//------------------------------//
// Chapter Two: The Pawn and the Professional 
// Story: Reform 
// by The Great Scribbly One 
//------------------------------//

Amarda 13th Darkness, 1008ALB
Exactly on time, there was a tap on my office door. "Yes?"

The door opened and a helmeted head craned around the corner. "Your Majesty, the Military Secretary is asking to see you."

"Let him in." I ordered, shuffling the reports I had been reading to the side. After my discussion with Tia and research that morning, I had elected to begin with the finances of a particular unit.

A rather dishevelled steel blue Pegasus stallion, perhaps in his fifties, plodded into my office. "Your Majesty." Grimhoof said, to my pragmatic pleasure clearly struggling not to yawn in the royal presence. Tiredness would erode his guard.

"Apologies for pulling you from the affairs of your estate at this sensitive time, Lord Grimhoof." I said, not allowing the barb to reach my tone. "Please, do sit."

Grimhoof shook his head as he moved to the mat in front of the desk. "It's a tamping pain ma'am, if you'll pardon my Olenian. I was helping my youngest leaving home, you see."

I nodded to allow the spike of exasperation to pass before shoving the ring binder across the desk to him. "You are familiar with this, I trust?"

He glanced down at the confidential stamped cover. "The Dotted Line Report? Inside and out ma'am, I liaised between the investigative committee and the army. That's why I felt comfortable taking time off."

"As I recall, you served in the Cloudsdale Royal Legion for some years before you came to this posting." I said. "Tell me, in your expert opinion, are the contents of this report accurate?"

Lord Grimhoof ruffled his wings uncomfortably. "That was almost ten years ago, ma'am."

"That is recent enough for my needs." I replied.

"And I was just a captain." He muttered awkwardly.

"Excellent, a perfect position from which to test the pulse of the ranks and observe the rarefied air of the general staff." I said.

Grimhoof fidgeted. "Not to mention, we hardly left the barracks. You really might do better asking somepony else, ma-"

Fed up with his procrastination, which spoke volumes in itself, I suddenly rose and banged my front hooves on the hardwood of my desk, taking care not to smash the thing in the process.

The Pegasus' head jerked up.

Holding his suddenly undivided attention, I allowed a touch of the old royal tone to fill the office. "Lord Grimhoof, We are not here to play games. The safety of Equestria is at stake, so you will answer our questions or We shall be most displeased. We doubt you would like to see that."

Grimhoof's mouth worked for a moment. "Permission to speak freely?" He asked at length.

"Freely and candidly, if you would be so good." I said sharply.

"Well ma'am..." He hesitated again, but gathered himself before I was obliged to do so for him. "I can't speak for the whole army, and not to cast shade on the old filly's club - good mares the lot of them - but when I was in the Legion, there was a lot of braid and not enough steel, as they say."

"Elaborate." I said, unfamiliar with the expression.

"The ranks were a bit, erm... Threadbare. Ma'am." He admitted uncomfortably. "We had the full establishment of officers, but a lot had no command. The captain-general just had us doing paperwork. Cost cutting measure, I'm told."

Given his wording, he was likely one of those officers. It would hardly be surprising for a stallion in the regular military to be the first shoved into a desk job. "I see. What would you say was the cause for this lack of funds?"

Grimhoof shifted again. "Well like I said ma'am, the budget simply couldn't cover a full brigade, not without doing away with uniforms and weapons. In my day, we had three regiments worth active and half strength in training and reserves."

"An increase in funding would be enough to bring numbers up then?" I queried.

He shook his head, albeit uncertainly. "More Bits are always welcome, ma'am, but I'm not sure it would help. We weren't turning away recruits you see. Not enough that I noticed anyway. The reduced numbers were probably the only reason we got by at a stable complement."

I tapped a rear hoof against the edge of my mat thoughtfully. "And why do you think that would be?"

"I really couldn't say with confidence, ma'am." Grimhoof replied.

"Speculate." I ordered.

He considered for a long moment, long enough that I suspected a few options were being rejected. "For the record, this is just an educated guess ma'am. But I'd say there's not enough interest. It seems like everypony wants to work in weather or accounting these days, at least when they don't want to be the next Open Goal."

I hoped he wasn't right. There was little that could be done about such a problem in short order. But who was Open Goal, and why accounting...? Best not to distract myself.

"The Royal Guard have an entire section devoted to them, can you comment on that?" I asked.

Grimhoof glanced toward the door, or perhaps more accurately the pair of stallions beyond. "No." Turning back only to be caught under my stare, he hurried on. "N-not without speculating as an outsider or quoting the Report, ma'am. The Guard fall under the auspices of the Royal Office. But-"

I blinked. "The Royal Office? They deal with stationary supplies for the palace! Food! That sort of thing."

Released, Grimhoof tried to regain some balance. "I really could not say, ma'am. That's just how it is."

"I see. What about the Report's commentary on disciplinary discrepancies?" I asked.

"Every unit has its own little traditions." He shuddered. "Let me tell you ma'am, when we hosted the captain-general of the Duke of Mareborough's Own, I nearly threw my wing out trying to get my leg up so high for that strange salute they use. Unnatural, I say."

I shook my head, opening the ring binder and flicking through to a particular section. "No, Lord Grimhoof, that is not what I mean... Here we are." I cleared my throat. "'Collected data and witness testimony strongly suggest that instances of leave being granted for inappropriate causes, improper dress, tardiness and even flagrant insubordination are distressingly frequent within nearly every de facto extant formation within her Majesties' Army and Army Air Force. For example of the former misdemeanour, one Sergeant Hobnail of the Vanhoover Vanilla Guard is on record as having requested leave four times within two years to attend her grandmothers' funerals, the biological improbability of which need not be stated, even if her account that at least one turned out to in fact not be quite dead is believed. Specific figures may be found in Subsection B, figures 14-19. In light of such incidents and their perception, the aforementioned being hardly unique, it must be concluded that there is a systematic laxity toward existing protocol and enforcement of discipline.' What do you think of that?"

The Military Secretary's eye twitched.

I gave him a moment.

He eventually cobbled together a response. "I-I mean to say that, well, I never saw any of that in the Legion. At least not among the officers."

Of course not. Doubtless, all of them were fine public school fillies like himself who would never consider taking leave immediately following, say, an important report being published. Or fleeing the country, for that matter.

"And what of the other ranks?" I asked aloud.

"I never had much reason to mix with them, ma'am." He said. "Like I said, I just filed paperwork."

I nodded at the confirmation of suspicion. "Very well. Since you are clearly so versed in the ways of the bureaucrat and as the chief liaison between the army and government, I am sure you can recommend a member of the War Office with whom I could work to further my investigation."

"Investigation?" Grimhoof whimpered.

"No need to sound so horrified, secretary." I said charmingly. "I am sure you agree that an oiling of such a long-neglected institution is vital to the country's interests."

"Yes, ma'am." He mumbled, ears twitching nervously. "I'll find somepony."

"That will be all then, good day." I dismissed.

The Pegasus stood, saluted and staggered out of my office as though all four knees had turned to rubber, likely with finding a telephone in the forefront of his mind. So far nothing incriminating led back to Grimhoof himself, but a number of his likely friends were beginning to look fiscally dubious even upon a casual examination like the one I had performed and he might well have felt the need to tip off said friends.

Which was precisely why I had requested the Cloudsdale Royal Legion's full finances ahead of time, why I had chosen my closing words carefully and why an agent from SMILE would be quietly following the Military Secretary for the next couple of days to see exactly who he contacted.





Evening court had been exceptionally frustrating. Word had inevitably got out and spread at the speed of rumour enhanced by modern communications, yet with all the accuracy that term has always entailed. Therefore, rather than the usual mix of petitions, requests for patronage and disputes the parties did not wish to bring before the judiciary, the great hall was flooded with nobles, hangers on and reporters to the point that the Guardsponies on duty were forced to seal the doors in order to prevent a dangerous crush.

The so-called questions ranged from guesswork to wild surmise, and largely were delivered by means of accusations. Complaints over tax increases yet unthought of, militarisation of schools and conscription that were all clearly in preparation for an invasion of the Buffalo, the Dragons, Stalliongrad, Wingbardy and Ancestors alone know who else. It all began to blur as time and again I rebuffed them with the exact same meaningless response:

"The investigation into the current state of the armed forces has entered a new phase. Any results and planned action based upon them which can be released without compromising the needs of security, will be released upon its conclusion."

It was a statement constructed to appease the moderates, for the more hostile newspapers would publish pieces proclaiming a mad scheme for world domination or bemoaning the radicalisation of foals and the conspiracy theorists would rave about communists from another world regardless of what I said. Trying to shut them up with logic would of course simply be taken as evidence by both that there was indeed something being hidden.

Nonetheless, by the end I had been tempted to simply throw a copy of the Report at them and see what they made of it, if only for the satisfaction of watching the hypocritical about turn in the form of denunciation aimed at the same target. There was simply no winning.

No wonder Tia wanted to retire. It certainly left me with my head resting in maudlin fashion upon my desk scant minutes after my artificially relaxed exit from the hall.

A knock on the door brought my head up from the desk. Upon my response, a helmeted head poked through it. Were it not for the fact his shift must have ended by now, it would have been nearly impossible to tell this Nightguard from the previous by virtue the enchantment upon their armour.

That is, until the Unicorn spoke. "Your Majesty. There is a tradesmare outside who wishes to see you. Shall I send her away?"

"Who sent her?" I asked.

"The War Office, ma'am." The Guard replied.

"Send her in then." I said. "Politely."

A moment later, a middle aged mare in a smart, functional dress entered and curtsied. "Your Majesty."

"You would be the mare Lord Grimhoof recommended, I presume?" I asked as she approached the desk.

"Buff Envelope COU, ma'am." The Earther said. "Permanent Secretary to the War Office."

"Oh excellent, that ought to simplify getting some real changes made." I said.

Miss Envelope gave me a sceptically critical look. "Getting some real changes made? Ancestors preserve."

I raised an eyebrow in response. "I take it you do not approve?"

"It's not my job to approve, ma'am." Envelope replied. "Worry is another matter however, and those five words, or their next of kin, tend to be good cause for alarm."

"I should hope that I am rather steadier than some buffoon selected by electoral dice." I said, a little refreshed to meet somepony with the sense not to cower at the slightest hint of disapproval.

"The trend is a very strong one in my experience, ma'am." The bureaucrat smoothly replied. "One hundred percent, in fact."

Silently, I wondered if my sister made up any portion of that figure. Probably not, unless this mare was from a remarkably longaeval dynasty like the Apples. Her Mark, being hidden, provided no clues.

"Well, there is a first time for everything." I gestured at the ring binder, now slightly foxed, as Twilight Sparkle would say. "I take it you have read this."

Hazel eyes flickered down, then up. "Yes, ma'am."

"Brilliant." I said, flicking through now-familiar pages. "Then we might as well begin with the state of the Guard, considering how much space they occupy..."

"That's a Royal Office matter ma'am, not a War Office one." Envelope said.

"The Military Secretary said as much, and that is something I intend to fix by making them your business." I said.

The civil servant's eyes went wide. "Oh ma'am! We can't possibly make such a radical change to the administrative apparatus, the consequences could send the country spiralling into anarchy!"

I cocked my head. "Whyever would that happen?"

She took a deep breath. "You see ma'am, among its many roles, the Royal Office manages palace staff and oversees the functioning of other ministers' departments. Administrating the administrators, if you will. Since the Guard fulfil both criteria within the context of security, it only stands to reason that they come under the Royal Office's oversight as part of the Government Accountability Act, in order to ensure that no department - including the War Office - attempts to obfuscate or undermine the workings of government by illegally concealing, destroying, releasing or otherwise leaking documents, as well as investigating such plumbing 'accidents' should they arise. They also ensure the safety of those within the palace grounds and our embassies all over the world, provide first response in the event of disaster and support local police when requested. Riot control, crowd management, armed raids and the like. For the purposes of military command, being tied to the Royal Office, Captain-General Hoarse Bluster answers directly to yourself and your sister ma'am, in your roles as marshals." Buff Envelope explained. "If you went ahead with your proposal just like that ma'am, none of that would be possible without degrading crisis management and grinding the running of government to a crawl."

It took me a brief moment to line all that up in my head. "Where does their funding come from?"

"Bundled into the Royal Office budget, ma'am." Envelope replied.

"Which at least explains why equipment procurement also falls under that office." I concluded. "Equipment that I note from the Report, is centuries out of date."

"That would be an acumenical matter, ma'am." The mare said.

I eyed Buff Envelope, making little effort to hide my shortening temper in light of her study nerve. "The present situation cannot be allowed to stand."

She looked thoughtful for a brief moment before responding. "Well, I suppose in light of the recent findings and with your permission, we could set up an interdepartmental committee with an eye toward examining the feasibility of adjustments to the liabilities of the Guard and sundry without compromising administrative efficiency and efficacy."

Not wishing to go so far as to create a scene, I shunted the pages of the ring binder to a fresh section at random, one I had merely skimmed out of fatigue before Grimhoof had raised the topic. "Let us leave that then - for now. What have you to say about the declining recruitment figures?"

Envelope looked annoyingly cheerful. "That is hardly unexpected ma'am. How many bronze smiths and flint knappers are there in Equestria today?"

I raised an eyebrow. "More than none, I should think. Do continue your analogy."

The smile was unmoved. "Indeed ma'am, more than none. But jobseekers tend to migrate wherever there is an active market for them, in proportion to demand. Since we have not been at war in any meaningful manner for three centuries, the soldiering market, so to speak, is rather depressed."

"I get the impression that you have been meaning to say that despite all evidence to the contrary, there is nothing wrong with the defence of this country." I said coldly.

That did have an impact, as the smile turned bitter and a sort of resigned humour crept into her voice. "No, of course there is ma'am! It's a joke, it's always been a joke! And as long as you leave defence in the care of the local authorities, it will remain a joke. I mean, most of them are greedy and dashed good at it, some are earnest but inept, and the few that combine the best of both are so disorganised that you prefer the incompetents."

"So you mean to say they need a varied approach?" I replied. "Discipline, education and leadership."

"No ma'am. I'm saying that defence will never get any better as long as it's subject to all that skylarking in the local courts." She stabbed a hoof toward the window. "I mean, just imagine what would happen if you put weather management on the back of the local authorities."

I cocked my head, a little less frustrated now Envelope seemed more interested in solutions than obstruction. "The weather?"

"Yes, give the counties ten million each and ask them to look after themselves." Her ears angled forward. "We wouldn't have to worry about defence, Equestria would be an arid swamp covered with perpetual hurricanes within a moon, and half of the continent with it!"

I tried and failed to imagine what an arid swamp would look like, let alone how one could achieve its creation. "That sounds like an overreaction, Miss Envelope."

The mare leant forward with an intensity that almost pushed me back. "Is it, ma'am? Well, that's what's happened with defence. Why? Because nopony thinks defence is serious the same way weather management is serious. Those clowns all think nothing like the Wars of Yakyakistani Succession or the War of the Sisters - begging your pardon ma'am - could happen today, and if it did then somepony else will deal with it anyway, the Elements probably, so nopony does anything and the local authorities all use the money saved from pay and privileges for their own immeasurably clever ideas."

"Even as, lo and behold, another succession crisis jumps to the smashing table." I mused. Her words made sense, even if they could be construed as a push in support of her department. "And of course the string of failures the lack of funding generates makes the army look bad, which drives down morale and interest in enlistment since nopony save a clown would want to be humiliated for a living on pay they could earn in a factory, while also discouraging investment to reinforce failure."

Envelope nodded. "You understand the problem ma'am."

"In which case, it sounds like centralisation of funding and organisation would go a long way." I said, rear hoof beginning to tap as my thoughts raced with the political logistics of that. "If the fiefs can be made to wear it. Mayhaps We should pay a visit to witness the situation personally, the better to speak with rightful zeal?"

"Oh I wouldn't advise that." The Earther said, the fervour of a moment ago fading almost unnaturally fast.

"What is it this time?" I snapped, my patience not being so elastic. "A centuries old edict demanding that a Diarch may not venture forth from her home in the second week of the year?"

Envelope's gaze drifted past and somewhere above my right ear. "Well, I suppose there is an argument to be made for the risk of illness. Pneumonia, frostbite, hypertonie..."

"Secretary." I said warningly.

"As you wish, ma'am." Buff Envelope said, not looking all that fazed.