//------------------------------//
// Chapter 6 - Hard Decisions 
// Story: Pandemic: Aftermath 
// by ASGeek2012 
//------------------------------//

Sam Kelton peered through his windshield at a landscape that was only superficially familiar. The cars and the people were there, all traversing southbound Wadsworth Parkway in northwest Denver on a Friday morning as if ETS had never happened. Yet there were little things -- and not so little -- that threw him off.

One was the traffic. Wadsworth had always been a bottleneck as one of the few north-south arteries on that side of town. Even on the weekend, one could count on jams. Yet the morning rush hour was as light as it might have been late on a Sunday evening before ETS. Sam could appreciate it if he were commuting to a job, except he didn't have one.

The other was the cars themselves. He could always count on seeing a mix of everything from shiny brand new vehicles which still had temporary plates to old beaters you could hear from a hundred feet away. Now, everything seemed old and used up, much like the city itself. What had been the heart of Denver's upper middle class either had moved out or were sporting hooves.

Or they were like Sam, too hard-headed to leave his city of birth and choosing instead to eke out a living doing odd jobs -- even if it meant helping ponies -- until things got better like the government was always promising. He had pinned his hopes on the Limited Pony Homestead Act and its resettlement clause, until he discovered that Denver had been declared an exception, its status left as "disputed." Just another way for the government to look like it was doing something when it was just making the status quo official.

His sister Beverly was also a consideration. He had no means to contact her, which left it up to her. That would be more difficult if he moved around.

He stopped at the light. Signs for I-70 up ahead had been amended with the words "NOW OPEN THRU COLORADO". Most of the cars that had accompanied him this far were queued off to the right for the on-ramps. He glanced to the left towards what had been a thriving mini-mall only to see shuttered stores and empty parking lots.

Sam frowned and gripped the wheel tighter as the light turned green.

He headed through the intersection and slowed as his car bumped across broken asphalt and steel plates. A sign declared "UNPAVED ROAD AHEAD", and another further on warned "CHECKPOINT AHEAD - BE PREPARED TO STOP."

He saw them before he had even read the sign: a contingent of National Guard soldiers stationed at the last of the asphalt he would see further south. One of them stepped into the path of the car and held up a hand, a weapon slung across his shoulder. Sam stopped the car and rolled down the window, waiting for the ritual to start.

"Good morning, sir," said the soldier. One of his compatriots led a bomb-sniffing dog around his car. "Do you have any firearms in your vehicle?"

Sam placed an elbow on the car door and leaned his head on his hand. "No," he said in a tired voice.

"Are you carrying any explosives or toxic chemicals?"

"No."

"Do you have anyone else in the vehicle with you other than yourself?"

Sam paused, but only because of the change in routine. "Uh, no, I don't."

"Please state your business in the pony sector."

"Grocery shopping," Sam said in a flat voice, deciding to break with routine on his side as well just out of spite. Normally he would have answered "business transaction," which was one of the accepted standard responses.

The soldier simply nodded in response. He looked towards his compatriot with the dog, who signaled that the car was in the clear. The soldier turned back to Sam. "Please take it slowly. Speed limit is twenty miles per hour, road dead-ends two miles ahead. Please watch for ponies on the road. Have a good day, sir."

"Whatever," Sam muttered as the soldier stepped back and waved him through.

Sam eased the car forward, which lurched twice as it rolled off the ragged edge of the asphalt and onto bare dirt. He remembered the last time he had traversed this street before it became part of Ponyland USA -- as he and most other similarly disgruntled humans called the Denver pony sector. Back then, the street had still been more or less navigable, as the ponies had been content with ripping up only the center median. Only when order had completely broken down in the city did they throw all sense of rationality to the wind and rip up everything that prevented their earth ponies access to the soil.

What had once been a four lane avenue of asphalt and concrete was now reduced to a narrow dirt road. For some stretches, the sidewalks were still intact, marking the former boundaries of the old street. Wooden poles had since been installed to restrict vehicles to a path only wide enough for a single lane of traffic in each direction so that ponies had room to travel more safely on hoof, as they preferred packed earth to concrete.

It once ran nearly its full length and width despite remaining unpaved, so that even after this part of Denver had become a pony haven, humans could still traverse it. That had ended with the death a dozen ponies after a human went on a drunken rampage with his pickup truck. The ponies closed it off for their own protection, and after the treaty with Equestria was signed, the National Guard was stationed all along the border with the human sector to prevent any further incidents. The only real option for anyone traveling south through the pony sector was I-25, which had remained intact.

He saw his first ponies off to his left. What had been a large municipal parking lot was now a field in which stalks of grain grew. Earth ponies were busy harvesting and preparing the soil to lay dormant for the coming winter. More ponies appeared along the side of the road, many of whom smiled and waved at him as he passed.

He was not feeling in enough of a charitable mood to wave back. This route forced him past his old neighborhood, his place of his birth now an alien landscape. They had chosen to destroy everything that gave the neighborhood its character, just to satisfy some stupid idea of an idyllic, simple lifestyle. He had heard that the ponies had preserved some of the more historic parts of the city, but he supposed his parts were not considered important enough.

A car passed him going the other way. He braced himself for a cloud of dust to be thrown into his view, but most of it remained low to the ground. He should have figured; the dry spell in the human sector had little effect here. There had been days where his neighborhood had been bathed in bright sunlight with humidity in single digits only to see the pony sector swathed in clouds with dark shafts of rain falling from them.

The road opened up into a large cul-de-sac, where about half a dozen other cars were parked along its periphery. Ringing the cul-de-sac were stands selling grains, fruits, and produce. A large sign declared "LAST HARVEST OF 2023! STOCK UP FOR WINTER NOW!"

The term "selling" was used loosely here, but they did expect some effort to be put into whatever was done for them, and they were the sole judges of how many goods were worth that effort. Despite ponies being generous to a fault in this regard -- he once got two weeks worth of produce for repairing a gold locket chain -- several rather burly earth ponies patrolled the stalls in case a dispute over a transaction turned violent.

Sam pulled over and killed the engine. As he got out of the car, a breeze swirled around him and his vehicle like a miniature vortex as a pegasus flew in a quick circle overhead, the smell of his car's exhaust dissipating.

Sam didn't want a handout. He knew some ponies braved the human sector of Denver to deliver food and other necessities to needy humans at no cost, but Sam never took advantage of it. He felt justified in taking money from the government because he always thought his taxes were too damn high for what he got for them, so it was the equivalent of receiving a refund for services not rendered.

Thus when he opened the trunk of his car, he revealed a set of picture frames that he had not only repaired, but had stained and polished as well, making them look better than new. He also retrieved a set of cloth sacks, as these pony marts were strictly bring-your-own-bag.

He threaded an arm through the frames and slammed the trunk shut before heading over to the produce stand run by an earth pony stallion with tan fur and a pale green mane, a splash of brighter green on his haunches in the shape of several sprouts. The pony had just concluded a deal with another patron before turning in Sam's direction and smiling. "Sam! Hello! Good to see you again."

Sam tried to keep his voice cordial. "Uh, yeah, hi, Beansprout."

He always felt silly saying a lot of pony names. They were ridiculous to him; they described things or jobs, not people.

Beansprout suddenly gasped as his gaze fell on the frames. "Oh my God, those are beautiful! Hey, everypony, take a look at this!"

Sam gritted his teeth, and only the fact that his hands were full prevented him from face-palming. A few of the other ponies stepped away from their stalls to cast admiring looks on Sam's handiwork.

"Oh, wow, those look nice," said another earth pony.

"Absolutely gorgeous!" piped a unicorn.

"Beany, you lucky pony, you're going to make me jealous!" gushed another earth pony.

"Look, I'm kinda in a hurry, okay?" Sam said a little louder than intended. He knew ponies tended to be friendly and supportive, but he was not in the mood.

"Sorry about that," said Beansprout. He gestured to the unicorn. "Can you set these beside the stand?"

"Sure thing," piped the unicorn mare, her horn glowing.

Sam jerked his arm away the moment he no longer felt the weight of the frames against his shoulder, as if afraid the magic might somehow contaminate him. Equestria swore up and down that secondary exposure to magic had no ill effects -- and no scientist had yet to discover cause to doubt this -- but it still made Sam nervous. It had taken him some time just to ignore the fact that much of the food he consumed had been nurtured by magic.

Beansprout stepped back into his stall as the other ponies returned to theirs. "You're lucky you came early, we're expecting a big turnout today."

"Yeah, well, it helps when I don't have to worry about a job to go to," Sam grumbled.

Beansprout's ears drooped. "Sorry."

Sam sighed. "Pay no attention to me. Let me just get my stuff and ... um ..."

He looked over the proffered goods. They were what he had expected -- heads of lettuce, batches of carrots and celery, clumps of tomatoes connected by the part of the vine they had been on -- but the presentation had changed. Most were tied with luridly bright pink ribbons with little red hearts on them.

Sam flicked the end of a ribbon with his finger. "What's the occasion?"

Beansprout smiled. "Equestrian cloth. It's needed to hold the enhanced preservation spell."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"It's to keep it fresh longer," said Beansprout.

"I thought the preservation spell was put right on the food itself," said Sam.

"But this one is designed to work with refrigeration. With either alone, it would stay fresh for about two weeks or so, depending on the produce. With both together, it can stay fresh for months!"

Sam gingerly picked up a batch of carrots.

"The ribbon doesn't have to be all that tight, it just needs to be touching the produce," said Beansprout.

Sam glanced at the sign which stated "No more than three of any one item to a customer" and did the math in his head. "There's no way I can buy enough to last though the entire winter."

"The idea is that you'd buy human-produced produce as you can afford it and use the magically-preserved ones more sparingly," Beansprout said in that delicate tone he always used when implying the destitute status of a customer.

Sam dropped the carrots into one of his bags. "Guess I got no choice."

"Um, well, if you want less magic, there's the dried fruit stand."

"I hate dried fruit."

"Oh."

But like the magic, Sam figured he would just put up with it. "It's fine, let me just get this done so I can get out of your hair. This'll probably be the last time you guys will be here anyway."

"Actually, we're planning to set up stands in the winter, too," said Beansprout in a bright voice. "We've made a deal with some pony communities and human farmers who have sheep. We'll be offering all sorts of warm woolen clothing for the winter. The pegasi have told us it's going to be a really cold and snowy one this year."

"Whatever," Sam grumbled as he finished filling his bag with three of everything before moving on.

"Have a good day," said Beansprout, though Sam had already turned away and did not acknowledge it.

The pony running the dried fruit stand was droning on about how he was running a special for anyone who would be willing to refurbish some mechanical equipment for them when he felt a tug on a corner of his jacket.

Sam turned his head to see a unicorn with a yellow coat and violet mane standing nearby, both her horn and the edge of his jacket glowing. He managed to resist the urge to beat at the jacket as if to put out a fire when the glow faded. "Are you Sam Kelton?" said the mare.

Sam hesitated. "Uhh, yeah?"

"Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Yeah, fine."

The unicorn's eyes flicked from side to side. "Not here ... you need to come with me."

Sam eyed the unicorn warily. "What's this all about?"

The unicorn stepped closer and said in a lower voice, "Not with all these other people around. This is important."

"What's the matter, Wildy?" asked the proprietor of the fruit stand.

"I'll tell you later," the mare said before turning back to Sam. "I just want to get out of earshot of the crowd."

Sam frowned. He had half a mind to tell the unicorn to fuck off.

The little pony must have sensed his reluctance, for she gestured for him to bend down. Sam liked this even less, but it was better than going off somewhere with a stranger.

The unicorn leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "It's about your sister, Beverly."

Sam bolted upright as if zapped by an electric shock. "What? What about--!"

"Shhh!!" the mare hissed. "Not here! I said, come with me."

Sam clenched his jaw. "Fine."

The unicorn led him away from the pony mart, and an uneasy quiet settled over them as they headed down what was once a road intersecting Wadsworth, marked by dead streetlights and strips of concrete sidewalk that the ponies had yet to break up.

"My name is Wildflower Springs, but everypony calls me Wildy," said the unicorn.

"What's going on with Bev?" said Sam. "I haven't heard from her in months, not since she supposedly ran away from a Partials' camp."

"Not supposedly," said Wildy. "She did escape, and for damn good reasons."

"What in the holy hell for? She hasn't rehumanized yet?"

Wildy's ears flattened. "For once I wish I could talk to a human who didn't think that was a cure-all for--" Wildy cut herself off. "All right, never mind that. Look, I won't bore you with details, she can tell you herself. She's headed to Denver and wanted to make sure you knew she was coming. She asks that you keep it quiet."

"What the hell is with all this cloak and dagger?" Sam demanded. "Bev's always been a private person, but this is ridiculous."

"She's had a hard time of it both in that camp and ever since she escaped," said Wildy.

Sam resisted the urge to say -- or even think -- that Beverly had been a bit of a flake even in the best of times, but that was hardly her fault. Years of verbal and emotional abuse from an alcoholic father would do that. It would have been compounded with physical or even sexual abuse had not Sam stopped it by slugging his old man in the jaw.

"Where is she now?" Sam said in a lower voice.

"They're taking refuge in a pony community south of the city."

"Refuge? You make it sound like Bev is on the run or something."

"That's because she is."

"Who the hell from?"

Wildy frowned. "Your government, of course. They don't like Partials running around unsupervised."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "My government? Last time I looked, this was all still American soil."

"Don't go there," Wildy deadpanned. "They're making a run for Ponyopolis. I mean, the Denver pony sector. If you can come back to the market in another week when we're starting to sell winter garments, she'll likely be here by then. You're going to have to come to her, because they won't have a car by the time they get here."

Sam's relief over hearing that Bev was okay was tempered by what he saw as her foolishness on display. Had she simply rehumanized when she had the chance, none of this secrecy would be needed.

Perhaps there was a chance to talk some sense into her yet. He wouldn't even have to drive her to the Rehumanization Center up in Fort Collins; Denver RTD offered free rides to anyone traveling to a rehumanization appointment, as required of all public transit systems by federal law.

"All right, fine," Sam grunted. "I'll come back in a week."

"Thank you," Wildy said in a voice that suggested she was glad this conversation was over. "I'll send word back that I contacted you, and that you know she's coming. She also has a friend of yours with her."

"Huh? Who?"

"Eileen McDermott."

Sam sighed. "Wonderful. Why am I not the least bit surprised?"





"Floor six," the synthesized female voice of the elevator intoned just before the doors slid open, disgorging first the company executive and his entourage, then Connie, two reporters, and a cameraman looking almost as bored as she was.

The executive -- whose name Connie had already forgotten and now tried to take a surreptitious glance at his ID card -- led them into the main office area of the floor, where nearly every cubicle was full. "As you can see, Mayor Morgan, we've managed to make the transition back to Village Center fairly smoothly, in no small part thanks to your tireless efforts."

Connie smiled, though she knew such high public praise was simply a buttering up for some political request later. "Much of the effort was on your workers' part. From what I heard, your temporary offices in Fort Collins were rather cramped."

The executive -- Tim something-or-other now that he had turned around to face her and his card swung into view briefly -- made a disgusted noise and said, "It was quite horrid. Three people to a cubicle sometimes. A few employees threatened to quit despite the dearth of jobs in the IT sector in this part of the country. It did at least ensure we were closer to a rehumanization center. We still lost some top talent to ETS but managed to gain a few back."

Connie refrained from noting that they were not as concerned about top talent when they had implemented layoffs in the wake of ETS like many other companies. However, everyone was in the same boat; chunks of the customer base who no longer had a need for what many industries were selling -- cable TV in the case of Tim's company where she was doing a good-will tour -- had vanished almost overnight. Revenue had crashed hard, and profits had evaporated.

Tim put on his best public smile. "Still, your office worked closely with my company to make this happen. Thanks to you, this entire building may once more be populated again. We're hoping to call on your support for our future endeavors."

Here it comes, Connie thought. "I have heard that you've been working on a rather hush-hush project."

"Yes, and there is no time like the present to reveal it." The reporters were definitely listening now, and the cameraman was focused on Tim. He smiled at the camera as he said, "We are pioneering a program to reach out to the pony communities along the Front Range in hopes of bringing them back into the customer fold."

With the camera no longer on her, Connie allowed herself to raise a dubious eyebrow.

"Several manufacturers are now planning products that they believe ponies will want," Tim continued. "They hope to time their emergence in the market with Equestrian plans to reintroduce the use of currency to the ponies of the west. We plan on teaming with those manufacturers to offer a platform for their advertising."

Connie had heard of far-fetched plans before, but this took the cake. Did he seriously believe he could get ponies watching cable TV again? Never mind all the cord-cutting that had been going on by humans even before ETS.

"My company -- along with the aforementioned manufacturers -- piloted a similar program in our footprint in parts of the south with some good success," said Tim, showing off his perfect white teeth as he smiled for the reporters. "We see no reason we cannot repeat that endeavor here, especially now that the ponies themselves are reaching out."

So that explains it, Connie thought. She did know that ponies in the southern and eastern parts of the country were more integrated with human society. It still sounded like an overly ambitious plan.

Tim turned to Connie, and she immediately put back her smile as the camera swung her way. "And this brings us to another reason why we sought to return to Village Center. What better place can we pilot this new endeavor but in the pony district of Greenwood Village?"

Connie had to struggle to maintain her smile. Such a request should have come through formal channels, not announced in such a way as to make the evening news. Not that she had the ability to restrict any sort of business activities, but surely he understood how much under a microscope her municipality was?

Of course he did, she realized with some irritation. That's why he was putting her in this position.

"Do you have any comment, Mrs. Morgan?" one of the reporters prompted.

Connie gave what she hoped was a good-natured chuckle. "I admire the effort that is being put into this idea," she said in a diplomatic tone. "I've gone on record as saying I would like to see pony communities more integrated into the US economy. I believe we have a lot to offer each other."

Her cell phone vibrated. She reached into her pocket and pressed the button on the side to silence it.

"At the same time, I do believe we need to move cautiously," Connie continued. "Ponies in this part of the country have made a distinct culture for themselves, and we need to respect that."

"I've never come across a culture in this country that would turn down a good business opportunity," said Tim. "And I doubt the people of this city feel any different."

"Wouldn't this fit into your plans for more economic unity, Mrs. Morgan?" asked the other reporter.

Connie's phone vibrated again, this time indicating a text message. Where she had given explicit instructions to certain people to send her a text as a follow-up to a failed attempt to reach her by voice if there was an emergency, she felt compelled to answer it. The last time it had happened prior to ETS was when Christina's school had gone on lock-down after a report of someone wielding a gun near the campus.

"Excuse me one moment, please," said Connie as she withdrew her cell phone. Instead of Christina's school, it was from Ted: Contact me at once. Code indigo.

Connie felt a chill. "Code indigo" was a pass phrase Connie had worked out with her staff and the city council whenever they needed to bring a terrorist threat to her attention. "I'm terribly sorry, but I've had something come up that needs my immediate attention. I'll conclude by saying that I wish Tim and his company the best of luck in their endeavors, and that my office will offer whatever assistance is deemed appropriate for furthering human and pony relations."

She turned away, ignoring the cacophony of questions thrown at her in her wake. She ducked around the corner to the elevators, but passed them and headed into an unused conference room. She stepped carefully to the side so as not to be seen from the hall.

She issued a response text: Call me now. While Ted used human technology, he was still limited in how he could handle it. She had to wait for him to maneuver his phone into a position where he could manipulate it with a stylus in his teeth.

She answered as soon as it rang. "Ted, what's going on?" Connie demanded.

"Look, this may be nothing," Ted replied.

"Nothing?" Connie said sharply. "You don't do a 'code indigo' for nothing. I had to cut short my visit to Village Center for this, and at a very inopportune time."

"I'm really sorry, but I didn't want to take any chances!"

Connie sighed. "Sorry, I'm a little on edge. What is it?'

Ted described his run in with Jason and the questions he was asking.

"Are you sure? And why didn't you tell me this last night?"

"I had to think about it for a bit, Connie," said Ted. "Realize the position I'm in. What if Wildy was right, and this is just a way to get info on that Partial?"

"Ted, I don't care what your feelings are about that Partial, your first duty is to the citizens of this city. Especially in cases like this, where someone with possible terrorist associations was at such a large gathering."

"And if this was just a fishing expedition?"

"Then let it be one," said Connie firmly. "I cannot fail to act in a situation like this."

"There isn't even an obvious threat. I didn't want to pull you into this in case it was an attempt to--"

"I get it," Connie said in a terse voice. "And I appreciate you trying to shield me." From an operation that I should never have known about in the first place, she added in her head. "My office did receive a bulletin recently about possible terrorist activity in and around Denver. Is this the same one?"

"I have no way of knowing," said Ted. "Jason was not exactly on the up-and-up about revealing he was an FBI agent. That alone seemed a bit suspicious to me. All you have to do is give me the name of guy you spoke to, and I'll pass that on to Jason."

Connie frowned. It was not as easy as that. If it came to light later that she had information on a threat and failed to act in an open and aboveboard manner, it would come back to haunt her later, from her own conscience if not the law. "No, I'll inform the FBI myself."

"But that could link you to--!"

"Ted, please, do me a favor," Connie said in an exasperated voice. "Forget for the moment you're a pony."

"That's like asking you to forget that you're human."

"Humor me, please, at least for long enough as it takes you to see the other side of this."

Ted paused. "What are you talking about?"

"Did it ever occur to you that the FBI might have legitimate reasons for pursuing this Partial?" Connie asked. "You said yourself that there was a Partial boy right in front of Jason's nose, and he didn't so much as bat an eye about it. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he wasn't there for just any Partial."

Ted sighed. "I don't want to be at odds with you over this."

"I'm not going to tell you to stop," said Connie. "Just don't expect me to think that what you're doing is all right with me. I think you're taking a big short term risk for very little long term benefit."

"I want to at least have the chance to talk to her myself," said Ted. "I want to hear her side of it. Maybe that will give me some idea who's in the right."

"That's your prerogative. Mine is the security of this city."

"I understand," Ted said in a low voice. "I do care about that as well. I wouldn't be talking to you now if I didn't."

"I know," said Connie in a softer voice.

"I care about humans as well as ponies."

"I believe you, but I do admit I feel you sometimes need to see the bigger picture."

"I told you I wasn't cut out for politics," Ted said in a glum voice.

"It's not about politics," said Connie. "We'll talk about this more some other time. I need to get back to my office."

"All right. Again, I'm sorry for not informing you sooner."

All Connie could think of at that moment was Ryan looking at that banner for the Magiccraft Fair, her hand tightening around the phone. "It's fine," she said in a terse voice. "I'll call you over the weekend if I haven't heard from you by then."





Sam was grateful for the preservation spells on the produce, as his other errands that morning took him longer than he had intended. The line at the unemployment office had been out the door and down the street, and he almost decided to forgo his monthly check-in, but he needed every cent of the pittance the government doled out.

He got back to his apartment building in time to catch his neighbor Ron sitting on the steps as he always did every day about this time. The kindly older gentlemen smiled at Sam's approach. "Good afternoon, Samuel," he said in a faint Italian accent with hints of his New York upbringing.

"Hey, Ron," said Sam. "How're you holding up?"

"Best as can be expected."

"You look a little tired."

Ron chucked. "I've been tired for the last ten years. Well, I suppose more so than usual. Doctor changed my medication again. My blood pressure's been edging upwards."

"Did you ask him about the angina?"

Ron smiled. "Please, don't fuss over me."

Sam wanted to argue he had every right to fuss over the old man. He told himself it had nothing to do with wanting to prove that humans could be just as caring about each other as ponies were. "Just concerned for you, that's all."

"I appreciate it, son, but I'm doing fine." Ron looked over the bulging bags of groceries. "Seems like you had a good haul."

"Just stocking up for the winter," said Sam. "Did you?"

"I had my nephew drive me down there a few days ago. I should be set."

Sam hoped so. Ron could be frugal to the point of near poverty. He hid it well, but he was too prideful to ask for handouts, despite being at the age where Sam felt he had earned a free ride. Ron had worked many hard years on dangerous construction projects for various city governments, including the long-running Water Tunnel #3 project in New York.

"I do admit, I like traveling to the pony sector," said Ron. "I breathe a little easier there. They even offered to put me up in their lands."

"Are you going to take them up on it?" Sam asked.

"Not likely," said Ron. "I'd only be a burden to them. They're so much into self-reliance, and I don't want to disrupt that."

Despite the old man's words, Sam swore he heard a bit of wistfulness. Pony transformation supposedly made a person healthier. Would it have cured Ron's heart and lungs? Would it have given him an easier life in his waning years? Even ponies were not young forever; they had a more or less normal human lifespan but aged more gracefully, making them seem as if they lived longer.

It wasn't like Ron would be compensating for his own mistakes. He had emphysema, but he had never smoked a cigarette his entire life. His lungs had been ravaged by poor ventilation and faulty safety equipment on one long term project. He had even won compensation as part of a class action lawsuit against the construction company.

"Everything okay, son?" Ron asked. "You seem upset."

Sam shook his head. "Just some of the stress getting to me. I should head inside."

Ron nodded. "I saw your brother Larry enter just an hour ago."

Sam smirked faintly. "Thanks for the warning."

He headed up to his apartment. Before opening the door, he could hear that the TV was tuned to a football game. Sam found his older brother seated on the sofa, his legs stretched out with his feet on the table. A beefier version of Sam, he had darker hair and more rounded features. His arms were thick with a combination of muscle and fat.

Larry grinned and lifted his can of beer in a salute. "Back with more pony food?"

Sam had given up trying to correct his brother. "Pony food" was a term more appropriate for items that ponies ate that humans would normally not, such as hay. People like Larry used it for anything the ponies provided. "Yeah, which I need to put away. I'll be making a salad with lunch. You're welcome to some of it."

Larry snorted and shook his head. "Naw, I'll stick to real food, thanks."

Sam just shrugged as he headed into the kitchen.

"Hey, bro, can you spot me some cash?" his brother called out from the living room.

Sam sighed. So that was the reason for Larry's visit. He had his own place, but often had trouble paying the utility bills despite government assistance.

Sam did not reply right away. He put everything into the fridge, grabbed a beer from the stash Larry had provided, and took a long drink before heading back into the living room. "You'd have more money if you did what I do."

"You mean take handouts from the ponies? Yep, that solves everything." He raised his hands and splayed his fingers. "Poof! All your problems gone. Magic!"

Sam glanced at his brother. Other than the fact that his dark blue eyes had edged very slightly towards cyan -- or that he could sometimes guess the temperature to within a degree of accuracy -- there was almost no way to tell he had once been partially transformed. He had been in Bev's exact position, even in the same camp, but where Beverly had become far too enamored of her pony friends, Larry had taken the decision to give up his mane, tail, and wings to be human again.

Larry lowered his arms. "Dude, I'm getting worried about you."

Sam shifted his eyes to the TV but watched without really paying attention. "I'm touched."

"No, I'm serious. You're getting too chummy with those ponies."

"Only so I have food on the table. Oh, and news flash, bro." He held up the can. "This isn't food."

Larry smirked. "Didn't see you passing it up when you had the chance."

"Only as compensation for everything I've already given you."

Larry's smirk faded. "You don't have to, you know."

"Yes, I do. You're family."

"Is that another pony-ism?"

"You need to stop putting that spin on everything I do or say," Sam snapped. "I've been concerned about family ever since we were kids. You remember those days, right? No, wait, you don't. You left."

Sam fumed into the ensuing uncomfortable silence. He had told himself he wouldn't throw that back in Larry's face again after all these years, but he was stressed to the breaking point.

"Not fair, dude," Larry deadpanned. "I had my reasons."

"Yes, which I've heard over and over again. Still doesn't change the fact that I was left to protect Bev all on my own."

"Which you did. I'm damn proud of you for that, even if she did flake out later."

"She doesn't need that sort of talk," Sam said. "The last thing she needs is to wind up in another toxic environment."

"What the hell are you talking about? You see her in the room?"

"Not yet."

Larry raised an eyebrow. "You heard from her?"

Sam hesitated. He had not wanted to discuss this until he had learned more, but his irritation at his brother had boiled over. "Yes. She's on her way to Denver."

Larry set down his beer. "Well, it's about time."

"Don't get any ideas," said Sam. "I don't think she's coming here to rehumanize."

"At least not until we talk some sense into her."

Sam had every intention of talking to Bev at great length in hopes of convincing her to rehumanize. Perhaps she really had decided to do it but wanted her brother around for support. Only then did he pick up on the key pronoun in Larry's statement. "Did you say 'we'?"

"Of course I did."

Sam shook his head. "No, I'll talk to her."

"It not like you can stop me. I'm her brother, too."

Sam clenched his teeth until the words "you had your chance to care about her" were no longer in danger of reaching his lips. "I've already been told that I have to go to her. I have no idea if she would ever want to come here."

"You have to find a way to get her to this side of town," said Larry.

"Why?"

"Because I have friends who can help convince her to rehumanize."

Sam frowned. "You don't mean those goons with Humanity First, do you?"

"Stop listening to pony propaganda," Larry said. "They're just an activist group."

"I don't want to get involved in politics, either."

"Dude, they cross party lines," said Larry. "Democrats, Republicans, Constitutionalists, Green Party, you name it. They all want the same thing: America for the humans."

"As much as I want Bev human again, I won't have her strong-armed into it."

"Again, that's just propaganda. Humanity First just wants human matters to be front and center. I mean, come on, we were here first, and we've been here for thousands of years. Millions if you count our cave man days. It makes sense that they want to see as many ponies and partials become human again."

Sam set down his beer and folded his arms. As much as he wanted help in making his sister see reason, he didn't want her to become a political chess piece; Humanity First tended to take each rehumanization as a triumph for their cause that they loudly proclaimed in the press. "Larry, I swear, this needs to be kept quiet."

Larry smiled. "So you'll do it? You'll get her to come here and let my friends talk to her?"

"Only on the condition that Bev doesn't get put in the public eye. She was always a private person to begin with, and I doubt she wants this to become a three-ring circus."

"That won't be a problem," said Larry.

Sam could not help but think something was fishy here. Until then, Larry had treated Bev as a lost cause, as if she simply had ceased to exist once Larry had rehumanized and did what Larry did best: get the hell out of Dodge with no regards to anyone else. "What's in this for you?"

"You really have to ask me that?"

"Yes."

Larry sighed. "Fine. I do get some compensation for helping them get more rehumanizations. Sort of like a finder's fee."

"Yeah, that's the Larry I know," Sam said in a sour voice. "She's a meal ticket for you."

"Look, can you blame me? I'm not the only one in this room living hand to mouth."

Sam wanted to claim that he at least was doing some sort of work to earn what he got from the ponies, but that would just lead to another drinking-the-pony-kool-aide argument.

"She's my sister, okay?" Larry said. "Fine, you want me to admit I didn't do shit to protect her against our old man? Okay, you win. I admit it. Happy, now? Maybe this is my way to make up for it."

Sam remained silent, his mind and his stomach churning.

"She needs to be human," Larry said. "What other choice does she have? No one in their right mind is going to let that transformation spell back on American soil. She's not going to get to be full pony no matter how much she may pine for it."

"You seem to have a lot of insights into someone you haven't seen in a long while," said Sam.

"I remember some of the stuff she talked about when we were in the camp, and I can take some guesses from there," said Larry. "So what about it? Can I tell my friends to start planning for this?"

Sam paused for a long moment before finally saying, "All right, go ahead."





"I need an assessment from you, Matt," said Wendy Rock on the other end of the phone. "How long can we keep things under wraps?"

Matthew leaned back in his seat. "We're well beyond that now, Wendy. They've already requested a press conference ASAP."

"A press conference? You're not going to allow it, are you?"

"That's ultimately up to you," said Matthew. "I would recommend granting the request."

"You cannot be serious."

"I feel we have little choice in the matter. Until matters change, they are to be considered guests and diplomats."

"Do not use the word 'diplomat' outside of private correspondence," Wendy admonished. "That term carries far too many implications."

"Wendy, we've known each other for years," said Matthew in a voice of forced patience. "You helped get me this position. You know I don't just shoot my mouth off to anyone who would listen."

Matthew frowned as that statement reminded him of what had put him in a testy mood. He didn't need any more loose cannons in his network, and yet they continued to pop up. He would have a choice word or two to say to his senator friend when the man deigned to return his call.

"We're in a very delicate position right now, and my meeting with Princess Twilight made it all the more precarious," said Wendy.

"The scuttlebutt is that she put you on a deadline."

"She put all of us on a deadline. Come hell or high water, you're going to have that alicorn as a guest come Monday."

"All the more reason to tread lightly," said Matthew. "Give them what they want for now. Let them say their piece."

"We don't need even more sympathy drummed up for them. It makes my job a lot harder."

Matthew had known Wendy long enough to understand she was not just referring to rehumanization. Like him, she understood there were far bigger implications than whether or not another tiny handful of ponies came to their senses and rehumanized. "Yes, but the last thing we need is an angry Equestrian princess on our hands. Which is exactly what we will have if we treat our guests like prisoners."

"I wasn't advocating that you do, just perhaps drag your feet a bit on giving them access to the media. Maybe you could cite security concerns."

Matthew's lips curled into a tight smile. "I would, but our head of security is simply too good at her job. She also has a great deal of pride, and I would rather not risk damaging it, not when I may need her help for other operations."

Matthew had long since realized that his best plans were only as good as the people around him who -- either knowingly or not -- assisted in reaching his goals. Tonya was his best in that regard, and he had no intent on jeopardizing that.

"Matt, I need to make something very clear to you," said Wendy in a somber voice. "I've spoken with some other officials in strict confidence. We believe Princess Celestia may be about to renege on her promise not to tread on American sovereignty."

"And why is this a surprise to you?" said Matthew.

"But they've adhered strictly to the treaty until now."

"Because until now they didn't have what they wanted, which is the majority of American ponies rising up in revolt. Maybe it isn't the kind of revolution with weapons and warfare, but it's a revolt nonetheless."

Wendy remained silent.

"This is what I had warned against from the start," Matthew said. "I knew this would happen the moment we passed that Homestead Act that gained so much praise from Equestria. It was what led us to this point, giving those ponies a sense of entitlement that they otherwise--"

"Enough," Wendy snapped. "You've made your point."

"I hope so. I get tired of repeating myself."

"The problem is, we don't have much leverage right now, and we don't have the time to gain any."

"Don't count us out just yet," said Matthew.

"I really shouldn't ask, but does this have anything to do with these 'special projects' you've been working on?" Wendy asked.

"They do, and any one of them may bear some fruit rather soon." So long as there are no more screw-ups like the other day, he added in his head.

"I'd ask for the details, but--"

"But you require plausible deniability."

"Yes," said Wendy. "You're already exercising far more leeway than is usually granted to a recovery area director, and people are starting to notice."

"All the more reason for me to make nice with the Pony Council," said Matthew. "At least until you can go back to what you were supposed to be doing in making people not notice."

"Give me a break," Wendy said in a testy voice. "I'm juggling multiple balls right now."

The phone chimed. "One moment." He tapped a button. "Yes, Kelsey?"

"I have Senator Maxton on the line, sir," said Kelsey.

"I'll be right with him." Matthew switched back to the first line. "Wendy, I have to go, I have a call coming in I've been expecting. I need a decision from you."

Wendy sighed. "All right, fine, let them have their press conference. I'll likely be up all night doing damage control, but so be it."

The call ended abruptly, and Matthew switched to the other call. "John?"

"Yes, hello, Matt," said Colorado Senator John Maxton. "I've been meaning to return your call but--"

"John, your man Ryan is an idiot," Matthew declared.

John paused. "Now wait a minute, he's not--"

"The one day he decides to go into the pony community in Denver and start his pro-human pontificating, and who is the person he happens to pick as his sounding board? The goddamn mayor of Greenwood Village."

"Now see here--"

"Seriously, is he trying to get himself noticed by my office?" Matthew said. "Because he's doing a damn fine job of it."

"All right, that's enough," said John, his western drawl more pronounced when he was upset. "First of all, he's not 'my' man in any sense of the word."

"Your organization seems to find him useful."

"Only in a very peripheral fashion," said John. "He is not a formal member of Humanity First. Not considering his questionable associations."

"You can drop the act, John, no one is listening in on this line."

"Have you seen the news lately?" John said. "The Pony Council is all anyone can talk about. All the polling shows a lot of sympathy for the ponies."

"I don't give a damn about polls," Matthew declared. "Sometimes humans can be as bad as ponies when it comes to a herd mentality. Public opinion is volatile and ephemeral. It will pass. Now what I need to know from you is this: can Ryan be counted on to pull through when needed?"

John let out a windy sigh. "I don't know."

"Find out, and soon."

"Only if you can keep the heat off me," said John in a low voice. "Your service has its agents poking around all over the human sector of Denver. They know something is up."

Matthew knew John was exaggerating, like a typical politician. Heller and his pony sidekick were the only ones actively investigating. He had made sure not to give them any more resources other than what could be put towards apprehending the fugitive Partial, and he made it quite clear what he considered their priorities to be.

"Level with me, Matt," said John in a slightly nervous voice. "Does the FBI have anything on Humanity First? Or me?"

"I can't comment on an ongoing investigation," said Matthew in a neutral voice.

"Oh, blast that! What did you just say about this being a private conversation?"

The last thing Matthew needed was John getting cold feet. Telling him that a solid case had been brought against the organization would not help. He could at least assuage some fears. "I can safely say your name has not come up."

"Well, at least that's a relief."

"The only thing that's going to bring any sort of relief is opening people's eyes to the danger of giving ponies any more leeway than they already have," said Matthew. "We need something to show that their message of friendship and harmony is not sufficient to eliminate all suspicion of their motivations."

"You don't need to go any further than hearing a typical Shimmerist spout off about the evils of humanity," John said in a sour voice.

The irony of the situation was something that Matthew would not give voice to. In Matthew's opinion, the Shimmerists were the most human of the transformed; to vilify those who do not follow your own culture was something humanity had been doing for millennia before the Shimmerists put their own spin on it.

"It goes beyond the Shimmerists," said Matthew. "If ponies ever were to run their own affairs apart from humanity, they will ultimately start competing with humans for land and resources. They want more powerful magic, something we can't directly match right now."

"You don't have to tell me this," said John in a tired voice. "It's part of Humanity First's platform. Magic does not belong in this world. It can only cause this planet more harm than good. Hell, we even have some environmentalists in the organization who are concerned about what havoc pony magic could do. Maybe we don't see it quite in terms of competition--"

"You should," Matthew said. "Right now, humans have the edge. If pressed, we can protect ourselves with weapons of war that ponies cannot match. That situation could change, and then what? Use those weapons pre-emptively and initiate a bloody conflict no one wants, or just let pony society steamroll over humanity? I want to avoid anyone having to make that decision."

"As much as I want to see the use of magic limited, is it really as dire as you seem to think it is?" John asked. "Even Equestria has claimed that magic has its own inherent limitations."

"How much can we believe what they're telling us? We have no means to verify what they're saying. For all we know, they could have the magical equivalent of nuclear arms."

"You can't tell me that some progress hasn't been made," John said. "I've heard the scuttlebutt going around the inner circles in Washington. Secret labs they've furnished to certain unicorns, and one of them a goddamn Shimmerist no less! What the hell were they thinking?!"

Matthew knew of the particular unicorn to which John had referred: a pony named Sunset Blessing who had combined her Christian upbringing with her transformation and started preaching about how it was God's gift to humanity. "Like Ryan, Miss Blessing serves a purpose. She understands the need to keep powerful magic out of the control of those who would misuse it."

"And yet she still promulgates the same bullshit the Shimmerists do, that the Earth should become one big happy pony commune."

"We're getting off topic," Matthew said.

"Has anyone actually figured out how magic works?" John asked.

Matthew wished his senator friend realized who was really in control, normal protocols be damned. Not to mention he was venturing into territory Matthew wanted to keep under wraps for now.

Also, the irony did not escape him that one of the more prominent members of Humanity First could talk out of both sides of his mouth, condemning magic in one and wanting it in the other. "Not yet, but there are some theories. Again, that's not the topic of our discussion. I need you to exercise better control over Ryan, at least until he's served his purpose."

"I'm not his keeper, but I'll do what I can," said John.

"See that you do. The situation is already precarious enough. Do you at least have plans in place at your end?"

"Yes, my organization has submitted the paperwork for the permit earlier today," said John.

"Hopefully thanks to Ryan's screw up it won't be rejected," Matthew grumbled.

"They wouldn't dare, not with the mayor under the microscope for her obvious pro-pony sentiments," said John. "We have lawyers ready to scream First Amendment violation."

"You better be right," said Matthew. "I don't want this operation to fail."





Connie dashed into her office not five minutes ahead of her appointment. She had not hesitated in her pledge to contact the FBI, having called them while still traveling between appearances at other companies in Village Center. They had promptly insisted on a face-to-face meeting later that morning, forcing her to scramble to rearrange her schedule.

As soon as she dropped hard into her chair behind her desk, she saw she had a missed call. She picked up the phone and dialed back.

"Greenwood Village City clerk's office," a familiar female voice answered.

"Emily, this is Connie, what's up?" Connie said.

"Hey, Connie, thanks for the call-back," said Emily. "Wanted to run this by you before I decided to approve it."

"What is it?"

"Permit application for a rally to be held by Humanity First."

Connie sighed. As much as she loathed that organization, they had the same right to free speech as anyone else. While local governments in the United States had the legal right to require permits for such things, the circumstances under which they could be rejected was extremely narrow. Generally, only a clear danger of violence was sufficient cause.

"Well, it's not the first time they've held a rally in Greenwood Village," said Connie. "They've always been peaceful affairs. Any idea who'll be speaking?"

"Senator John Maxton is the one running the rally."

Connie rolled her eyes. He was the most bombastic of the lot, but that was not sufficient reason to deny it. "I don't see any reason to reject it."

"Well, there is one detail you might want to know," said Emily. "The when and where."

"Oh?"

"The when is this coming Monday. The where is Village Center."

Connie frowned. "Near the Magiccraft Fair?"

"We mentioned that to him," said Emily. "We strongly suggested he pick a different time or a different place. His office's response was that they considered the Fair to be the equivalent of a rally for the pony right to use magic, thus his would be a constitutionally protected counter-rally."

Connie covered her eyes with her hand and leaned back in her seat. "There's no way a simple fair can be considered a political message. He's really stretching things to get what he wants."

"You do have the option to reject it on the basis of security issues."

A knock came at the door. "One moment, Emily." Connie lowered the receiver. "Yes?"

The door opened slightly, and a man in a suit peeked inside. He flipped open his wallet and revealed an FBI badge.

Connie nodded and gestured for him to come inside. "I'll be with you in a moment." She raised the receiver as the man took a seat. "Sorry, my appointment just arrived. Yes, I could reject it at the risk of the political fallout it will cause. I'll be seen as trying to silence the human side of the debate."

"I don't envy you," said Emily. "If we go strictly by the book, we would approve the permit with the provision that we step up police presence at both events."

"We'll just have to go with that," said Connie. "I'm disappointed that they chose to spoil what could have been a nice event designed to show people that they don't have to fear magic."

"Okay, I'll get it approved, and I'll notify the Greenwood Village PD," said Emily.

"Thank you. Let me know if there's any complications." Connie hung up and turned to the agent. "Apologies, it's been a busy day."

"I understand." The man held out his hand. "Agent Anthony Heller."

Connie shook the man's hand. "Do I know you? Your name sounds familiar."

"I was in charge of the FBI investigation during the ETS crisis," said Anthony. "Your office was likely contacted by mine at some point."

"Yes, that must be it." Connie tilted her head. "Is this threat so dire that it's brought you into it?"

"Ah, let's just say I decided to take a different career path after the crisis. I run only the northwest Denver office at the moment, by my own request."

Connie could understand that. Before ETS, she had the opportunity to run for the state senate but had turned it down. She preferred to continue working at the local level despite the lesser prestige.

Well, lesser at least until recently when it seemed like her little burg showed up in the news more recently. Even the national news sometimes mentioned events in Greenwood Village. Likely the reason Humanity First chose to share some of that limelight.

"In either case, we take all threats seriously," said Anthony. "My office was informed that you may have met a person of interest in several FRD-related activities."

"We talked only for a few minutes," said Connie. "Enough to realize he was rather adamant in his pro-human stance."

"Did you get his name?"

"Ryan," said Connie. "He didn't give his last name."

"What specifically did he talk to you about?"

Connie recounted to him as many details of the conversation that she could remember.

Anthony dutifully made notes as she spoke. "So no overt threats were made, or anything indicating he had some sort of purpose or action in mind?"

"Not that I could tell," said Connie. "Though I didn't care for his parting words."

"How did you feel through the conversation?"

Connie thought that was an odd question. Most of her experience with law enforcement suggested they were more interested in hard facts rather than emotional impressions. "I can't say it was pleasant," she said in a low voice.

Anthony leaned forward slightly. "I know this is an unusual line of questioning, so please bear with me. Can you recall exactly how you felt around him?"

Connie looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm not sure I felt much of anything, other than distaste for his stance."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, I'm ... well ..." She shivered slightly. "Maybe I was wary, but not until my daughter showed up. She's a pony, so naturally I was protective of her."

"And you said your daughter's teacher ..." Anthony consulted his notes. "... Peach Blossom also expressed some anxiety."

"Yes, but she said he's harassed ponies before."

Anthony nodded. "So you said there was no overt threat, yet you felt wary. So no action he took made you believe there was a physical threat?"

Connie thought back to that part of the encounter, and she shivered again. Had the man spooked her more than she had thought? She and her family received the occasional death threat from anti-pony people, and it had never sent such a chill though her as recalling Ryan did. "No, not really, not until his final words."

"And did the effect linger?"

She recalled how she had needed some comfort that night from her husband, or even her reactions now. "Yes, it did. May I ask where you are going with this?"

"It would be hard to explain," said Anthony. "I'm working on a hunch that my partner had after he spoke with Councilman Miller. Some of the details are sensitive due to this being an ongoing investigation." He flipped back in his notes. "I understand you have a pony event scheduled for this coming Monday at Village Center."

"Yes, and now that you reminded me about that, I did see Ryan looking at a poster for it."

"What security do you have planned for the event?" Anthony asked.

"The normal routine," said Connie. "Obvious police presence to maintain order, and the pony sheriff's office in the First District will be sending some of their officers as well. I should also note something else. Just before you arrived, I was informed Humanity First will be holding a rally on the same day near the same location."

Anthony's eyebrows rose. "Was that what you were on the phone about?"

"Yes," said Connie. "Should we refuse the permit?"

"Legally, I have no grounds by which to advise you on that," said Anthony. "And we haven't identified any one particular event as a possible target. I'll be contacting my superiors and see if we can arrange for some agents to be present at both events."

Connie nodded slowly. Despite Anthony playing his cards close to the vest, she could tell something was up, and it had to do with that organization. She couldn't recall a time when a Humanity First rally ended in violence that was not instigated by some outside group, and she sincerely doubted the ponies of Greenwood Village would furnish a provocation.

"Can you give me the bottom line?" Connie asked. "What kind of danger are we looking at? Enough that we should consider rescheduling the Fair?"

Anthony put his note pad away. "That's always a tough call. Sometimes delaying an event gives the bureau more time to root out a threat, sometimes it just scares them off and we get nothing. Where we currently have nothing pointing to a specific time and place, all I can say is, use your judgment." He stood. "On that note, it would be best to share this information only with trusted staff. Naturally I can't require you not to tell the media about this, but I would advise against it."

Connie nodded. "I understand. There's no point in creating a panic."

"Just keep your eyes and ears open," said Anthony. He handed her a card. "This has my direct cell number. Don't hesitate to call me if something comes up."

"I won't, thank you," said Connie.

They shook hands, and Anthony let himself out.

Connie took a deep breath and let it go. Her motherly instincts wanted her to cancel the Fair, but on the basis of what? The threat was vague at best. Yet the timing of the Humanity First rally was suspicious, and she wondered if the FBI thought so as well.

She had to let the Fair continue. To her, it was another step towards acceptance of ponies in human society. To cancel it would be giving into those who just wanted the problem to go away in the worst possible way.