Standing at the door, the pony took a moment to catch his breath as he eyed the modest room in front of him. Scanning it with his eyes, his first thought was that it was much smaller than he remembered. The previous, and for a matter of fact, the only other time he was here was on a job interview with the editor. Back then, the whole room seemed so much bigger and more menacing than it was now. Or perhaps he had felt smaller. Afterall, it is not an everyday occasion that the head of such an influential newspaper is interviewing you for a job in his company. Even if that job is simply operating the great printing presses that spit out 40 pages of news, stories and exposés on a daily basis. The presses who’s loud and consistent rotation he could hear even now, as he stood on the first floor where the editor in question took up his residence. The news company used to have a fancy building further down the street, with an appropriately spacious office, but the Ministry of Image appropriated it soon after the war began.
Oh, how he missed the old place.
It was so much bigger and commodious, with a proper basement for the presses and an entire floor just for the writers and section editors, ponies who were now confined to a mezzanine overlooking the noisy machinery. Admittedly, this had a minimal effect on him as he spent almost all of his time around the presses regardless, but at least there was a proper break room with couches and a Sunrise Sarsaparilla vending machine back then. Now, all they have is a corner with an old coffee maker, the liquid from which – he refuses to call it coffee - tastes not too dissimilar to the oil they use to grease the press cylinders. Regardless however, everypony, including the one at whose door he was now standing, drank it like water. They had little other choice in the matter of substance with which to keep themselves awake and sharp enough so they could deliver the papers every morning. The only alternative were those “candies” that the Ministry of Morale was always giving around, but nopony at the company dared to take them.
To be honest, he imagined that the editor, being the boss of the company and everything, would have access to better coffee instead of drinking it with his employees, but he supposed it was just another one of those simple things which reinforced the bond between him and the rest of the workers. And simple really was a good way to describe the elderly pony. Simple and modest. Even his office, which the pony was currently looking at, was no bigger than an average office and furnished in a minimalistic manner. A single wooden window stood on the left wall, illuminating a few shelfs and the desk which dominated the space. On top of it lay a simple lamp, a few envelopes, an empty cup and stacks of sheets with images and text – articles ready to be reviewed. Hunched over this, as he always insisted - organized, mess of paper and utterly oblivious to the intrusion, lay the pony that the arrival came to see – Ink Lead – the publisher and editor-in-chief of the Manehattan Morning Herald.
“Excuse me, sir.” – the pony cleared his throat, trying to get the attention of the older colt sitting on the other end of the room.
When the editor didn’t respond, the technician tried once again, albeit this time with a bit more forte. This attempt got the desired effect as the grey-haired colt finally raised his head from the paper forest, piercing the younger pony with his critical stare.
“What is it?” – he asked in a stern voice as he adjusted his oval glasses to get a better look at the pony at his door. – “What do you need?”
“Sir, sorry for disturbing you,” – the pony apologized as he suddenly remembered why the room felt so large the previous time he was talking with the editor. – “but there are some ponies that want to talk with you.”
“Are they those damn paper salesponies?” – the senior asked as he lowered his head back into the papers, unimpressed. –“Tell them that a no means no. I already have a perfectly fine supply deal.”
“No, sir, they say they are from the Ministry of Image.” – the other pony replied, his voice giving a little shudder at the mention of the Ministry in question. Dealing with them was never good news, especially for the newspapers. – “They told me they have an urgent matter to discuss with you and will not leave until you see to them.”
The mention of the MoI agents seemed to finally break the elderly pony out of his concentration as he now fully focused his eyes on the pony standing at the room’s entrance. His expression darkened, but unlike the technician’s, his eyes didn’t display any sign of fear or uneasiness. They instead portrayed something entirely else. Revulsion. Odium. Disgust, even. But all these emotions flashed for merely a moment, as by the next blink, the aged pony’s wrinkled face was once again monotonous.
“Tell them I am not here.” – he spoke darkly after a brief moment. – “I do not want to have any business with…”
But before he could finish the remainder of his sentence a couple of impeccably dressed unicorns pushed into the room, almost knocking down the pony at the door. In the resulting silence, they took the time to straighten out their overcoats, briefly enveloping their ends in a magical aura and pulling them down.
Not wasting any time, one of the duo opened her mouth to speak.
“Hello.” – the mare addressed the ponies present, following it up with a brief introduction. – “We are from the Ministry of Image.”
“I can see as much.” – Ink Lead said in a monotonous voice. – “What is it that you want with me?”
“We came here to discuss one of the articles your paper tried to publish yesterday.” – the mare continued, apparently paying no attention to the technician who still stood in the room. – “We believe you made a… small mistake in one of the stories.”
“I see.” – the editor deadpanned, seemingly still unimpressed by the unicorns standing in his office. A moment later they motioned towards the now-obsolete messenger. – “Thank you for your effort. Please return to your post.”
The pony in question, slightly unsettled by the turn of events, made no hesitation in following the given command and quickly made his way past the unicorns and out of the room.
They didn’t even give him a glance.
“And please close the door.” – the same voice commanded as the technician crossed the threshold and entered the narrow hallway.
The pony once again took no time in following through with the request as he shut the wooden door behind him, leaving his eyes with nothing but a blurry image of the editor’s room, visible only from the door’s frosted glass pane.
And just as he let go of the knob and turned around to return to his duties, an out-of-place sense of curiosity filled him and he instead sat in front of the door, carefully placing his ear near the keyhole. The ever-present noise of the printing presses made it difficult to hear at first, but he eventually managed to focus enough to pick out the voices of the ponies talking on the other side of the door.
“Do you know what this is?” – the mare asked calmly, no doubt presenting the target of explanation to one of the ponies in the room.
“Yes.” – he recognized the editor’s voice as he replied after a brief pause. – “It’s a copy of my newspapers. This morning’s edition, in fact.”
“Uhm. I see” – the mare acknowledged in her velvet voice. – “Then tell me, do you recognize this?”
After a brief shuffling noise that the eavesdropping pony could barely make out, the mare spoke once again, albeit this time in a more serious manner.
“Celestial explodes. Burns. 36 dead, many injured. “
“The experimental zeppelin Celestial was destroyed early yesterday’s morning in a fire as it was in the process of landing in the Crystal Empire. Out of the 97 ponies aboard, 35 have been confirmed dead with an additional ground crew fatality in what seems to be one of the worst transportation disasters in Equestria’s history. The cause of the accident is still being investigated but the vice president of the Equestrian Zeppelin Company gave two possible theories to explain the crash. One was that a fire was caused by an electrical circuit "induced by static conditions" as the ship valved hydrogen gas preparatory to landing. Another was that sparks set off when the engines were throttled down while the gas was being valved caused a fire or explosion…”
“Why, yes.” – the editor replied, simply. – “It’s an article from the front page.”
“So it is.” – the mare continued, her voice betraying a hint of venom.
The pony on the outer side of the door stopped listening as he took a moment to recall the article the trio were discussing. He might not be in the writing department, but as a press operator, every piece of content eventually passes through his hooves. Truth be told, he quickly forgets most of them, he will read all about it in the paper anyway, but this one he remembers quite clearly. How could he not? With that enormous picture of the burning airship dominating the page, it will probably be one of those few headlines that will stay with him for the rest of his days. It was like the front page after the Littlehorn Massacre or the picture of the lifeless body of Big Mac after he saved the Princess at Shattered Hoof Ridge. He tried to remember more of these articles, but his attention was once again drawn to the conversation.
“You seem to misunderstand. It is our duty to the ponies of Equestria.” – the mare pointed out, seemingly still retaining her posture. – “We must help them by not spreading any unnecessary panic or doubt in their safety. Hasn’t this war strained them enough already?”
“There I must disagree.” – the editor was resolute. – “Our duty is to keep the ponies informed of the events happening around them regardless of whether somepony likes it or not.”
“Oh, but they will be informed.” – the mare continued in her faux-gentle voice. – “But it must be made sure they get the right impression. Surely you do not want to risk somepony getting a baseless notion such as that for example, the airships they travel with are unsafe? The airships that they, among other things, use to travel to the frontlines or just ship supplies to our brave soldiers?”
“It’s not a baseless notion when they clearly are a danger to everypony on and under them.” – the editor raised his voice, an event that the technician never recalled happening. – “I won’t allow anypony else to lose their family to one.”
“I see.” – the mare tried her best to come across as comforting, but it still sounded insincere. – “Look, we know what happened to your wife and son and we extended our deepest condolences. But, regardless, you must not let your personal feelings interfere with your work as a publisher. Your duty to Equestria and its ponies is greater than your family.”
This made the eavesdropper pause once more as the image of the burning airship passed through his head once again. He saw the title announcing the casualties, sure, but he didn’t give it much thought until now. The page was memorable and he felt somewhat remorseful, but with the war and everything else, ponies died every day. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Sure, the exact numbers were never printed in the newspaper, but then again it never bothered him much. He didn’t know any of those ponies, so why should he care? He had much more important things in life to worry about than a few dozen ponies dying. And yet, when he heard that the editor’s family was among those 36 souls, a feeling of sadness washed over him. Perhaps it was because he respected the old stallion or perhaps it was just that those numbers now finally had a face and a name attached to them. But he couldn’t dwell long on his sad thoughts as the situation on the other side of the door was developing quickly.
“Look, I tolerated your intrusions when it came to war casualties and battle progress. They were far away and a little concern to an everyday citizen” – the editor retorted in an almost angry voice, barely maintaining his posture. – “But this is not war. This is right in the middle of our lives. This is what should concern everypony and I will not allow you to muddle the waters with your lies and propaganda.”
“Damn it, why must you be so stubborn?” – the mare finally dropped her act, revealing her true nature. – “You will publish the version supplied to you by the Ministry of Image or there will be consequences.”
“Heh, even if I would give in to your threats, it’s already too late.” – the editor explained, with a hinge of self-satisfaction in his voice. – “The paper has already been printed and is being delivered in every corner store and newspaper stand as we speak.”
“You are wrong about that.” – the mare spoke in an almost gloating manner. – “Your newspaper was seized by Ministry agents long before it reached any of the stands and was subsequently disposed of for spreading anti-war propaganda. If you do not choose your words carefully, your company might share a similar fate. Zebra sabotage is a constant threat, after all.”
“So, this is what it has come to.” – the old stallion rasped. – “Resorting to threatening the health of my employees to protect other ponies. What kind of protection is this? Does the Princess even know what her spooks are up to?”
And once again, the pony on the other side of the door lost his focus on the conversation as the implications of the mare’s word sunk in. He heard stories that Ministry folk are not the nicest bunch – using the goal of citizen protection to justify any means necessary, but he never took these tales seriously. He was a simple pony and he trusted the Princess and the Ministries. Surely, the government would not harm the very ponies it was tasked with protecting.
And yet as the exchange he just heard still lingered fresh in his mind, he could not help but suspect that all those stories were in fact true. Like the one he had overheard just a few days ago about MoI pressure to drop the probing of that tainted meat incident over in the Yakaterinburg. Or the whispers of what really went down in the northern provinces last month. At the time he hadn’t thought much of it, but now he was sure there was more going on.
What more was there that he didn’t know about?
Movement in the room woke the pony from his thoughts as he could hear hoofsteps through the noise coming from downstairs.
He got a feeling he missed something important.
“You are coming with us.” – a third voice, he assumed it to belong to the stallion who came with the mare, stated.
“Since you are so blatantly disregarding an official order by the Ministry Mare, you are hereby arrested.” – the mare added, her soft hoofsteps growing louder as she approached the door. - “I suggest you go peacefully.”
Hearing the rapid approach, the technician jumped from his place and with a sense of urgency looked around the hallway for a place to hide. He spotted an opened maintenance closet a few meters down the hall and, as quietly as possible, rushed towards it to conceal himself from the incoming threat. Too late he realised he wouldn’t make it. He was only halfway to the tiny room when the wooden door he sat in front of moments ago opened, letting a gloomy streak of light spill from the editor’s room.
This was it, he thought. They would catch him.
Defeated, he stopped in his tracks and prepared to turn around to face whatever the Ministry agents had in store for him. Maybe if he gives himself up, they will spare his family. He didn’t want to believe they would do anything to them, but having heard what he had just heard, he couldn’t take any chances.
But then as one of the mare’s hoof exited into the hallway, something, which the technician would always call a whim of fate, happened.
“Don’t you need to read me my rights?” – the editor asked, clearly in a last-ditch attempt to poke at the unicorns.
“You don’t have any.” – the mare stated simply as she stopped for a moment to face the elderly pony.
This moment, this saving grace, was just enough for the technician to cover the remaining distance to the closet and silently close the metal door.
And not a moment too soon, as in the next second, the trio exited the old stallion’s room; its now-previous owner led off between the two unicorns to an unknown fate...