, save to shame Equestria in the face of the world. I would save no lives, and perhaps even harm many, for our only influence to shorten the conflict would have been destroyed.
And what would happen if they did not believe I was bluffing? What would happen if all the ponies of all the nations you visited believed I would burn their children if they disobeyed me? What kind of world would I have created?
War is an appalling thing, Twilight. There is much I would do and much I would sacrifice to stop what is to come. But there are lines I will not cross—not even for this.
I will not allow the rising sun to become a symbol of terror.
I’m sorry.”
Twilight said nothing. She turned to her side, and watched the banana plantations roll past. Kelo came to a stop, and neither of them put another bit in.
The telegrams started arriving by 3:16.
Orlovia declares war on Aero-Lipizzia.
Aero-Lipizzia declares war on Orlovia.
Saddle Arabia declares war on Orlovia. Zebraria declares war on Aero-Lipizzia, Griffonia, and Saddle Arabia. Griffonia declares war on Zebraria and Orlovia. Zansikar declares war on Aero-Lipizzia, Saddle Arabia, Griffonia, and Kiria. Kiria declares war on Zansikar.
The Water Palace declares war on Kiria, Saddle Arabia, Aero-Lipizzia, and Griffonia. Tawantinsuyu declares war on Griffonia, Aero-Lipizzia, Saddle Arabia, and Kiria. Zebraria declares war on Kiria. Aero-Lipizza declares war on Zebraria, Zansikar, the Water Palace, and Tawantinsuyu.
Griffonia declares war on Zansikar, the Water Palace, and Tawantinsuyu. Saddle Arabia declares war on Zebraria, Zansikar, and Tawantinsuyu. Kiria declares war on Orlovia, Zebraria, the Water Palace, and Tawantinsuyu.
The last telegram came at 3:25. It was one line long. “Equestria declares neutrality.”
That was when Twilight started to cry. Great heaving sobs wracked her body, tears streaming down her face. She cried and cried and couldn’t stop, and nothing Spike did could comfort her.
It was mid-afternoon on Day 71. They were seventeen days behind schedule, in the middle of a Tawantinsuyu banana plantation.
It was over.