Chapter 4
The White House
9:15 AM
President Samuel H. Lansing sat in the Oval Office, enjoying a rare moment of solitude from the sea of faces. Aides, press, Secret Service, foreign dignitaries, citizens, soldiers, allies, opponents, Congress, sports teams, elementary school classes, friends, family, and the gosh-darned poet laureate. It never ended.
There was an upside to the fame, of course: the President points at something and the world looks. But the fishbowl hindered him just as as often as it helped, and left him drained even on the best of days. This was one reason his closest friends and confidants had warned him, many years previously, that the introverted Sam Lansing was crazy to seek the office. Yet here he sat today, the unlikely Leader of the Free World.
Worlds, he reminded himself. We have to say worlds now.
He filled a cup with steaming green tea, dropping in a dollop of cream, watching the white billow out like clouds under the surface. The warmth of the sun pressed through the Oval Office's tall windows, falling across his shoulders and illuminating the Presidential Seal at the center of the room.
In the country's early days, the eagle on that seal had faced towards the arrows it held in its claw. It was a warning. The USA is small but mighty, and we will not be pushed around. But then the atom bombs fell and it would be another generation or two before America's military might was questioned again. Harry Truman, the man who dropped those bombs, ordered the seal changed. The eagle would now turn towards the olive branch, in a plea for peace in the future.
A plea, which ultimately went unanswered, thought Sam Lansing. As most pleas do. Again and again over the years, and today as well. This was not a day for the olive branch. This was a day for the arrows. And August would be calling him any minute now, regarding just that.
Or, thought the President, checking his watch, is my dear firebrand finally cooling off? Is she actually going to surprise everyone and go through the proper channels?
A chime sounded on his tablet, followed by a notification window. INTERCOM.
He chuckled to himself. How could he ever have doubted his daughter's tenacity? He tapped the intercom button. "Yes, Sujata, what is it?"
"Mister President," said his secretary through the speaker. "Sir, I have your daughter holding on line one."
"I told you she'd call, Sujata."
"Your powers of divination are as sharp as ever, Mister President," replied the voice. "Shall I refuse access, sir? It would save her the reprimand from State."
"No, no," said the President, setting down his stylus. "Put it into the record as a personal call. No need to let State know that she went over their heads. This time."
"Yes, sir. I'll patch her through right away."
"Thank you, Sujata."
A video-window sprung to life on his tablet, his eldest daughter in the frame. She looked exhausted as always, sleep-deprived, but with those beautiful green eyes that yearned for a fight. Her mother's eyes.
August cleared her throat. "Good morning, Mister President."
"Good morning, Ambassador. What seems to be the issue today?"
"Sir... I've been hearing some rather disturbing rumors over here this morning. Rumors that DoD is gearing up for some kind of big military expansion over the next few days. Rumors that nobody was planning to give State the news until it was too late to stop it."
Despite all our efforts to keep it secret, thought the President. Oh August, always with your ear to the ground. "Ambassador," he said, folding his hands, "I'm afraid the rumors are true."
August's face was a stone mask. "Why... why have you allowed me to be the last to know about this? ... Sir?"
"You know why, Ambassador. You would have laid down on the railroad tracks if you'd so much as heard the whistle. Or am I mistaken?"
Betrayal and anger flashed in her eyes, crashing waves against the bedrock. That girl... that face that had once been so small, cradled in his hands, and which stabbed at him now with a righteous, emerald gaze. She looks so much like her mother, he thought, and suddenly his own eyes threatened to begin to even consider tearing up. Christ, he thought. He missed them both so much, the ache of grief and longing was overwhelming. Or it would have been, to a normal man. But with great effort, he pushed the thought away. Far away, into another room, another building, another world. Because he was not normal. He was President.
Years ago, during the campaign, Sam Lansing had seen it coming, had known it was part of the job for which he'd worked so hard, for which he sacrificed so, so much. But when he put his hand on that book, when he walked into his office for the first time, the power blew him away. It was just the smallest taste of being a god. Wave my hand and millions and billions of people die. Or maybe are saved. Or follow him all the way down the gilded road to the achievement of America's primary world goal: the total elimination of fear in all its terrible forms. For Americans, definitely, or for most of them at least, and maybe even America's friends, too, if they didn't complain too much about the means to an end. Even a candidate with the very best talent and very best intentions would be hard pressed to accomplish this goal without literally conquering the world.
So that was the thing about Presidents. They had to feel in their guts, that out of all the people in all the country-- the cities and towns and villages and farms, the houses and mansions and trailers, the hundreds and hundreds of military bases--even the addicted, or forgotten, or sick, or all of the above, or none of the above--out of all the people, the President needed to believe that he was the one: The one who would make the right decisions for everyone. Sam Lansing felt this now in his stomach, this superhuman confidence, as he gazed down at the United States Acting Senior Ambassador to the Benevolent Marenarchy of Equestria.
"Mister President--" she started.
"August, you would have chained yourself to the bulldozer, we both know it. And we could not have that. We could not have you doing the talk-show circuit, saying one thing and insinuating another. And the worst part, August, is that you'd be doing it on the assumption that I wouldn't punish you because it would harm our family brand if I did." For just a second, he was a father talking to his daughter, and furious to be forced to bring his public life into his private life. But he felt this anger only for a second. He was the President. He had the power to do the right thing, and that was exactly what he was doing.
"Sir..." she said, "I won't... I mean, yes. You're right. You're right of course. I probably would have tried to make an issue in the press about it. But don't think for a second that I consider myself above censure--"
"You called my direct line this morning, August, and you did it because I'm your father. We shouldn't even be having this conversation." He watched her mouth work wordlessly for a second, then he said, "But despite everything, I'm willing to put this matter behind us for now. Really, I get it, August: you never give up, and I am God damned proud of you for that. But this is me talking. When orders come from this office, no matter what they are, don't you ever forget who in this relationship was elected and who was appointed."
August let out a long breath. "I promise I won't. I'm sorry I considered it."
"Good," he said. "I don't operate in vacuum either, you know. Equestrians are going to treat this news as a torch to tinder without any media preparation. I'm asking you for a lot, and your team as well. I saw Paradigm's speech-- everyone has seen it by now. You've got a talented Press Secretary over there, August. But as good as he is talking to ponies, his words do little to reassure us here on Earth. Terrorism still casts a hell of a long shadow, in the US and otherwise. We have not had a peaceful century. And now, to find that the equines are willing to use violence against us... August, everyone on Earth is just bracing for the next attack. The national mood is clear: we can't sit on our hands."
"Most ponies are pro-human, Mister President. We estimate that the New Dawn is actually just a very small group of radicals. Canterlot Intelligence says we're looking at a hundred individuals max, probably more like a few dozen."
"Canterlot Intelligence," said the President with a wave of his hand. "Ambassador, we can't count on Celestia. She's got her secrets to hide, just like we do. Even if Celestia comes up with something, she has no reason to be honest about whether this is a one-off or the beginning of a tidal wave."
"I trust her," said August.
The President raised an eyebrow.
"I trust her," August repeated. "If you spent some time with her, you would too. She actually is an honest, kind, and benevolent ruler."
"Careful," said the President. "Careful, August. She's a chess player, and the best I've ever seen. US Presidents work themselves to death on plans that might bear fruit in maybe ten years, and sometimes we are willing to sacrifice people's lives for those plans. It's just the reality of government. Celestia's plans stretch out over thousands of years. Just think of how insignificant that makes anypony, or especially any human, that should somehow stand in the way of those plans. Our lives are all just motes of dust to her, and we can't even begin to comprehend her agenda. So no, August, I don't trust her. Not at all, and neither should you. And to be perfectly honest, it worries me to hear you apparently buying into the cult of personality that keeps her ten-million worshipers under hoof."
"Mister President," said August, a touch of exasperation in her voice, "Equestria is not a police state. They have most of the same freedoms as us. Speech, press, assembly..."
"And only one religion, August. One."
She didn't answer. The silence began to get heavy after a few moments, and her mouth formed a hard line. "Very well, Sir," she said. "I'll hold onto the announcement until I get word from Davenport."
"I'm sorry August," said the President. "Even though I don't owe you an apology, I am sorry. But I need to get men and equipment farside of the portal as soon as possible so that they're ready in case this all starts to go to hell. The first tank battalion is coming over this evening, and we've got infantry and air power on its heels."
"The hyper-nationalists over here...," said August. "They're going to have a field day with this. Deadline and his bunch, Sun News. They have been on a power trip since the New Dawn video, and when they get footage of the rollout, it's going to confirm their invasion narrative. We'll be legitimizing the enemy."
"So handle them, Ambassador. I have faith in you. And in the meantime, let us catch the bad guys." The President pressed his finger to an icon in the corner of his tablet and dragged it to the outbox. He hit send. "The memo is on its way. Take it to the Princesses. Tell them that we are arming ourselves with a shield, not a sword. That they have nothing to fear from us. Make them believe it, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
There was another extended silence.
"Was there... anything else, Mister President?" said August.
I'm worried about you, thought the President. I love you. Always in some Godforsaken place with people dying in the streets... I thought it would be different this time. Equestria: a perfect paradise. Safe, prosperous, and beautiful. But apparently still too similar to Earth.
He let out a breath. "Just be careful, August," he said. "Please."
"I will, Mister President. Dad. I will. Goodbye."
Then the video-call window blinked off, and there was a universe between them again.
* * *
For a few moments, August just stared at the phone in her hand, replaying her conversation with the President in her mind. Then, she looked out the window of her apartment at Canterlot Castle perched on the mountainside. Silhouetted against the rising sun, it looked more like a temple than a seat of government. One religion, August. One. And in just a few hours, the United States would be bringing a thousand tons of guns, missiles, and bombs into their backyard, and she would have the privilege of going to that castle, and trying to justify it to a god.
Two gods. Four? Cadence and Twilight Sparkle... it was hard to know if they were immortal or not just by looking...
It's enough for a pantheon, in any case.
"Damn it," she said under her breath. Then in a fit of rage, she threw her phone against the couch. "Fuck!"
Harry, what would you have done? I'm trying as hard as I can here, but everything's still coming apart. But he couldn't answer, because he was lying on the brink of death in an Equestrian hospital bed. And she had to do his job now.
All of her people and ponies at the Embassy... They were feeling it-- the pressure, the exhaustion, just like her.
But she was the leader now, so she couldn't show it, and she couldn't show fear. That was the keystone of the whole thing. All of her friends and allies, and then behind them, four-hundred million Americans, eight-billion humans were counting on her not to show fear. Ten million ponies. And if this thing somehow devolved into a war... She didn't even want to think about it.
A knock on the door-frame startled her, causing her to jump up in surprise.
"Uh, hey," said DJ, walking in tentatively.
"DJ! What are you doing home? Don't you have a deposition?"
He gave her a funny look. "It's Saturday, August," he said, pulling off his sweatband. "I just got back from a run."
"Oh... yeah..." she said, "I thought... it was Friday..."
"You haven't slept," said DJ. "Maybe you should."
"No time for that." August shook her head, cradling it in her hand. "Now this is the part where you tell me you didn't overhear any of that conversation I just had."
"Well, not much, except something about the entire United States military coming to dinner."
She groaned, covering her face. "Ugh, you heard everything." Then, to her embarrassment, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She turned her face away. "Uh--"
"Hey, hey, come on," said DJ, sitting down beside her. "I'm just kidding. It's not the end of the world. Yet. Maybe later, but not yet."
She laughed through her tears, but couldn't stop them from flowing. She wiped them away angrily, choking off a sob. "What the hell am I even doing here?"
"From what I understand,," said DJ, handing her a tissue, "you're breaking bad news to powerful people. Or ponies. But it's okay, because that's your special talent."
August groaned, then blew her nose and threw the tissue into the wastebasket. "Right now, DJ, my special talent had better be 'not dying,' because that's the primary challenge of the day."
"What about the Trade Summit? You said it might have enough momentum to carry it through the crisis, even without the Princesses' help."
She shrugged. "There's still potential. Big oil is salivating over drilling rights at the edge of the Everfree, and then there's the auto-industry... But Celestia is going to have her hooves full for a while keeping the earth ponies and pegasi away from each others' throats. That could have stalled talks by itself, even in a vacuum. You know, I really underestimated the amount of frustration that earth ponies have with the other pony races."
"We don't talk about it openly," said DJ, "but yeah, it's one of those things."
"Did you see the news yesterday? Apparently, the Mayor of Cloudsdale made a speech where she compared the gasoline engine to chemical warfare. She implied that spiteful earth ponies are trying to weaken the pegasi by filling the skies with poison."
"You're kidding," said DJ. "That's... that's... well, it's not true, for one thing. This is a socioeconomic grievance, not racism!"
"They do tend to travel together," said August.
"I can only speak for myself, then. It's got nothing to do with spite. I have a number of friends among the pegasi, not to mention the unicorns, who used to be a ruling caste for crying out loud. I'm not prejudiced. No, no, this is about much more important things."
"Equality."
"That, or the sweet little motorcycle I'm going to be riding to work," said DJ with an innocent look.
August huffed. "Trust me, I'm sure the auto-companies can't wait to sell you one. And what a noble cause for polluting the skies."
"You can get one, too! We can ride his-and-hers Harleys around Ponyville."
"That would be the strangest Time cover ever," said August, looking into the middle-distance.
"Besides," said DJ, "we already use coal. Is oil really that much worse? We don't have anywhere near the kind of pollution that... well, that you have on Earth."
"For one thing, DJ, you guys haven't used either of those for electricity yet. You ponies had the phenomenal luck to be able to transition straight to hydroelectric, wind, and solar, thanks to your perfect weather and small population. But now the petrol engine is on its way, and the key word here is volume. While you're out buying your motorbike, everypony else is getting their sports cars, delivery vans, backhoes, speed boats..."
"Ambulances," said DJ. "Firetrucks. Police cars. Public transportation."
"That's a good point," said August. "But remember what I said about perfect weather? Right now, your agricultural economy is based on it, year-round. It rains when you need it to rain. It's sunny on all holidays, except on New Hearth's Eve, when it always snows. Ponies take so much pride in their connection with nature, but this isn't what nature actually is. It's all pre-programmed. It's completely unnatural!"
"This, from the species that invented polyester."
"Oh, humans are just as bad," said August. "We have buildings with massive video screens on them for fuck's sake. But the point I'm trying to make is that Equestria's environment can't be particularly sturdy. If it was, it wouldn't require so much maintenance to keep the whole thing in balance. The gas engine could really screw that equilibrium up."
"You think? I guess so, but it's only smog..."
"It could be worse than that, Deej. China found that out the hard way. Your country is about to go through one of the fastest industrial revolutions of all time, and even with careful planning, it could beat you guys down with water, air, and soil pollution like you've never seen before. I've lived in Mexico City and Beijing, and the best advice they can tell you there is 'stay indoors as much as possible.'"
"So this, here," said DJ, "this is the speech you give to potential investors at the Trade Summit? Yeah... uh... August? I think I might have an idea why it's been giving you so much trouble..."
"Jeez, DJ, I'm just describing the worst case scenario. Like I said, nobody knows what will happen. And the allure of the petrol engine is overwhelming, even without being 'talked up.' Humanity has made tremendous leaps up the evolutionary ladder thanks to fossil fuels. Wind, solar-- we're working on it, but make no mistake, Earth runs on oil."
"With an economy based on tractors and delivery trucks, we might not need perfect weather all the time. Earth sure as hay doesn't have it, and you've made it this far. And ponies have an advantage that you don't: magic. Think about it: what if we could even repair the environmental damage as it happened? The pegasi already do a lot of work similar to that. We could reap the benefits of fossil fuels while paying none of the environmental price."
"Magic atmospheric cleansing," mused August. "It's bound to become a major industry. And god, if some of that magic could be put to use on Earth... You know, DJ, I think I might have just become a proponent of the Equestrian gas engine again."
"Hey," said DJ suddenly. "The Cloudsdale pegasi... do you think maybe they're involved somehow? In the New Dawn thing, I mean. It's got a sky theme and everything."
"Huh," said August. "I don't know. It's a little on-the-nose. Maybe, though. I could ask my Canterlot Intel contact today, and Bill knows some people at the CIA. If you're right, we could collaborate on a message... Set a kind of a trap..." She was already starting to connect the dots in her mind.
"See?" said DJ, kissing her forehead.
"See what?"
"You're back to loving it again. You love your job. Sometimes you forget."
August heaved a great sigh and looked at him, bemused. "So does that make me a masochist?"
"Maybe just a Catholic."
She couldn't help but laugh. "Listen to you making Earth jokes! I knew it, I'm slowly assimilating you." Then an odd thought occurred to her. "DJ... have you ever thought about moving there? To Earth I mean. The Terran-Pony diaspora is growing every day."
"I... don't know. I've never really thought about it. Are you... are you thinking of going back to Earth? I thought you had two more years..."
"I do," she assured him. Then, when he still looked slightly alarmed, she leaned over and embraced him, burying her face in his neck. "We do. I'm not going anywhere, I was just being hypothetical."
"Okay, okay," he said with a laugh. "Whew! I mean... I guess I'd be open to the idea. I've seen enough bootleg movies and TV to imagine what it's like... but to be surrounded by cars and airplanes and air conditioners and fans and motors and televisions and computers all the time. It must be such a racket!"
"It's definitely a lot quieter around here, at least for now," said August. "But I think you in particular might appreciate the faster pace of Earth. Especially the US. There's an immediacy there that Equestria lacks, for better or worse."
"It actually sounds kind of nice," said DJ. "Roaring through the streets of New York City on my motorcycle. You could work at the UN building and be home by six every night."
"Now you're talking!" she said. Then the exhaustion really set in and she swooned a little.
"Whoah, whoah," said DJ, propping her up. "Let's table the discussion for now. At the moment, you either need to be sleeping, eating, or working. I highly recommend one of the first two."
"Right," said August, staring out the window at the castle again, weighing her options. Then, she started hunting around under the couch cushions. Eventually, she found the smartphone that she had thrown. She dialed her assistant, Lukas, who picked up after two rings.
"Hallo?"
"Luke," said August, "do you have that file I forwarded you from the White House?"
"Ja," he said, with a grim tone. "Ja, I got it, alright. I made sure it went out to the senior staff. We're ready to meet on it whenever you are."
"I'll be coming in around noon. I don't expect that Davenport will give me the go-ahead to meet with Canterlot until at least five or six, so that will give us some time to work. And I need some sleep, Luke." She felt embarrassed admitting it. "I'm... I'm pretty tired."
"You know," said Lukas, "you don't need to apologize for not dying at your post. Get some rest, August. You should hear Eve and Paradigm brainstorming with Bill already. We can handle it until you get here."
"Thank you," said August. "I honestly feel a lot better knowing that. Call me if there's an emergency. Or if we hear anything from Canterlot. Or if--"
"Goodby-y-y-ye, August."
"Okay, okay," she said. "Goodbye. Oh, wait!"
But Lukas had hung up.
DJ practically had to pry the phone out of her hand. "Go to bed," he said.
"Fine, alright, I'm going... Hey, Deej?"
"Yes, Ambassador?"
"I love you. I really, really do."
"I love you too, Earthling," he said, "Now move your ass before you pass out on the floor."
She laughed and kissed him and forgot about everything for one more blessed second.
* * *
Location Unknown
Pro Publica came awake to the sensation of motion. Every single part of him hurt; not just his skin, not just his muscles. Deep down, like he'd somehow bruised his bone marrow. Grinding and piercing pain in his joints, feeling of jagged edges where his ribs met his spine. He also felt drugged, although he was grateful for the small amount that it dulled the pain.
He pried his eyes open and the world swam into view. He was in a hallway. A long hallway, being pushed. He was in a wheelchair.
"Where... what..."
His chair slammed through a set of green swinging doors, into a freezing cold room with echoing metal walls. Pro Publica clutched at the thin robe he was wearing. Bang, through another set of swinging doors, down a short ramp and through an archway. The journey seemed to be at an end for now, and Pro heard a hoof press down on the chair's brake. Water dripped somewhere off in the darkness. He struggled to regain lucidity, but it was almost impossible. His brain felt scrambled.
The lights came on with a tink, and Pro Publica blinked away the pain and blindness until he could finally see again. A room came into focus: brushed-steel walls, inset with rows of drawers. It looked like...
"A morgue," he whispered to himself. The vacuum-sealed door closed behind them with a suction hiss.
He tried to stand up, but his joints ground together and he groaned in pain, collapsing back down into the wheelchair.
"Take it easy," said a voice behind him. Pro turned to peer over his shoulder and found himself looking up into the copper-colored eyes of a bronze earth-pony, who was wearing a doctor's coat and stethoscope. The bronze pony's cutie mark was shaped like a heart with white stitches.
"Who are you?" croaked Pro Publica.
"My name is Broken-Heart, M.D.," said the pony. "And no, before you ask, I'm not a cardiologist. Just a GP. May I ask how you're feeling?"
"Everything hurts," said Pro, eyeing the strange pony. "What are we doing here? Is this Starswirl Memorial?"
"Oh, no," said Broken-Heart with a wave of his hoof. "We transferred you out of there as fast as we could. They've had you in an induced coma for a week now. You were pretty severely injured in the collapse." The pony clucked his tongue in admonishment. "We tried to warn you, you know. But you went there anyway. Your pride just wouldn't let you shut your mouth for one minute."
"What... collapse?" stammered Pro. Scraps of memory bobbed to the surface. He seemed to remember an interview... a TV studio... or had that been a dream?
"The collapse of Manehattan Media Center 3," prompted Broken-Heart, "abutting the Manehattan Human Embassy. You were practically next door when our bomb went off, and it collapsed the studio wall. There were some of us who suggested that we just let you die from your injuries, as punishment for betraying us like that. Lucky for you, cooler heads won out."
"My assistant!" said Pro Publica with a gravely shout. "Is she alive?"
"She's fine. Cracked femur, a few cuts and scrapes, nothing major. In fact, from the casualty report, you probably got the worst of it. The wall came down right on top of you."
"Sweet Celestia..."
"Sweet Celestia, indeed," said Broken Heart, walking back into the shadows, his hooves echoing across the cold, tile floor. Pro could hear him tinkering with what sounded like surgical instruments on a metal tray. "Only a few other ponies were injured-- not bad when you consider how many of the meat-eaters we took out, not to mention the media coverage that played right into our hooves. We tried to be careful, but you know what they say about eggs and omelets."
Pro shook his head in disbelief, then winced as his neck bones ground together. "You could have killed me!"
"Mr. Publica, we didn't mean for you to be anywhere near that place during our attack. That was your own doing. We gave you fair warning, and you ignored it. And as I said, I was one of the few voices who argued against just letting you die of your wounds in Starswirl Memorial, which is probably what would have happened if you'd stayed there. Fortunately, our leader has certain useful talents. It's only because of his good graces that you're alive, at least, for now."
"For now!?" said Pro, anger swelling inside his shattered chest. "What does that mean?"
A loud whirring sound startled him. He craned his neck to see Broken Heart revving up a circular bone saw. The doctor put it back down on the surgical tray. "It means 'for now.'"
"How bloody dare you!" croaked Pro. "I went to that interview to forward our cause! My voice is vital to our movement--"
Broken Heart let out a clipped laugh. "You really think that interview was a PR win? Twilight Sparkle made a fool out of you."
"I... I wasn't expecting them to approve the petrol engine. And neither were you! But can't you see how this changes things? You are an earth-pony, surely you understand how it could help us get a leg up on the unicorns and pegasi. Finally! To Tartarus with the humans, but there must be some room for compromise. We'd be cutting off our nose to spite our face if we threw this opportunity away--"
"We are trying to get the humans out of Equestria, Mr. Publica. That means everything about them, everything they bring with them. Please excuse the crude analogy, but the humans have us head-down in the corner-stall, and their technology is the lubricant."
"Using human tech doesn't make us human! Don't... don't you see?"
Broken-Heart glanced over, unimpressed. He was preparing a number of syringes. "What I see, Mr. Publica is a pony who embarrassed himself and his allies, and then got himself blown up because he can't take orders. That is a clumsy pony, I must say. A pony who is turning out to be more trouble than he's worth."
"You ingrate!" trilled Pro Publica. Again, he tried to stand, and again he collapsed in pain. "Without me, there would be no New Dawn!"
"Your money has been useful," said Broken-Heart, "but that was then. Now, you've become a liability." He pulled on a pair of rubber hoof-gloves and slid a respirator over his face.
"What... what are you doing?" said Pro Publica in a reedy voice.
Broken Heart reached into his doctor's bag and pulled out an eyedropper full of amber liquid. The applicator-end was plugged with a rubber stopper. "I'm going to use this," he tapped the tube, "on you." His voice was hollow behind the mask.
"What... what is that?"
"This is an organophosphate nerve-agent. When absorbed through the skin or mucus membranes, it interferes with the signals between body and brain, causing a rather gruesome death. Can you imagine where we got this chemical, Mr. Publica?"
"The humans," whispered Pro.
"Very good. The humans use this type of chemical as a weapon. They synthesize incredibly potent versions of it called 'VX Gas' and 'Sarin'; poisons that can kill a living being with scant more than a few molecules of the stuff." He shook the vial and Pro Publica recoiled away. Broken-Heart laughed. "Oh, don't worry. This sample here is probably one one-hundredth the strength of anything the humans would deign to use. Our chemistry is still quite rudimentary compared to theirs. But a pony goes to war with the weapons he's got, am I right? We can still make enough to eliminate hundreds, if not thousands of our enemies at once."
"My goddess, you're going to put that in a bomb..."
"Well, not a bomb, per se," mused Broken Heart. "Something like that, though."
"You'll kill us all!"
Broken Heart laughed and laughed. "Not all of us! No, Mr. Publica, with a little more refinement, we can ensure that no innocents will ever die from the toxin. Not one pony, ever! Only the invaders." The bronze pony approached the wheelchair, strapping Pro Publica into a set of restraints. Pro tried to resist, but Broken-Heart was surprisingly strong, and Pro was too injured to put up much of a fight.
"Please," begged Pro. "Tell your boss he has to rethink this plan. Killing me will do him no good. And killing more civilians will only backfire on him."
"That's why you're here today, actually. To help make sure we never kill another pony again." Broken Heart leaned forward, grabbed Pro Publica's foreankle, and dropped a single spot of the nerve toxin onto his coat. Pro screamed for help, over and over again, even though he knew the room was soundproof. It only took a few more seconds for the convulsions to set in.
"Look on the bright side," said Broken Heart, as Pro thrashed about in his wheelchair, eyes rolling back into his head. A river of foam poured from his mouth. "Today, you are a hero," said Broken Heart. "Your sacrifice will save so many lives."
* * *
Broken Heart took notes on a clipboard as he watched Pro's body strain against the straps. Pro's eyes fluttered, rolled back in his head, and his teeth clamped down so hard that it was a wonder they did not break. Broken Heart pulled out a stopwatch and timed the seizures. They ran their course in four minutes and twenty-four seconds.
At last, Pro's body sagged and lay still. Broken-Heart approached, and took Pro's blood pressure and temperature.
The door hissed open, and a second pony stepped into the morgue freezer. He was a purple pegasus with one red eye and one blue eye. "He survived," remarked the purple pony. "Your experiment was a success, Doctor."
"Well, yes," said Broken Heart, taking notes on a clipboard. "Grand-mal seizure, but he's through it now. He'll be fine. And I think he'll have learned his lesson, too."
"Well done. It won't be long before we can put our PX Gas to good use."
"Sir, the PX Gas may not be fatal to our kind, but it's still potentially deadly," said Broken Heart. "A seizing pony can die just by falling on her head."
The purple pegasus harumphed confidently. "You can fix it."
"I'll do everything I can," said Broken Heart. "What's the word on the American diplomat?"
A shadow passed across the purple pony's face. "He's going to live, too, it seems. The humans are sturdier than they look."
Broken Heart was in the middle of packing his doctor's bag, but his hoof froze to hear this news.
"Listen," said the purple pegasus, "I can understand if you don't want to do it. You've been more useful to us than I ever hoped. Just say the word and I'll hand it off to somepony else."
"No, no, I can finish the job," said Broken Heart. "It's my mess to clean up, anyway."
"I imagine you have a plan to get close to Kobayashi? Diplomatic Security has Starswirl Memorial on veritable lockdown."
"I think I'll manage," said Broken Heart, closing his doctor's bag.
* * *
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