Five minutes later, a still-broken Twilight found herself back out in the open air, miles away from the power plant outside a different building. This time, to her relief, she sensed nothing except the everpresent background energy—radiation, she corrected herself—of the area; the remnants of the disaster that had once poisoned the town beyond the point of habitation.
“What’s this place?” she asked for what felt like the hundredth time that day, looking around in confusion before spotting an odd sculpture.
“We are now standing outside the Chernobyl fire station, my student,” Celestia explained, her mane and tail still visibly glowing, if not as intensely as before. “This complicated statue you see… in fact went up after the disaster.”
“After?” Twilight blinked in surprise, stifling another sniffle. “But I would have thought this area was too contaminated!”
“The worst contamination subsided fairly quickly, once further radioactive release ceased. This was thanks in large part to a literal army of ‘liquidators’, as the Soviets called them; soldiers who cleansed the area and cleaned up the radioactive debris. They worked tirelessly and despite the danger to prevent any further steam explosions, and later entomb both the reactor and the contaminated fragments of the core.
“In the end, they succeeded, preventing a far greater catastrophe. From the firefighters who initially fought the flames to the army soldiers who came later, they saved many lives and prevented the disaster from becoming immeasurably worse.”
“Then this is a memorial?” Twilight realized in disbelief.
“Yes, my student. It is in fact made of the same concrete as the reactor sarcophagus—the cement tomb that originally contained the destroyed reactor before that dome you saw replaced it. Can you translate the inscription?”
Her emotions still raw, Twilight had some trouble doing so, but was finally able to dig up enough focus, remembering the Ibexian tongue. “To those who saved the world.”
“Well done. A bit of an exaggeration perhaps, but nevertheless, a valid sentiment,” Celestia confirmed. “I promised you there was redemption in this story, Twilight. And you see the start of it here.”
Twilight considered that, only to shake her head. “But a monument doesn’t undo what happened, Princess! Or bring back the dead!”
“But it does give their passing meaning, and ensures that neither the disaster nor their sacrifice in the face of it will be forgotten,” Celestia answered patiently. “Thirty-three years ago, the people of this land fought a war, Twilight. A war unlike any they ever faced in their long and oft-unhappy history, but a war they nonetheless had to win. Not just for their own sake, but that of the entire continent.”
“They fought a war? How?” An uncomprehending Twilight could only stare up at the statues. “This wasn’t a physical enemy, Princess! It was an invader as insidious and ever-present as the air itself! It got everywhere, and it couldn’t be stopped! All they could do was flee it!
“And yet they did not,” Celestia noted, her calm tone in marked contrast to Twilight’s quavering one. “That vehicle graveyard outside the city is evidence enough of that. And in doing so, they prevented an even worse disaster from befalling not just this area, but perhaps the greater region.”
“Worse?” What could be worse than…? THIS?
“Worse,” Celestia confirmed with another bow of her head. “The initial explosions were potentially only the opening salvos. With the core exposed and burning, there was a danger of additional, and even more powerful steam explosions should it burn through enough floors to reach the water remaining in the basement coolant tanks, and the distinct possibility the other three reactors could be compromised by it.
“If that happened, the contamination could become exponentially worse and the affected area far wider, rendering a large part of the entire continent both uninhabitable and unfit for agriculture. But it did not.”
“Wh-Why not?” Twilight could scarcely imagine there was some part of this story that was not the worst case.
“In order to prevent it, they had to send three volunteers from the plant day shift to go into the basement beneath the still-burning pile, with the mission to manually open the sluice gates to drain the cooling water tanks in case the core should burn through to them. They knew it to be a suicide mission from the radiation dose they were likely to receive, and yet they went. And remarkably, they not only succeeded, they survived.” Celestia’s smile turned coy for just a moment.
Despite the description, Twilight’s shoulders slumped further. “I grant they were heroes, but that’s still only three.”
“But even then, the danger was not over. There was a chance that the Arcanocite could burn all the way through the base of the building to the groundwater below, both contaminating it and causing another steam explosion at least on the order of the first. To prevent it, they dug tunnels beneath the base to inject liquid nitrogen to freeze the area and cool the pile, and later, they enlisted a cadre of coal miners to dig much larger tunnels to install a machine that would vent excess heat and cool the pile more quickly.
“They, too, did so despite the danger and the knowledge that they were poisoning themselves, perhaps fatally. In the end, the core did not escape the building, and its remains still rest where you saw it to this day.”
“A few dozen brave workers more, then. Perhaps worthy of remembrance, but still nothing compared to all... this!” Twilight insisted.
“No? Six hundred pilots were used to airdrop sand and boron on the fire, flying those vehicles you saw. One later crashed during the entombing effort. Many fell ill, but they knew the danger and still they went.”
Twilight blinked, then shook her head again. “But they were just soldiers, following orders!”
“Do you truly believe it’s that simple, my student?” Celestia gave her a rare reproachful look. “Take it from me that even well-trained soldiers have their limits. They will not obey orders they feel are unjust or sacrifices their lives to no valid purpose. And even when such a purpose exists, ‘following orders’ still takes great courage and resolve in the face of such extreme danger and certainty of death.”
Twilight felt her own resolve start to crack at that. “I see your point, Princess. But…” She suddenly couldn’t think of any more objections.
Celestia did not wait for her to come up with one. “And finally, there was the literal army of soldiers—fully half a million—they mobilized to the task of evacuation and decontamination, removing the residents while clearing and cleansing the area,” Celestia concluded. “Just like the pilots, they did so, even knowing the danger. And to borrow a phrase I heard only recently, ‘if you tell me that is not enough, I won’t believe you.’”
Though she had no idea who her mentor was quoting, Twilight finally fell silent as Celestia went on. “And those are but the most prominent examples. There are in fact many others I could mention. So consider, my student, the many workers; firefighters and pilots alike who braved intense radiation to perform rescues and put out the fire.
“Think of the many medical workers who risked contamination to care for and comfort the afflicted—many of whom they did indeed succeed in saving.
“Think of the human scientists and engineers who worked feverishly to find solutions to a disaster that had never happened before, preventing an even worse one from occurring.
“Think of the workers who volunteered for the suicide mission to drain the broken water tanks beneath the facility to prevent a second steam explosion.
“Think of the miners who dug underneath the building to install machinery that would cool the pile down more quickly despite the heat and radioactive output.
“And finally, think of the countless thousands of soldiers who did their duty to cleanse and contain not just the site but the entire area, even knowing the danger they were in. In the end, they did so not because they were ordered to… but because, for the sake of their friends, their families, and even for neighboring nations, they understood that it had to be done. That is ultimately what this monument memorializes, my student.” Celestia gave Twilight a firm look for only a brief moment before turning towards the memorial, her gaze softening.
Twilight considered that, only to shake her head again, if with somewhat less certainty than before. “All well and good, Princess. But still just meaningless symbolism unless it resulted in serious reforms. Unless steps were taken in the names of the fallen to ensure this horror could never happen again!”
“I couldn’t agree more, my student. And so did it come to pass.” Celestia smiled. “In the years that followed, the design flaws of the remaining reactors of this type were examined and corrected, ensuring this catastrophe could never recur. The disaster also rocked the foundations of the Soviet Union to its core, finally exposing the bankruptcy of its governing philosophy; the false belief of its leaders in its own manifest destiny and infallibility.
“Forced to humble themselves before international opinion and pay a massive cleanup cost—this on top of the economic stagnation and a failing military campaign their own blinders and blunders had brought upon their nation—the Soviet leadership recommitted themselves to the twin programs of Glasnost and Perestroika in an attempt to reform the Soviet Union and make it viable again.”
“Openness and restructuring?” Twilight instantly translated.
Celestia gave Twilight an approving nod. “Very good, my student. But in the end, the rot went too deep. The reform programs failed, and the Soviet Union collapsed, dissolving surprisingly peacefully into its many component countries. That was not always the case with some of its vassal nations that made up the eastern bloc, and there are tensions between many of the former Soviet states to this day. But that is a story for another time.”
Celestia walked forward to face the memorial again. “In short, many lives were lost needlessly, but many more were saved heroically, and those who fell did not die in vain. You are correct that the leadership of this now-former nation failed their people utterly in the leadup and immediate aftermath to this event. But their people did not in their response to it.
“The citizens of this land rose to the occasion magnificently. And they did so not for the sake of their state or its leadership, but for the sake of all—for, as this inscription says, the sake of the entire world,” she recited reverently, then bowed her head once more.
“Such folly. Such hubris. Such appalling arrogance and utter ignorance, to both the danger and the potential for disaster. But such heroism. Such selfless sacrifice. Such devotion to duty and to each other. Such incredible efforts in the face of the unimaginable. And such far-reaching consequences that were, in the end, much for the better,” she stated with certainty.
“Make no mistake, Twilight—I condemn unreservedly the system of government and backwards state of mind that led to this cataclysm, but I admire immensely the response to it over the weeks and months that followed, and see within it a window into the very soul of humanity.”
With that, she raised her gaze to her student’s, causing Twilight to start when she realized that Celestia’s eyes were likewise glimmering, and for the first time, there was a tremor of emotion in her voice.
“And that is the lesson I wish you to draw from this place, my student. Not just of the disaster, but of what came after. That humanity is capable of great wrongs, but even greater rights in the face of overwhelming adversity.” She paused just long enough for Twilight to absorb her statement before continuing. “Their resiliency and ability to turn tragedy into a victory over the most implacable of foes, using it as the motivation and means to better themselves is something we can learn from, and is something we, as ponies, should aspire to.”
With those words, Celestia materialized two objects encased in crystal—a pair of medals, Twilight realized; she didn’t want to think of how much magic was necessary to summon them all the way from Equios. “Princess, those are Equestrian awards!”
“Indeed they are. The Celestial Seal of Sacrifice, and the Defender of Harmony, though by strange coincidence, they are also awards of valor given by the human state of Equios,” she noted with a wry grin as Twilight’s eyes went wide at the last.
“I see you recognize their import, my student. The first, as you know, was traditionally given to soldiers and civilians alike who fell in armed conflict, but as I say, this was a war no less than a real one.
“The second, of course, is Equestria’s highest civilian and military award, given for acts of utmost valor in defense of other lives. I do not give the latter lightly, Twilight. There have in fact been but forty awarded over my long reign. But in my mind, if there is anything that defines the idea of utmost valor, it is the response of those depicted to this disaster.”
She laid the medals, along with a scroll of proclamation written in Ibexian from the Equios crown, on the base of the main statue by the flowers. She then cast a spell on them, hiding them from view. “Until the time is right,” she said with a momentary but coy grin at Twilight’s questioning look. That accomplished, she stepped back and bowed low before the monument, spending a moment in silence before speaking again.
“Humanity has accomplished miracles that rival even the greatest feats of magic we have, achieving a kind of alchemy far beyond anything we have ever envisioned. Even without magic or being able to control the weather, they have tamed the very forces of nature; bending even the most volatile of elements to their purposes, both creative and destructive.
“There are always risks to such endeavors, and sometimes the worst case can happen even if you plan for them properly. But that alone should not dissuade them—or us—from trying to tame them.”
“Even for Arcanocite?” Twilight challenged, feeling her sadness starting to ebb at Celestia’s actions and passionately delivered defense.
“Even for that,” Celestia confirmed without hesitation. “That substance you saw beneath the plant was neither evil nor without redeem, my student. It is merely a tool that can be used for good or ill. It is a particularly potent type of fire, yes, and like any fire, it can warm or burn—or in this case, it can power or poison.
“But the fact it is capable of the latter does not automatically make it evil or unable to be used. There is no such thing as a risk-free power, my student, and the greater a substance or energy’s potential benefits, the greater also is its potential for harm.
“There are no exceptions to this, including our magic. Whether spells, enchantments or curses, there is always a chance that something may backfire or spiral out of control. Indeed, such things have happened in our own past, to even greater cost.” This time, it was Celestia who shivered once.
“So what happened here was not, in fact, unique in my experience, either to humanity or the many races of our world over our long history. But the response to it was. That is what I seek to both honor and emulate. And that, my loyal student, is ultimately what I wished you to see—a place and story that demonstrates both the best and the worst of humanity.”
Twilight considered her words carefully, staring at the statue through glimmering eyes. Looking around, she saw a few spring flowers budding in a patch of dirt. Walking up to their parent plant, she cast a spell that caused its growth to accelerate and the buds to almost instantly bloom, far brighter and larger than they would have otherwise.
She bathed the plant in her magic for nearly thirty seconds, ensuring it would have enough energy to produce additional flowers before she plucked the first growth of them, gathering them into a group before laying them beside her regent’s offerings with a deep and respectful bow. With that, teacher and student stood by the human memorial side by side in silence for a minute before Celestia put her wing over Twilight’s shoulders again.
“Come, my student. Our visit is complete and as it is now nearly noon, I’m sure you are hungry. I have already ensured that lunch will await us upon our return. It might also be best to vacate the area before the first tour groups arrive,” she added in a note of amusement.
“What? Tour groups?” Twilight repeated in shock as she fell in beside her mentor.
Celestia chuckled. “That is in fact the reason I wanted to come in the early morning—to avoid such groups. This place is a microcosm of human life thirty years ago; a preserved relic of a bygone age and nation. The residual radiation level is not generally enough to hurt visitors who are only staying for a few hours or even overnight, so guided visits are possible and even encouraged as a source of income to the region. There is even an open hotel.”
“And just when I think humans can’t surprise me anymore…” was all Twilight could mumble in response.
“Indeed. There was also a dramatic television series on the disaster recently which rekindled interest in this place—including, perhaps, my own. It was rather difficult to watch at times, but also very compelling as it explained decently—if not perfectly—the full story of what happened here. Albeit with a few gratuitous and rather unnecessary embellishments.”
“I think I might like to see it,” Twilight finally announced as she walked beside her mentor, leaving the memorial and their offerings behind. “And research these ‘reactors’ more.”
“That could be arranged, my student. Now let us return home.” She offered her hoof again, waiting until Twilight touched it before teleporting them both out, returning them to the portal nexus in a final flash of light.
