The tree was afraid. It had almost found a balance point within the song of the place of its origins, had almost merged itself into a harmony with the light coming from that place, when it had all gone away in a furious detonation of thunderous power.
Where once there had been an outpouring of light and life, there was now only an echoing silence in the æther, and so the tree did what all wild things do in the face of loud, noisy, and unexpected things that are followed by a deathly silence. It hid itself and all signs of its existence as best it could.
“Sir, we need to talk,” said the voice to the right of the Prime Minister.
Justin Trudeau paused for a moment in his answering of the reporter’s question, something about whether Parliament Hill needed extra protection in the wake of the unrest in the US capitol, and took a split second to see who had made the demand of the highest elected official in Canada.
Arrayed politely to one side, the Canadian leader saw several anxious looking members of his cabinet, including his ministers of international trade, science, emergency preparedness, and most disturbingly his Minister of Defence, Harjit Sajjan. Even more disturbingly, the Sikh was in the back of the pack, the lead position being held by Marc Garneau, the former astronaut and now Trudeau’s Minister of Foreign Affairs.
“Oh, go right ahead,” interjected the reporter, smelling a story. More than once a major piece of news had been discovered by a reporter who knew when to keep their mouths shut.
“Thank you, Jean,” Trudeau replied, setting his face in a warm smile even as his mind raced to sketch out possibilities of why this particular group of his ministers needed to see him so urgently that they couldn’t have sent an aide, or even a text to let him know he was needed. “But I have a feeling my ministers would be more comfortable sitting down and talking with me rather than standing in a corridor.”
“I could wait for you in your office, if you like, Mister Prime Minister,” continued the reporter, feeling the opportunity slipping away from him. He could read the worry and tension in the eyes of the government officials nearby and knew something was afoot. “Or outside if that works better for you. I can be very patient.”
Trudeau’s dark eyes sparkled for a moment with amusement, knowing how badly the reporter’s sense for news must be lighting up their every nerve and appreciating the professional restraint they were showing at the same time. The Parliamentary Press Corps had not always had a cordial relationship with the party in power, but a little quid pro quo could go a long way.
“Jean, you can wait outside my office for me to finish answering your question, if you like,” Trudeau offered, trying not to react as the reporter’s eyes widened ever so slightly in excitement. Both of them knew the reporter’s follow up questions would have nothing to do with parliamentary security. “I’ll make sure my secretary knows you are allowed to wait there for me.”
“Thank you very much for taking the time, Sir,” the reporter responded, knowing the game being played and willing to make the moves they were expected to make in light of what the potential payoff was.
“Thank you,” allowed Trudeau, before turning to the group of the senior members of government. “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s have a chat.”
Several minutes later the group had made their way into the Centre Block where Trudeau’s offices were. Coffee and a few other refreshments of choice had been laid out in advance of the meeting, but as Trudeau sat into his chair he noticed that none of his companions had taken any for themselves.
“So, what’s happened in Brightly?” he asked, kicking things off. One of the newer ministers gasped in surprise, but the rest of the group merely smiled and nodded.
“How did you know?” asked Mary Ng, the Minister of International Trade.
“All of you here deal with our international portfolios,” explained Trudeau. “All except for François here, who is ‘Science and Innovation.’ Plus today was the day the princesses were moving the portal above ground to facilitate travel and trade. I assume something went wrong?”
“Yes sir,” confirmed François. “We are not sure exactly what happened as of yet, but apparently the portal became wildly unstable just after being lifted to the surface. It then pulled in the princesses, along with a reporter, and then promptly collapsed.”
“Casualties? Damage?” demanded the Prime Minister, leaning forward.
“Surprisingly light,” supplied Sajjan. “Polaris reports only minor injuries and property damage. Nothing the local residents can’t repair on their own.”
“And I assume you aren’t here because we’re being invaded by Equestria in retaliation for their princesses going missing?” Trudeau joked, throwing some levity into the serious discussion.
“The only thing of interest is that the American, French and Chinese covert groups we’ve been monitoring in British Columbia have all regrouped for the moment,” the turbaned man answered. “We assume their governments have ordered them to stand by, while they discuss the situation and decide on a course of action.”
“Right, so no invasion determined to convert us all into ponies? Good,” Trudeau joked, drawing a small chuckle from the group. “Do we know why it happened?”
“No,” answered François. “When the portal collapsed it disrupted anything with a transistor in it, incapacitating most of the recording devices present, including digital photography.”
“I noticed you said ‘most’ in that sentence,” the PM prodded, pleased that the briefing was becoming more free-flowing and less stilted.
“There was a group there from the University of British Columbia’s TRIUMF facility,” began the lean Quebecois. “Due to a lack of local funding they decided to bring with them several pieces of analog measuring equipment, including a cloud chamber, nuclear emulsion and several 35mm cameras. All of which apparently measured and preserved data which the more sophisticated instruments from the CERN team lost when their electronics failed.”
“So we have access to the best data available on the portal collapse then,” Trudeau said, steepling his fingers as he paused for a moment in thought. “Instruct… Ask the President of UBC to please share the portal data with CERN once the TRIUMF team has it put together into a coherent form, and had a chance to analyze it. Marc, what’s the foreign response so far?”
“Much the same as ours at the moment,” the former astronaut replied. “Everyone is trying to figure out what happened first. Of course, this means that all of our work setting up relations with Equestria and the whole ‘Brightly Autonomous Zone’ is pretty much moot at this point.”
“The Zone was only going to be a temporary solution, at best,” Trudeau informed the cabinet minister. “As for our relations with Equestria, I want you to act as if we will re-establish contact with them at some point.”
“Sir, it could be years, if ever, that anyone, or um… anypony, creates another Einstein-Rosen bridge,” protested the Minister of Science.
“Now that humanity knows that there are other dimensions and other worlds are out there, do you really think that the Americans, the Russians, the Chinese and every other major power isn’t going to bend every effort they can into finding a way to create another gateway?” Trudeau asked, leaning back in his chair and heaving a sigh before continuing. “We’re going to see a push into the sciences and engineering the likes of which this world hasn’t seen since the years leading up to Apollo.”
“Which leaves us in the same place we were back then,” supplied Garneau, “a backwater with no access unless someone lets us in.”
“We were fortunate that the original portal opened where it did,” agreed the Prime Minister. “If we could convince the world that a replacement gateway should be built in Brightly—”
“We would have to give up a lot of concessions to make that happen,” advised Garneau. “Especially considering how it appeared we were hogging the original portal for ourselves.”
“That’s fine, as long as a renewed gateway is on Canadian soil,” Trudeau replied, glancing at the clock and realizing that a certain reporter was in for a long wait. “We just need to find a way to convince the world of that…”
Everything hurt. Her head hurt, her body hurt, her mind hurt, and most of all her heart hurt. The pony opened her aching eyelids a crack and then shut them just as fast as the tiny sliver of light allowed in pierced her eyeballs with needles of pain. Earth ponies were tough and strong and could take a beating that would turn most other ponies into paste, but everything and everypony had limits. Even Apples.
“Anypony get the name of the apple cart that ran us over?” Applebloom managed to groan out, trying not to move her pained form too much.
There was the sound of something hitting the floor and then the feeling of a weight on the bed beside her before a too loud voice asked, “Are you okay?”
“Too loud,” complained Applebloom, putting her forehooves over her ears and still not daring to open her eyes. “Quiet it down, will ya?”
“Sorry,” said the voice, still too loud but at least bearable now. “Are you okay? Do you need me to get Medevac?”
“Who?” Applebloom inquired, confused. She’d never heard of a pony with that name before.
“Medevac. She runs the clinic here,” continued a filly’s voice. “Who are you? I’m Shield Maiden.”
“Applebloom,” supplied the earth pony, automatically. “It hurts ta open mah eyes, but can ya tell me if’n mah friends are here too?”
“There’s a unicorn and a pegasus here too, but they haven’t woken up yet, so I don’t know if they’re your friends or not,” responded Shield Maiden, putting a hoof on the leg of the other pony. “You said your name is ‘Applebloom’? I don’t know any Appleblooms in town. Where are you from?”
“Ponyville,” replied Applebloom, putting her aching head back down. “Y’all mind if Ah just lay down some more?”
“It’s okay, I wanna go check on my mom. My sister will keep an eye on you for a bit,” Shield Maiden said, taking a moment to let Applebloom settle back down before going back to the other bed to poke at her sister. “Romy, wake up.”
“Mrrr?” fuzzily asked the other earth pony in the room.
“The pony with the big bow woke up for a bit,” Shield Maiden stated. “I’m gonna go let Medevac know, and check on Mom too.”
“Where’s Dad?” Seeker asked, referring to her adoptive father.
“Dunno, but I’ll ask,” replied the small unicorn, satisfied that her sister was up and able to keep an eye on things. “You just keep an eye on the other ponies. The earth pony said her name was, ‘Applebloom’.”
“Mmhmm,” the aforementioned pony muttered from the other bed.
“I think they might be from Equestria too,” whispered Shield Maiden, trying more to not disturb the new pony than to keep any secrets. “She said she was from ‘Ponyville’. I never heard of any place called Ponyville. You?”
Seeker’s eyes shifted as they usually did when she was using her abilities, but after a moment she sighed and said, “Might be. Can’t see more than a little bit from her though.”
“Hey, at least you saw something,” Shield Maiden replied, comforting her sister a bit. “Means we still have some of our powers.”
“Yeah, a bit,” Seeker agreed, watching her sister head out the door before resuming her watching over the three new ponies. “A bit.”
“I am getting tired of all this sitting around and waiting crap,” growled Donavitch, as he paced back and forth in the VIP guest quarters of Canadian Forces Base Comox. “If the President wanted to give us orders he should have hurried up and done it already. We’ve wasted hours sitting around and doing nothing.”
Nao sighed and picked at the remains of her dinner, some sort of take-out from a local chinese food place, and after taking a moment to make sure her annoyance was not going to colour her voice, spoke.
“They also serve those who stand and wait,” she said, offering the quote with a slight smile. “You saw the news, Major. The odds are good that the portal’s collapse has significantly altered not only our mission parameters but our mission objectives.”
“You mean President Do-Nothing got cold feet when he realized that we actually might be able to bring back a pony for testing without having to worry about magic getting in the way,” scoffed the major, his tie askew as his day had drawn into evening. “All we had to do was convince one of them to come with us and America would have a pony of its own to examine. And breed.”
“Major!” cried Captain Watson, aghast. “You’re talking about a young girl!”
“I’m talking about an animal,” Donavitch fired back. “Skylark isn’t of age to breed an American herd of ponies just yet, but once we get her in the States and she realizes she won’t be returning to Canada, I’m sure we can convince her to accept the honor of being the mother of all American ponies for all time.”
“I thought we were just going to run some tests on her and that’s it,” replied the veterinarian, shock writ large on her face. “Even if we had to steal her away for a bit, we were going to send her back once we had a full set of samples from her. I thought actually keeping one of the ponies wasn’t what the president wanted.”
“Realpolitik,” supplied Prism, lounging on a couch. “Once we have one of the ponies in hand, things could be dragged out for years. For example Skylark could be charged with espionage if she 'happens' to stumble into a restricted area at the Air Force Academy. That alone could take years to resolve, and in the meantime...” The slim intelligence officer let their words trail off, the unspoken meaning clear.
“But that would be a violation of every human rights treaty the US has ever signed,” Sunday argued back. “PETA alone would be on us like fleas on a dog.”
“Human rights,” interjected Donavich, emphasizing the word. “The Canadian government might have decided to grant the ponies rights equivalent to humans, but neither the UN nor our country has formally ratified the choices of what is, however friendly, a foreign power.”
“But you… we… “ stuttered the vet, still coming to grips with having her rose coloured glasses removed.
“To be fair, using Skylark as breeding stock is an extreme scenario,” Nao commented, as she scooped up a fresh bottle of water. “More than likely we would simply have one of your ‘tests’ involve the removal of some of her eggs. Fertilization and implantation of an egg in a suitable host has been done in horse breeding circles for some time now, yes?”
“Well yes, but—” a series of trilling beeps coming from an unassuming box on the table ended the conversation with finality as it drew every eye to it.
“Insert keycard,” ordered the box, to which Donavich complied, using something that resembled a credit card.
“Card verified,” stated the box, before continuing with, “provide access code for secure link.”
A few taps on a keypad later and the device uttered the words all in the room had been waiting hours to hear, “code verified, link secure.”
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” came the steady voice of the president. “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”
“Not a problem, Sir,” Donavich replied smoothly. “After all, it’s a lot later over on the East Coast.”
“Indeed it is,” allowed the President. “I assume you have all been watching the news?”
“Yes sir,” Donavich confirmed, his voice still smooth but his eyes sending a warning glare to the three women with him. “We’re all aware of the portal’s collapse.”
“Good. Which means that you will understand why I’m changing your mission somewhat,” the President replied. “I’m aware of what my predecessor in this office ordered you to do, and also what he implied that he wanted you to do.”
“Sir?” Donavich asked, disingenuously.
“I know he wanted you to bring back one of the transformed members of the Brightly community. By any means, fair or foul,” the President said, bluntly. “He wanted you to either convince a pony to come to America, or for you to kidnap one if necessary.”
“Sir! We would ne—” Donavich began to protest.
“Bullshit,” the man on the other end interrupted evenly. “Don’t try to bullshit an old bullshitter, son. We’ve got way more experience at it than you do.”
The two CIA officers in the room shared an amused look that kept their laughter confined to their eyes. Sunday, Captain Watson, was not so experienced in holding back her emotions, and the single titter of laughter that escaped her brought a scowl from Donavich so fierce it could have melted steel beams.
“Yes sir,” was all Donavich allowed himself to say, his voice tight.
“I am not, however, cancelling your mission,” continued the President, pausing for a moment in the manner of a practiced speaker. “Though I am changing your goals and mission parameters. Much as I find what you are doing distasteful, I cannot allow our nation to fall behind in what is going to be a field of strategic import.”
“Sir, Team Mercury is ready for any mission you have for us,” Donavich stated, his voice confident, but his face stormy.
“You are to continue to Brightly as originally planned,” began the team’s Commander-in-Chief. “Once there you will coordinate with an NSA HumInt asset known as ‘Rider’ for local intel.”
“Our objective, sir?” Donavich requested, and Nao could see Ebon’s jaw flex in an attempt to keep his emotions under control.
“Your objectives are as follows,” continued the President. "One, find and secure samples of any items that may possess or be empowered by magic. Princess Luna has given us a fair primer in what magic is and can and cannot do. But it is almost all theory, and we need more physical examples of magical items badly. Two, if at all possible, bring a pony back with you as well. One practiced in using magic would be ideal, but we'll take what we can get. However, under no circumstance are you to use any form of illegal coercion to force a pony to come with you. Is that understood?”
“No illegal coercion. Yes sir,” responded Donavich, stressing the word he found significant.
"If you are caught violating Canadian law, I will have no choice but to disavow you, your team and your mission," the President warned, voice stern. "You understand what I'm saying? Team Mercury will be completely cut off and viewed as a rogue element by the world at large."
"Understood, Sir," Mercury Prime responded. "This is a high risk, high return mission."
“I see you take my meaning,” said the President, voice even. “Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Donavich, with real enthusiasm in his voice. “We won’t let you down. Mercury Prime, out.”
There were a few more trilling beeps from the device as it closed off the connection before the major turned toward his Psyops expert.
“Well, Empress. It seems you were right about our new President,” the team leader declared. “Not as do-nothing as I thought. No indeed.”
“You girls awake?” Sweetie Belle asked, her musical voice penetrating the fog around Applebloom’s mind.
“Yeah,” groaned Applebloom, her extra nap having made her feel better, at least enough to open her eyes. “Scootaloo?”
“I’m here,” confirmed the pegasus filly. “Where is here though?”
“I dunno,” Applebloom supplied, taking her first good look around the room, her eyes widening as she took in various bits of modern technology.
“Brightly,” came a voice from the fourth bed in the room and the Crusaders turned to see a small red pony with a purple mane sitting and looking at them with bi-coloured eyes. “You’re in Brightly.”
“Brightly!” Sweetie Belle enthused, looking at her fellows with an expression of pure joy. “We made it! We’re in Brightly!”
“Hey, what’s all the racket in here?” asked a tall, slate-grey pegasus with silver wings, as he walked into the room. “There are some sick people next door.”
“Oh, sorry sir,” Applebloom apologized. “Me an’ my friends are just excited to be here. Are you one a' the Brightly ponies?”
“Yes, I go by ‘Thunder’ when I’m a pony,” explained the pegasus, opening the door a little wider to allow another pegasus, a mare, to join him. “This is Windweaver, my wife.”
“Hi there,” chirped Scootaloo, quickly lowering her voice as she realized how loud she had been. “I’m Scootaloo. That’s Applebloom, and over there is Sweetie Belle. We’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders, from Equestria.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Thunder replied, before taking a moment to look into his wife’s eyes and seeing his own thoughts mirrored in them.
“What’s wrong, Mister Thunder?” Applebloom asked, the unhappiness around Seeker and the two adult ponies penetrating her thoughts. “Ah know we didn’t really have permission ta come here yet, but Princess Twilight was gonna send us soon.”
“It’s not that,” Thunder sighed and paused, trying to find a way to shape the bad news in his head before speaking it.
“What my husband is trying to say,” Windweaver interjected, stepping forward and letting one of her own silver wings slide along her husband’s back in reassurance, “is that we were going to be having Shield Maiden and Seeker stay with us tonight, and that we would love to have the three of you come over as well.”
“We would be pleased to accept your kind offer,” Sweetie responded, trying to mimic her older sister’s mannerisms as much as possible.
“Can I stay and keep an eye on Mom?” Seeker asked quietly, her voice dampening the Crusaders enthusiasm.
“There’s been no change all day, and Iron Heart is with her,” Thunder said, reaching up to hug the sad pony. “You won’t do her any good by wearing yourself out and someone is with her all the time. Besides, these three are going to need someone to show them around.”
“Okay, I guess tho,” lisped the pony, hopping down from the bed.
“That’s our brave girl,” Windweaver added, taking a moment to ruffle Seeker’s mane. “Let’s get you all to the truck and home.”
“Is your Mom gonna be okay?” Applebloom asked, hopping down herself and sidling up beside Seeker.
“I hope tho,” lisped Seeker, tail drooping, before something caught her attention and she tipped her head to look at the Thunder. “Are you driving us?”
“Thunder worked up some controls so he can drive our pickup while he’s a pony,” Windweaver explained. “They aren’t the best, but we haven’t crashed into anything yet.”
“Pickup?” Scootaloo asked, curious. “What’s a pickup?”