Farmer Bruener Has Some Ponies
Travel Plans
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”
— Mark Twain
Herd behavior is a tricky thing. In birds, giant flocks whirl and spin in the air. Whales gather in pods to hunt. Elk travel shoulder-to-shoulder over vast distances. Lemmings… um, let’s not look at lemmings. It’s a myth anyway.
Reporters like to think of themselves as pack animals. No, not horses or mules. Wolves.
You know. Predators. Yes, really.
Of course, that means they need prey, and this week was supposed to be Open Season on ponies.
Once all of the reporters had gotten up and taken inventory, it turned out the sum total of observed ponies in Randolph and the surrounding vicinity was one, and there was only so much video that could be shot of a pony helping pump out porta-potties.
It had taken most of a weekend to get all of the press and their respective vehicles organized in the pasture to one side of the Bruener farm. It took three hours for them to go storming out in search of prey, and part of that was due to fender-benders.
The various VIPs had already been trickling out over the evening hours, since they had schedules to keep, and nowhere in the town to stay. Plus, they needed to schedule a return trip for the next portal opening.
By noon, all that was left in the pastures beside the Bruener farm were the borrowed RVs being used for pony housing and a large amount of trash.
Well, other than a number of armored vehicles and one SEAL squad concealed on a nearby hill.
All of the ponies were out having fun, leaving none behind.
That is, none that anybody knew about.
There were some exceptions.
- - - - ⧖ - - - -
Time: 9:02 A.M. Tuesday June 23, 2015
Location: Bruener Farm basement, Randolph, Kansas
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“Time for Teletubbies! Time for Teletubbies!”
The opening chords of the British television program (or programme, to be accurate) echoed around the basement as Maria Bruener and Clover sat on the carpeted floor, surrounded by toys. Clover was having a wonderful time trying to put round plastic blocks into square openings until the sight of a purple creature on the big flatscreen made her mouth open wide with joy.
“Tink!” she declared. “Tink! Tink!”
“Tinky Winky,” clarified Maria. It was a far cry from playing with grandchildren, not worse, just different. The foal’s father was reclining in the nearby Lay-Z-Boy recliner, looking much like a shaggy green rug thrown over a pile of pillows. He was surrounded by several political books, Grandfather Bruener’s collection of Churchill’s history books, and some miscellaneous science fiction, giving him an intense expression indicating that he would be perfectly happy there for the next two weeks until the return portal opened, and might have to be pried out of the chair then.
The house was so quiet with all the ponies out and about playing tourist, which they really deserved. Maria knew if she had been tossed to another dimension with two weeks to burn, she would go everywhere. Claire had inherited her mother’s explorative ways, and the family had backed her up on trips to Portugal, an exchange student stint in Japan, several profitable summers spent on wheat harvest crews, and one summer riding the rails in Europe. There had to be some career the girl would settle on other than traveling.
Then again, remaining stationary for a while was not bad either, particularly with such a clever little pony like Clover. Ponies tended to behave like their names, or acquired names to match their characteristics, it seemed. In particular, she was reminded about a small unicorn filly of very pale wisteria hues aptly named Bookworm who had settled into Jon’s study upstairs, making a little ‘nest’ of sorts to conceal herself behind the paperwork. Rather than tour Kansas, she was working her way through Grandfather Bruener’s collection of Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction magazines, along with the mismatched collection of Astounding, Ellery Queen, and books like the Radio Boys and the Mark Twain collection stashed there also.
It seemed to be a shame that she did not want to get out into the Kansas sunshine, but Bookworm had said she missed their morning departure with her sister, and they would all head out on their trip in a day or two, so it was no great loss, and she loved to read.
The little unicorn did remind Maria a lot of the quiet pony stallion, happy as a clam to be curled up on the recliner with an unstable stack of books on either side of him. Maybe they were related somehow.
- - - - ⧖ - - - -
Time: 11:58 A.M. Tuesday June 23, 2015
Location: (c) Near the Bruener Farm, Randolph, Kansas
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“Checkin time, Cap.” Corporal Smith barely lifted his voice above a whisper, but in their close quarters under the ghillie cloth, a whisper was all that was needed.
“I know, Smith.” Captain Kevin Rogers shifted positions slightly, but not much. There was not much space anyway, and one extra was crowding things, even if she was small. “Key the satcom and hit the MDM. I still don’t know how we’re going to explain this to SecNav.”
“RHIP, Cap.” The communications specialist flipped a few switches, checked his equipment, then nodded when the encrypted symbol showed on the Multi-Display Module.
“Home Plate this is Hounddog Five actual,” said Rogers into his lavalier microphone once the signs and handshaking part of the conversation was over. “Status, established at one four Siera Pappa Juliet niner three three two three stroke six five seven eight zero. Subjects under observation, or more correct, subject since it looks like there’s only one pony outside, designation Honey Bucket with human volunteers, picking up trash. Oh, correction. We have eyes on subject Stargazer also,” he added as the warm batpony foal shifted position in his arms. She was so peaceful and quiet that it was easy to forget about her, the kind of alien newborn that humans wished theirs were. Except for the teething, which was under control.
“Ahh…” The voice on the other end of the encrypted satellite link sounded uncertain. “Hounddog, we have eyes on your location by airborne assets—” a long phrase for an unarmed Predator drone scheduled to be loitering somewhere above the Kansas terrain at this time “—which shows two nearby subjects, located at approximately two two zero degrees, range—”
“Negative, Home Plate,” said Rogers quickly. “Disregard subjects at that location, and do not observe. Ah… That’s where Mama Bat and Daddy Bat are…. um… making more Baby Bats. The last thing we need for international relations is for the Navy to be taking dirty movies of our visitors. It’s against military regulations, also. Subject Laminia greeted us on our arrival and read us the riot act about waking the baby.”
There was an exceedingly long period of silence from the radio, leaving Rogers to direct a questioning look at Smith, who merely pointed to the green icon on the MDM showing the connection was still active.
“Captain Rogers, where is that baby?”
Rogers looked down at the crook of his elbow where the tiny foal was sleeping quietly, chewing on a chunk of MOLLE webbing from one of the SEAL’s kits that had been sacrificed for her teething issue, along with an official SEAL Team Five patch at the far end of the chew-toy.
“Sleeping securely, sir.”
It took much longer to finish describing the situation to the satisfaction of SecNav Carter, and it sounded a little like the Navy group that sent Team Five on this observation mission was upset⁽*⁾ that they were being upstaged by a bunch of civilians uploading video to YouTube from all over Kansas.
(*) So were a lot of reporters, and many, many politicians.
—
There was a silver lining to the Navy’s cloud for the day. When the two batponies got up from their nap in the sunshine at noon and proceeded up to the SEALs’ camouflaged positions, they wandered back and forth several times, calling out to each other in growing frustration while the SEALs remained silent and unobserved. It took the mare calling out to her foal for Stargazer to wake up, all alert, wide-eyed, and wriggling, before only one of their concealed hides was revealed. Reunion of nursing mother and hungry foal was abrupt, and the SEALs studiously observed rocks and trees rather than the resulting messy feeding. Then when the small family was done, they proceeded down to the Bruener house, taking with them a cell number for Captain Rogers’ SMEPED and a note of introduction for Sergeant Hardhooves requesting belated permission to conduct their Equestrian observation.
“Cap,” said Corporal Owensby as they watched the ponies vanish into the house. “I think I like this kind of mission. It’s not as exciting as being dropped behind the lines somewhere, but it’s good training, we’ve proved at least some ability to hide from their observation, and we may be compromised to heck and back, but that little kid was just adorable.”
“Yeah,” admitted Rogers reluctantly. “I never expected First Contact to be so fuzzy and pettable. The kids at least don’t seem very dangerous.”
- - - - ⧖ - - - -
Time: 11:30 A.M. Tuesday June 23, 2015
Location: Topeka Museum of Natural History, Kansas
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“Did we get all the students out of the train boiler?” asked Cheerilee, the teacher from the ponies’ home world. “And did somepony get Scootaloo down from the biplane exhibit?”
Ethan Alexander really had not wanted to volunteer to escort the alien children on their exploration of Kansas educational facilities, but his wife had volunteered him, and his own children had cast their votes in favor of the trip too. Besides, there was always the possibility that one of them would have some sort of biological or chemical accident, and as the current APHIS representative on scene, he was the local expert⁽¹⁾ in alien biology.
(1) His wife Eve could disagree, due to her multiple degrees in chemistry and biology from a Chinese university, and a Masters in biochemistry and molecular biology from Georgetown, but preferred to remain silent during such discussions and merely nod.
—
The museum was really an interesting place to set loose a little more than a dozen pony children and about the same number of young humans. ‘Caution’ signs seemed to attract the ponies, and if they had been permitted to bring tools, Ethan was fairly sure several of the exhibits would be scattered across the floor while three particular young ponies proclaimed their innocence at the top of their tiny lungs. Despite having to get up so early this morning, his own children were having the time of their lives, poking and prodding and peeking at all of the historical widgets, learning about the pioneers who settled this area of Kansas, and probably exchanging an entire spectrum of extradimensional viruses and bacteria in the process.
It had terrified him at first, then merely concerned him when the ponies had dined with his children at the Hunting Hill farm, then had settled into a tense state of concern when the kids of both species began playing with the dog.
Seriously, if any terrestrial creature was about to drop dead from some extraterrestrial creature contact, it was Bruno, the face-licking, rear-sniffing, poop-eating pup.
The collection of natives was beginning to get restless, and so was Ethan. The pony children existed in a state of excited brownian motion, and keeping them confined while the last stragglers were being rounded up was not easy.
“Where are we going after this?” he called out to one of the Army volunteers who had been driving the bus.
“Taco Bell for lunch, then the zoo, I think,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Ah,” said Ethan, perking up. “I’ve read about the zoo here. They’ve got a small tropical rain forest, some hippopotami, giraffes—”
“And lions?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“And tigers?” asked Apple Bloom.
There was a long pause, then Scootaloo’s voice drifted back from the museum area. “I’ve got my tail stuck in one of the airplane wires, but I’ll be there in a minute.”
“And bears,” said his son Phillip.
“Oh, my,” said Paul, his other son.
It appeared that germs and viruses were not the only thing that spread between humans and ponies. There were more cross-cultural experiences in the week that followed.
Such as in Marysville where the ponies really enjoyed the Pony Express Museum.
Or in Rock City, where the Pie family rearranged the sandstone concretions into a more aesthetically pleasing configuration so they could properly ‘grow.’ (How they moved the 30-foot boulders around remained a mystery.)
Even in the setup for the Country Stampede music festival at the Tuttle Creek recreation area, where eager earth ponies volunteered to help construct the stage, pegasi arranged for the weather to be perfect, and unicorns mostly kept their comments about country music to themselves. (but they still got hats)
And although it was fun, behind the scenes there was still a lot of work going on to support the ongoing activities.
- - - - ⧖ - - - -
Time: 1:22 P.M. Tuesday June 23, 2015
Location: Summit’s Minerals, Lawrence, Kansas
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Kota walked inside of the small shop, giving a quick glance around for other customers and trying not to look as if he were casing the joint for a robbery. The only thing he was armed with was a credit card, a camera, and if things got too troublesome, a rather dangerous fire-breathing dragon (size small, currently out of fuel).
“Sir,” he asked the proprietor, a white-bearded skinny gentleman with a growing bald spot, “I’ve got a couple of special customers outside, and I was wondering if—”
“I don’t deal drugs,” said the old geezer, making Dakota Henderson consider that it probably had not been a good idea to skip his shower this morning in favor of borrowing the Bruener’s SUV and getting an early start on their shopping. Or maybe he should go back to a much shorter haircut.
One short explanation later, Kota escorted Spike and Sparkler inside, with two ponies who had tagged along for their trip, assigned the task of keeping watch at the shop door. Lyra and Bon Bon had been perfect companions for the mineral retrieval mission, glued to the window of the SUV while they traveled and watching everything with wide eyes. Although Lyra turned out to be the chatty one who spoke to every human she met, Bon Bon provided color commentary and appropriate eye-rolling to the conversation when needed, so they really went together like peas and carrots.
It made Kota really wonder about Lucky’s observation about them being secret agents of some sort. Maybe he had just been pulling his leg. They didn’t seem very ‘Bondish’ at all.
“Wow.” Spike had his head down in the mineral display shelf, sniffing along with only a little bit of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, only to have Sparkler gently tap him on the top of the head with one hoof.
“Focus, greedy-guts, and wait until we’re introduced. You’re the one who ate the entire Ponyville Emergency Fund. Twilight’s going to have you on a diet for weeks when we get back.” The teenaged unicorn looked around the mineral and crystal shop with an evaluating stare and modified her statement with, “Admittedly, you’ve been pushing a lot of messages lately.”
“I’m a young and growing dragon,” said Spike proudly.
Once introductions were over and the mineral purchasing unicorn/dragon team returned to looking over the selection, the store proprietor slipped over to where Kota was filming.
“I read about the ponies in the newspaper,” he started, “but why do they need rocks?”
“Gemstones or specific minerals,” clarified Kota. “Dragons in Equestria eat gemstones, which is what they use to fuel their fire. And since he uses his fire to communicate with back home…”
“You need to fuel up your walkie-talkie,” said the old man. “Tell you what. I’ll give you bulk pricing on the geodes, the tourmaline, and anything on the ‘Wholesale Only’ shelf. Do you need anything specific for your lithotroph friend?”
“My… what?” Kota caught a glimpse of the faded USN bee tattoo on the old man’s arm and the grin that he gave in return.
“Construction Battalions, Korea, with a PhD in Environmental Geology when I got out. I caught your bio in the papers too. Dakota Henderson, a member of Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children before you became a photographer. Figured a Jarhead would at least study up on his newfound companions.” The old man plucked two books from a nearby shelf and put them on the counter. “A chemolithotroph derives energy from inorganic compounds, like giant tube worms. From the pictures I’ve seen, he eats about everything, so that’d put him more into the category of a true omnivore. Hey, hey! No sampling!” he called out over Kota’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” said Spike while chewing. “I can’t tell just exactly what some of these are without tasting them.”
“Yeah, right,” said Sparkler, floating up a golden yellow stone and examining it in the store’s lighting. “You’re just saying that because you’re hungry, and that’s because we followed your directions here. Turns out On The Rocks is an alcohol store, and the landscaping company only sells rocks, not gems.”
“Not to mention the rock candy store,” called out Bon Bon over her shoulder. “Not rocks.”
“Blame Siri,” said Spike, ignoring his critics. “This isn’t bad. Not much energy, but you’ve got quite a few of them. The amethyst and onyx are a little sharper than the ones back home, the topaz tastes a like soap, and the garnets are just like those little colorful chocolate candies with the ‘W’ on them. Are you sure there aren’t any diamonds or rubies here?”
“Positive.” The old man moved over to the gemstone display and pointed out prospective samples while Kota recorded video. It turned out to be a productive visit, and cost less of their budget than expected, although Spike was less than optimistic about how many letters transmitted from Equestria it represented. Still, it came with lunch as the old man took them around the corner to a local cafe, his treat, and should be enough to last until the ponies all went home. And if not, Spike said that his sister/master/princess would be more than happy to send another package of gems, with enough diamonds and rubies for even a greedy little dragon.
It was news that was not taken well by a certain business who watched the video a short time later.
Not well at all.
- - - - ⧖ - - - -
Time: 8:45 P.M. Tuesday June 23, 2015
Location: Newark Airport (NWR), New York
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Two passengers with Middle-Eastern complexions, black clothing, last minute reservations, only carry-on luggage, with one-way tickets. One would think airport security would be all over them. And in a way, they were.
The passengers were met by a member of the Transportation Security Administration at the gate, escorted to a private screening, and received the attention of two experienced agents who examined their baggage in the privacy afforded.
Ten minutes later, the two of them were sitting in the Polaris Lounge, with an attendant bringing them whatever they desired. It was a fair deal for the airline, because their passengers refused about everything but a small glass of ice water and some peanuts, while one of them never released his grip on a small black briefcase.
Then less than an hour later, they were gone on a nonstop flight to Kansas City, sitting quietly in business class next to a crying toddler and a fat woman with asthma.
The Equestrians had just revealed themselves as a significant threat.
And there was only one way their organization had to deal with it.
- - - - ⧖ - - - -
Time: 2:15 P.M. Tuesday June 23, 2015
Location: Wichita, Kansas
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The Air Force had pulled out all the stops, like the visiting pegasi were US Senators holding a spending bill hostage. Claire had not even been aware that there was a band stationed at McConnell AFB, and she could hardly wait to tell Goose all about it, once she stirred from the embrace of Prince Valium. The airmen had arranged for a wheelchair for Widget, after the brief welcoming ceremony was over and a great number of young men and women had been greeted by the visitors. Thankfully, somebody had put a foot down firmly on any aircraft flyovers, or Claire thought there would certainly be a horrible accident because the pegasi were darting about everywhere, from one demonstration aircraft to another.
A second wheelchair had appeared seemingly by magic when Goose had proven too drug-sleepy to stand, and Claire found herself nominated as pegasus pusher. They might as well have just used one, since Widget was dragging the FBI agent from jet aircraft to static display of weaponry like a kid in a candy store. At least that meant Claire did not have to go flying with the rest of the ponies when the Air Force brought one of their passenger aircraft around, and Widget deferred on the grounds that her leg was beginning to hurt. The four girls, two humans and two ponies, wandered over to the maintenance building while Nick was making a phone call. Free from her burden of walking, Widget was leaning back in the wheelchair and babbling a mile a minute.
“...there’s even a ballet in town, and they said we can go meet the balleters and see how they dance, although none of them can fly but that’s not a requirement for a good ballet. Then we can visit the zoo until dark and the Hi-Yacht hotel offered us a whole floor and they’ve got a pool and the Air Force has volunteered some of their humans to drive us around the city tomorrow! And there’s almost none of your newspaper press shoving cameras in my face, which is great!”
“I thought you liked the photographers,” said Karla, who was looking a little rumpled but still not bad after her unscheduled kidnapping and flight. “Especially that cute Marine.”
It made Claire chuckle quietly to herself. The way the Equestrian unicorn and the FBI agent had bonded in just a few days was nothing short of amazing. It probably did not hurt that Karla had grown up around horses in Louisiana, and Widget once had a dream of becoming a police officer, only with the small amount of crime around Ponyville, she would have spent most of her career picking up trash.
Pink unicorn blushed pinker, and Widget looked around for Nick, most probably to pass along some of the embarrassment. Claire looked too, and was mildly surprised to see the heavyset black officer walking in their direction, holding his cell phone as if it were a venomous snake.
“Agent Anacostia,” he rasped. “The President wants to talk with you.”
“Yeah, right. I knew I should have gotten my own phone out of the GoDark bag.” Karla laughed as she took the phone from him. “It’s Clyde. He does an amazing Obama. Hi, boss. Sorry for not getting back with you sooner, but…”
Ever so slowly, Karla’s gleeful expression just slid off her face like it was greased, leaving behind a wide-eyed and considerably paler self who only repeated “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” at seemingly random intervals until she just hung up the call and stood there.
“Uh… I’m guessing that was the President?” asked Claire, who was having a few butterflies in her stomach too. After all, she had voted for the man, and would have loved to talk with him for a few minutes, but then again…
“Yes,” said Karla. “The FBI is sending a Gulfstream to pick me up and take me to Washington.”
She might as well have hit Widget right across the face.
“But… we were going to explore the city?” The unicorn’s bottom lip trembled and she just seemed to collapse on herself. “What did I do? Should I have gone with the men? Is Mister President mad at me? Is the FBI mad at you?”
“No,” said Karla quickly. “You’re just fine. It’s nothing you did.”
It was obvious that Widget did not believe that. She wheedled and begged, moping around as her friend made preparations to go. She even tried to steal Nick’s phone so she could call ‘Mr. President’ back and ask him to change his mind. There was the late lunch they needed to attend, the unseen zoo, no end of bars with karaoke machines left unsung, and increasingly strange tourist viewing that they were not going to see…
It took nearly two hours for the Gulfstream to reach the airport and taxi to the gate, and Widget spent every moment trying to convince her friend to stay. She talked and begged, standing almost in Karla’s shadow as they walked to the plane, up the stairs, and at the doorway. For a moment, Claire thought she was going to dart inside before the door closed, but the quiet FBI agent put a hand on her fuzzy shoulder and bent down to whisper into her ear. Then it was Widget’s turn to ever so carefully pick her way down the stairs, with Claire holding onto her so she would not trip and tumble to the distant pavement.
They had to go behind the white line before the Gulfstream started its engines, and Widget did not move from Claire’s side while it taxied.
Or when it took off.
Or even when it vanished from sight in the blue Kansas sky.
“I want to go home,” said Widget, slowly and clearly.
“The portal is supposed to be open in two weeks—”
“I want to go home now!” wailed Widget, bursting into tears and flinging her head against Claire’s hip. “It’s unfair! This place is so full of wonderful things, but you people can be so cruel and heartless! All I wanted was another friend like you!”
Claire barely managed blink away tears of her own while patting the distraught unicorn on the patchy shoulder where her coat had been shaved away by the doctors. It really was so unfair. She was just a young girl of sorts, far away from her home in the middle of a bunch of violent humans. And worse, the news media was hanging onto her every action like a bunch of ticks on a dog. There was even a news video crew nearby, filming the two of them standing there in tears.
It was the worst day of her life.
- - - - ⧖ - - - -
Time: 5:15 P.M. Tuesday June 23, 2015
Location: General Counsel office, White House, Washington D.C.
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“Looking good, Bob. Things are looking up.”
One advantage of working this high in government was that Kathryn was on a first-name basis with everybody of similar rank, except for ‘President Obama’ or ‘The President’ for obvious reasons. Robert was her counterpart in the General Counsel’s office, technically her superior but sometimes it was difficult to figure out the exact pecking order with as little pecking that went on with twelve-hour days and no vacations. He was a partner with Perkin-Coie, who had put several lawyers on the ground at the scene of the alien invasion, which gave the White House an untapped back-channel to events on the ground. It was a precious bonus when half of survival in Washington was knowing which way to jump, and the other half involved when to jump.
The President depended on their legal advice in that regard, and so far it had been working out… about as well as any other alien invasion. To be honest, Kathryn could have been flipping a coin for decision making so far and done about as well. At least she had not dug the boss a hole in the way the Deputy AG had when she tried to use the FBI to bring the crippled alien unicorn back to Washington for brownie points. DAG Gates had become ‘unavailable for comment’ in Quantico, and the members of her bully-boy team were headed that way by jet. If they were good little FBI agents and kept their big mouths shut for a year, they might all be permitted to resign with non-disclosure agreements. If they decided otherwise…
Robert did not stop looking over the papers he had just been handed. “Sit down and double-check these, Kat. We need to make sure the honorary citizenships the legislature passed are bulletproof before the President signs them. The first four aliens admitted as US Citizens are a doctor, a soldier, a retired farmer, and a mechanic, that just happen to be all three of the major Equestrian races.” He gave a low chuckle. “Can’t have anybody complain the administration isn’t paying attention to diversity, can we?”
“It’s going to be a beautiful ceremony when the President awards these next Saturday,” said Kathryn, giving a good look at the vellum certificates. “Still seems weird to have somebody named ‘Widget’ on the paper. Do you think all four of them will be there?”
“Who knows.” Robert shrugged his shoulders and turned a page. “Granny Smith had her hip replaced after all, so she may still be in Kansas City for a few weeks. I bet the President’s speech writers are putting something in there about our healthcare system and the uninsured. Just glad we don’t have to worry about it.”
“Let politics be politics. Hey, I bet CNN has something about the citizenship bills and the President’s upcoming visit. Where’s your remote?” Kathryn turned on the office television, which was already on the right channel. “I just love it when they talked about ‘bipartisanship’ in the vote today. You can hear the teeth grinding on the other side of the aisle.”
Although he was sticking a post-it note into the thick sheaf of papers, Bob looked up abruptly at the announcer’s phrasing. “Tragedy? What, don’t tell me one of the aliens died.”
“Worse.” Kathryn watched the CNN news crew interview the distraught pink unicorn, who looked both tragically shaved with ill-intent and incredibly sympathetic, with the sleeping batpony curled up in a wheelchair beside her. The only thing missing was a tragic violin playing in the background.
“Who’s Karla, and why is she missing?” asked Bob after the short interview was over and the unicorn burst into tears again, leaving the on-air personality to resume blathering.
“The FBI agent who was staying in her hospital room,” said Kathry rapidly, trying to watch the closed captioning. “She was Widget’s gal-pal there for the weekend. They had a livestream going, and I had to watch. It was like an all-girl episode of Friends combined with Star Trek. One giant estrogen party for hours and hours. They were doing fingernail polish and braiding, and talking about boys too. That African-American guy in the Army t-shirt you can see in the background of the shot is supposedly the batpony’s boyfriend… Not that way!” she chided at Bob’s astonished expression. “Anyway, Karla probably got swept up with the FBI group being sent to Quantico for storage.”
“That’s going out on CNN,” started Robert, “at the same time the President is getting ready to make his announcement. The press will go stark raving bonkers. They’ll stake him right down at the podium and—”
No Wild West cowboy could have beaten either of the experienced lawyers to the draw. They both had their cell phones out in record time and were taking as fast as they could.
The President’s news conference started fifteen minutes behind schedule.
It was not an unusual circumstance.
The government Gulfstream’s rapid refueling at Dulles and subsequent return to Wichita immediately afterward was.
When a deeply rumpled and tired Karla Anacostia showed up at the Wichita Hyatt far, far later that evening…
Let us simply say hugs happened.