It’s a mystery to me what they see in the place. After a casual glance at the text message on what appeared for all the world to be perfectly ordinary SMS client software, I returned the phone displaying it to my pocket.
I was in the process of lounging assiduously on a sidewalk bench in an attractive upscale commercial neighborhood of two- and three-story buildings, enjoying the warm midsummer day. My correspondent, a strapping fellow from the Diplomatic Security Service whose real name was not furnished to me (nor mine to him, I was sure), had succeeded in step one of our little shell game. Alas for the poor Mystery Readers Club; their usual venue was abruptly unavailable on short notice. Luckily, a frantic search for an alternative turned up Lectern’s New and Used Books, which featured a front parlor where visitors could relax and read or chat. With the addition of a few dozen folding chairs, it would do the job in a pinch.
Luck, of course, had nothing to do with any of this. I had to hand it to my accomplice; his talent for skullduggery and contrived coincidences was remarkable. Gaining employment at Lectern’s as a clerk and stockboy, where as often as not he was the one who answered and redirected telephone calls to the business, gave him all the scope he needed. I had no idea how he—or someone else—had managed to put the club’s normal meeting place out of commission or had arranged for Lectern’s to come to their notice, but I didn’t need to know. Results were what mattered.
All of it had to be set up on some sort of trip-wire, though, with a slew of other options besides the Mystery Readers Club. The real subjects of our elaborate little scheme had decided only an hour ago to visit that very bookstore, which meant the whole rigamarole had to go off on a moment’s notice and proceed without a hitch. The phone buzzed again.
They sure do like it, though. Ah. That was my cue. The phone went back into its pocket, and I went back to relaxing on the bench. A few more minutes’ wait made my eventual stand to stretch seem perfectly ordinary, and I set off down the sidewalk at a leisurely saunter.
I arrived at a gate sandwiched between a property fence and a tiny single-car garage, at the back end of a corner lot, on the street that ran along its side. I did not hold my breath as I worked the gate latch. My faith was rewarded when it opened—unlocked, as promised—and I entered, but it rattled closed more loudly than I’d intended, and I grimaced briefly. Well, in for a penny . . .
I stepped out with all the confidence I could muster, following the concrete path beside the garage. When I rounded the corner to face the back of the bungalow, I caught sight of the group I’d come to see, gathered around a couple of outdoor tables pushed together on a raised and tiled patio. They saw me at the same time, of course. The plan had worked; unable to use the front room, where we would be under the eyes of staff and customers, they had been forced out to the more isolated, and therefore more private, back yard.
Three of the young women already stood with feet aggressively apart, ready for action, doubtless alerted by the noisy gate. Two more hunched slightly on the far side of the table and the other two fidgeted uncertainly, all four still seated on redwood chairs that matched the tables. One of the standing girls called out. “That’s far enough, Mister. Y’ain’t s’posed to come in through the back; Mister Lectern don’t like it.”
“I’m aware of that, Ms. Applejack, but I’m afraid I must. I came expressly to speak with you and your friends, after all.” My voice sounded poised and unruffled thanks to relentless drill. I was thankful a particular dog wasn’t present to catch my scent and betray my nerves. There were oh so many ways this could go dreadfully wrong, especially if these seven teens decided I posed a danger. I may be slightly taller, but they outnumbered me, at least two outweighed me, and all of them had certain . . . extraordinary advantages I felt no desire to test. Moreover, skilled as he no doubt was, the DSS man even now somewhere in the store almost certainly couldn’t come to my rescue without escalating the situation catastrophically.
They clearly disliked the notion a total stranger appearing from nowhere seemed to know who they were. The hesitant ones made up their minds and stood to join the other three, who fell into more guarded positions. I reminded myself to stay calm.
“Who are you?” The rangy cyan athlete’s raspy voice and whipcord build projected a creditable air of menace—highlighted by an edged tone and truculent forward lean—though it was undercut a bit by apprehension. Well, that was fair enough, given my own trepidation, though I hoped my acting job was better.
“My name is Cookie Pusher, but you can call me Cook.” I reached the wheelchair ramp running from the walkway to the patio and started up. “On second thought, please call me Cook.” I always have preferred the nickname, truth to tell.
“Fine, Mister . . . Cook.” Applejack drummed her fingers on the table beside her. “But that don’t really answer Dash’s question, now does it?”
I stepped onto the patio and stopped a few feet away from them, an unthreatening distance and out of arm’s reach. Even so it took a conscious effort to relax and stand comfortably, hands clasped behind my back. I’d chosen my polo shirt and chinos, both in pastel earth tones to complement my stone-gray complexion and short crisp dark hair, for a businesslike but approachably informal impression. My glacier glasses might seem a bit more movie-villainesque, but there was some value in sending mixed signals. “I am a foreign service officer—an FSO, if one is addicted to three-letter abbreviations.” I didn’t hide my smile at the looks of bafflement exchanged among my audience. “More commonly known as a diplomat.”
Applejack put one hand on her hip and tipped back her hat with the other. “Now why in the world is a diplomat comin’ to see us?”
“Not us, AJ.” The flame-haired girl’s voice was thin. “Me.”
I nodded. “I’m here to speak with all of you, but Ms. Shimmer is the reason I was sent, both personally and as a representative. I see you are every bit as perceptive as I was told.” I took a breath, for myself as much as for them. “Please, all of you, be seated. None of you are in any trouble of any kind with anyone at any level, I assure you. That’s part of why a diplomat was sent, rather than someone from a military, law-enforcement, or intelligence organization, though I’m sure my contact report will circulate through all those agencies.”
“What about me?” Sunset Shimmer asked, her voice quavering slightly. Her fists clenched; the others stood their ground, wary and uncertain.
I long since had learned people sometimes found my pale eyes a bit disconcerting, part of the reason for my glacier glasses—and for removing them to give her a level look. “Technically you’re an illegal alien. You have no passport, no visa, and no diplomatic immunity. Arguably you have committed fraud and a number of other crimes in this country, both felonies and misdemeanors, not to mention a minor reign of terror among your fellow students at the school you currently attend. If I understand correctly, you may have committed treason in your own country.” Flashing a glimpse of the iron fist within the velvet glove wasn’t nice, but I needed all the leverage I could get with her and her very protective friends.
Naturally, those friends protested noisily, but she just bit her lip. I held up both hands, sunglasses still dangling from one, and continued, “I did say technically. You will not be charged or deported. Those were considered, but only as part of the process to resolve the difficulties and irregularities of the situation, which includes our discussion here today. I can’t speak to the possible treason charge, though I’m given to understand your ruler—and mentor, I believe—almost certainly has no intention of laying that charge. Even if she did, hypothetically speaking, there’s no extradition treaty in place, so we would be free to refuse any request to return you.” If I could keep them off-balance with whipsawed emotions until I established my bona fides, my chances of success (and more importantly to me, at least, leaving the scene intact) greatly increased.
“How . . .” By now Sunset was reduced to a near-whisper. Her friends sidled closer to her.
“I don’t know how all the information was generated,” I answered honestly. “One, I have no need to know; two, even if I did, the list probably goes on long enough to bore even Ms. Sparkle.” The bespectacled girl stared at me, obviously trying to decide whether she could get away with glaring, and I let my smile get a little broader.
“What I can tell you is the resources available to piece together even tiny fragments are rather staggering, such as satellite photos of clouds gathering much too quickly to be natural and strangely shaped rainbows at night—weather and environmental satellites, by the way, not spy satellites if that’s what you’re thinking. The briefing material I received was, well, as complete as one can expect in this business.” I was resigned to pretty low expectations in that regard and didn’t bother to hide it.
I gestured at the chairs. “Now, please, can we all sit down and discuss this as mature individuals? I know you’re capable of that—even you, Ms. Pie—when you put your minds to it.” Sitting should make it harder for them to do something untoward, at least physically, and should have a relaxing effect on them psychologically.
As they reluctantly lowered themselves to their seats, I pulled a chair from one of the other tables and swung it around backward in front of me, then sat and rested my forearms across its back. Now that the need for mind games seemed past, I could lay a few cards on the table.
“My job is to gather more information and, as much as I can, to push along the process of regularizing matters. As part of it, I interviewed Principal Celestia and Vice-Principal Luna earlier today. They told me everything about your backgrounds they were able to—yours too, Ms. Shimmer. They even allowed me to peruse your files.”
General indignation greeted this announcement, and I waved a hand to quiet them. “Hold yo—on there.” It seemed impolitic to mention equines in this particular context. “I should add they did so as part of a passionate defense of your characters. They made very certain I understood how completely you’re turning your life around, Ms. Shimmer, and how all of you have stepped up to deal with threats not only to your school or this city but possibly this world, and even Ms. Shimmer’s world. They have on file their own testimonial letters and similar letters from two of the princesses in her homeland, which is how I can be fairly sure no charges will be filed there either.”
I shot Sunset a humorous look. “They even have transfer forms from your old school to your new one, backdated of course. I’m sure they only thought of it as going through the motions, but believe it or not, it actually helps. Paperwork always warms the cockles of a bureaucrat’s heart.”
Pinkie Pie tilted her head. “But aren’t you a bureaucrat too?”
Instantly I replied, “Of course. That’s how I know.”
To my vast relief, all the girls burst out laughing. “Okay, Mister Cook,” Applejack allowed after her chortles had subsided. “I guess you’re all right. But I gotta ask: Y’all seem awfully cool about the notion of a magical portal to a world o’ talkin’ ponies, not to mention griffins and everythin’ else.” Her “y’all” and expansive gesture took in not just me but the masses of government functionaries throughout the country.
I shrugged. “You might be surprised. Government agencies, even at the highest level, conduct quite a few role-playing simulations—though they prefer to use the term ‘exercises’; it’s more dignified—about all kinds of possibilities. Most are fairly ordinary, or at least plausible, like the recent one exploring how to respond to a meteor strike offshore generating tsunamis and other natural disasters, with only a few hours’ warning. But there’ve been others based on wilder ideas, including a military scenario based on the notion of magic suddenly leaking into the world.”
They gasped, but I went on reassuringly, “No, it had nothing to do with our current situation. It was years ago, well before Ms. Shimmer appeared on the scene. From my reading of it, they set up a bunch of different variations depending on how the magic was supposed to work and where it came from, but none of the variants looked like what we’re seeing now. Anyway, the idea behind the weirder concepts is to keep everyone mentally flexible and able to handle anything a crazy world throws at them. It doesn’t always work, but it’s the best method anyone’s come up with.”
I smiled and spread my hands invitingly. “Besides, a lot of people read science fiction and fantasy these days, even in the government. So then, Ms. Shimmer: Tell me a story that doesn’t belong in Lectern’s fantasy section.”