Colonel Rose Brass, in full army service uniform, looked around the executive office with considerable interest. “You know, in all the years I’ve been haunting this place, I don’t think I’ve made it up here before.”
Senior Consul Sunset Shimmer, equally well-dressed if in a more civilian mode, rocked back on her button-tufted chair. The paneled desk before her still featured the ocean waves, starburst, and crescent moon it had borne since it served then-Principal Celestia; Rose’s cap sat on its slightly worn top along with the usual computer peripherals and too many stacks of paperwork. “I . . . don’t think so either. But—well, this is a foreign consulate, and most of the time we just meet up at your chancery, the entry gate, or the portal. This is the first time you’ve really had business up here.”
“It was great seeing Fizz again—and the princesses too, of course—but we could’ve met at the accommodations building or in the canteen,” Rose pointed out as she idly glanced over the display cabinets against the wall across the room from Sunset’s desk, full of books and memorabilia.
“I thought about it, but I figured my office would be a little more private. And quiet.” Sunset’s mouth twitched. The day was effectively shot after the trio had appeared in the morning without even a vestige of warning, causing a sensation from which the whole consulate still hadn’t settled. “You would’ve had to compete with half the staff for their attention.” The suppressed smile became a small smirk. “Besides, there’s that rumor about you and Fizzlepop.”
Rose sighed and rolled her good eye rather than dignify Sunset’s last dig with any kind of verbal response. After a year cross-attached to the EUP Guard at Princess Celestia’s request, serving as minder, counselor, and bodyguard while the ex-enemy officer struggled to assimilate into civilian pony society, it was inevitable she and Fizzlepop would become close. Just how close was subject to considerable gossip, including persistent speculation about unrequited romance. The active colonel being in her early sixties and the retired colonel about a decade younger, both of them battered and scarred, seemed to make no dent in the talk—but then they were in excellent physical condition, and pony eyes, transformed or not, still tended to judge age by the standards of a culture in the midst of its Industrial Revolution. By that measure they looked like contemporaries.
Sunset did not fail to note Rose’s silence, which definitely left the whole question open. Regardless, spending an hour or two catching up clearly had been a joy for them both, which likely would have been dampened had they been forced to do so under the eyes of hovering crowds. She left off the teasing and let her expression relax into a gentler smile of genuine affection as her guest continued to browse the shelves of awards and knick-knacks.
“Huh.” Rose bent to examine a lower shelf with only a slight crackling of the knees. “What are these, action figures? Not something I would’ve . . . wait a minute.”
“Oh. Those. I almost forgot about them.” The chagrin in Sunset’s voice brought the other’s head up again. “Yeah, they’re us.”
Amusement bordering on unholy glee mingled with sharp curiosity on Rose’s seamed face. “I’m not leaving until I hear this story.”
Sunset did a lot of sighing these days. “It was a few years ago, when most of us were just hitting our thirties. You know we still have some connections to the media—Canter Zoom and his niece Juniper Montage, and through them, the studios in town. We still perform as the Rainbooms once in a while, too, so we’re minor celebrities, even if it is mostly local.”
Rose nodded. “And you’re a professional artist too, when you can pry yourself out of this place.”
“Right.” Said artist nodded back. “So somebody at one of the studios had this bright idea. They wanted to cast us as voice actresses, playing characters based on ourselves, for an animated sci-fi series.”
A glance back down scrutinized the small arrangement of articulated dolls. “Okay, that explains the uniforms. Don’t tell me, let me guess. Captain Sunset Shimmer, CO of the good ship—?”
One amber hand covered aqua eyes. “Harmony. We were going to be the senior officers of the starship Harmony.”
A patently phony cough covered incipient laughter. “Boldly going and all that?”
“Sort of, but it was more about space battles. I think they were inspired by video games and the animation coming from overseas.” Resignation colored Sunset’s tone. “It was gonna be for high-school and college-age kids. They were trying to hook up with one of the big streaming services for distribution, and one of the big toymakers for merchandising.” She flicked a finger more or less toward the figures. “They ran off a bunch of prototype sets, which is a lot easier these days than it was, say, twenty years ago.”
“I think I would’ve remembered seeing this if it showed up anywhere—in the news if nothing else.” There seemed a singular lack of sympathy in Rose’s grin. “I take it the project didn’t work out?”
Sunset shook her head. “No, they couldn’t get enough interest for the kind of investment it needed, even though it woulda been cheaper than a live-action series. And I have a feeling the toy people were flinchy about the military angle.”
“And,” Rose observed shrewdly, “at least some of you weren’t sure you wanted to go all-in on it.”
“Most of us.” Reluctantly, Sunset added, “We weren’t sure we wanted to put that kind of time and visibility into it, and to be fair, they did make a lot of changes, including pitching it as an animated series, to address that.”
“Those figures look an awful lot like you girls.” It was Rose’s turn to wave her prosthetic hand at the display.
“That’s part of why they ginned up the prototypes.” Sunset raised both hands palm-up. “They were experimenting with different character designs, but even if they went with the originals, at least it wouldn’t be our actual faces hanging out there on the screen.”
Rose thought a moment, still wearing a small smile. “And did the good Doctor Sparkle insist on scientific accuracy? I’ve got enough technical education to know the way space combat is shown pretty much everywhere looks almost nothing like the way it probably would in real life.”
Sunset couldn’t help choking out a giggle. “Yes, she did, but at least she recognized the need for artistic license, so she tried to work out good compromises, and she talked me into doing some concept design. Apparently it started looking a lot like submarine warfare. They said that was fine for a suspense thriller aimed at adults, but the audience they were interested in would be bored by it; what they wanted was action-adventure more like age of sail or age of steam.”
“Yeah, that sounds like media people. They live in a completely different world than we uniformed types do; ’s why they usually do such a terrible job depicting the military.” Rose chuckled a trifle sourly, then cleared her throat. “Anyway, I hope that didn’t sabotage the project. I imagine Twilight would be devastated if she thought she’d helped sink it.”
“No, they were good sports about it, mostly—though come to think of it, I s’pose they may have been just humoring us.” Sunset shrugged off the belated epiphany. “A few months later it all came crashing down and they let us know the whole thing was canceled. All we really got out of it was the usual temporary contract and those figures.”
“And how come I’ve never heard any of this before?” Rose’s brow was halfway to her buzz-cut hairline.
Sunset blinked at her in bafflement. “You’ve heard of NDAs, right?”
“Okay, that just changes my question. Why are you telling me now, in that case?”
“Besides the fact you threatened to squat in my office until I did?” Sunset grinned. “The NDA was for three years, and mostly it covered details of the setting rather than general background stuff like what I just told you. I guess they figured if things went ahead they’d have us sign another one.”
“And I suppose embarrassment had nothing to do with the fact you didn’t bother to say anything after it expired,” Rose mused in an ingenuous tone. The well-practiced glare she got in response bounced off her genial manner. “So who’s who, anyway? I can tell from the, lessee, four cuff stripes you’re supposed to be a captain, and the others are commanders except . . . is that Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash?”
Sunset ran a hand through her red-and-yellow hair. “Yeah, I was gonna be captain, both the rank and the position—I remember your little lecture about that when we were in Equestria running ahead of the Storm King’s troops. AJ was executive officer, Twi was engineering officer, Pinkie was supply officer, and Rarity was, um, operations officer, I think; you’re right, they’d be commanders. Fluttershy was gonna be medical officer and Rainbow Dash would be senior pilot, the next rank down. Uh, lieutenant commaners? There’d be a few other top officers, too, but they weren’t considered major characters.”
“I think they’re called department heads.” A wrinkle of doubt crossed Rose’s brow. “Well, at least that’s a little better than the usual hand-waving.”
“They were really proud of the research they were doing. It seemed fine to me, but then none of us know much about the subject.” Sunset was about to add more, only to be interrupted by her digital assistant.
“Colonel Brass, you are wanted in the chancery.” Dawn’s childlike voice was polite. “You have been absent more than two hours.”
“Ah! Good point. Thanks, Dawn.” Rose took a few long strides and scooped up her cap. “Sorry, Sunset. Duty calls.”
Sunset waved a hand with a crooked smile. “No problem. It was good to have a chance to chat. We’ll have to do it again sometime soon.”
Rose waved her cap in acknowledgement as she breezed toward the door. When she reached it, she paused, hand on the doorhandle. “Hey, you know, I just had a thought. If they ever declassify Eloptic Machine, those same folks would back up dump trucks full of money to the consulate here. Can you imagine an animated series and toy line based on Equestria?” With that she slipped out, leaving Sunset behind her, bolt upright and eyes huge with horrified realization.