//------------------------------// // Making An Impression // Story: Worlds Apart // by Goldfur //------------------------------// “Ms. Wells, are you certain? That this Mark Wells doesn’t remind you in any way –” “What? You think my grandparents were Shetland ponies or something? Get your head out of your ass. They were Clydesdales! Didn't my long-flowing mane of white hair clue you in?” The middle-aged woman followed this by running fingers through her short, decidedly grey hair. The second dark-suited man spoke up. “Ma’am, our employer believes that these Equestrians have magic that can change a person’s species.” Kaitlin Wells put her hands on her hips and stared the much taller man down. “My brother went missing years after I stopped having anything to do with him. Haven't seen muzzle or tail of him since.” She gasped theatrically and brought a hand to her lips. “Oopsie! Was I not supposed to say that?” The second man didn’t sound in the least upset as he pointed at his outstretched tablet. “So, we’d like to know if this pony’s style of speaking, word choice, or body language is in any way familiar to you.” “No, I can categorically say that my brother never had a green coat, wings, six wives, or an Australian accent. Are we done here?” The first man nodded his head. “We are. Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Wells.” After the woman slammed the door in his face, the first man took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I think that’s it for missing persons born in North Carolina. Who's next?” The second man’s fingers danced on the tablet. “One more, then we’ll start on South Carolina. Marcus Stanley Wellsburg. Born January 13th, 1953. Two tours in Vietnam. Dishonorable discharge in 1973. Homeless and living in Boston when he went missing in 1976.” The first man shrugged as he put on his glasses. “Guess I'm OK with visiting Legal Seafood so long as someone else is paying for it.” Invitations to make official visits from the governments of several nations quickly followed the formalization of political relations with Australia. Naturally, the United States of America was the highest on Prince Mark’s list. The sooner Equestria signed agreements with the U.S., the easier it would be to formalize business ties with his existing company and establish new ones. Of course, that’s when ‘red tape’ raised its ugly head. In the Equestrian Embassy in Canberra, Mark frowned at the pallid man sitting across the table as he rambled on. Next to him, Smolder flicked a claw over her tablet, her eyes scanning the text rapidly. She had called in a favor to deal with the official, mostly because she couldn’t make heads or tails of his mumblings. The badge on the man’s jacket proudly proclaimed United States Department of Agriculture Animal & Plant Health Inspection Service even as buttons strained mightily to keep the owner from bursting out of it. “Just be glad that your country of origin is exempt from testing for dourine and glanders. There is simply no alternative than a 42-hour quarantine and after testing for equine piroplasmosis and equine infectious anemia.” Mark cut him off. “Mr. Ray, my country of origin is Equestria, not Australia. Also, do these look like the appendages of any earth-bred equine? Our biology is fundamentally different.” The alicorn tapped his horn with one hoof while extending his wings. The official didn’t look up from his paperwork. “Yes, yes. There will also need to be germplasm submissions from all equine species.” Mark jumped. Did that mean what he thought it meant? The man prattled on. “After filling out the VS 17-129 application form, please schedule an inspection at an approved USDA Animal Import Center.” Just before Mark objected to the assumption that Equestrians were coming to the United States to be part of a breeding program, Smolder stabbed her claw into the tablet, causing a small tink sound. “Inspector Ray, isn’t it true that regulations handle cases of temporary entry for thirty days or less differently?” For the first time, the man brought his spectacled eyes up from his paperwork. “Oh! Were you talking to me? Yes, that is a separate case.” After extracting her talon from the tablet, the dragoness pointed, carefully, at a different part of the screen. “That requires only a certificate from a licensed veterinarian certifying that the equine is in good health and does not carry any disease transmissible to people, correct?” "Well, yes.” Smolder stood, followed quickly by Mark. She gave the man her winningest fang-filled smile. “Splendid! I’ll ensure that paperwork is all in order and … uh …” She looked at the alicorn. “Faxed.” “Ah, yes. ‘Faxed’ to the USDA phone number on your card. Have a splendid afternoon, Inspector Ray.” In the hallway, Mark grinned at his ambassador. “You’re absolutely getting the hang of this.” In response, Smolder handed over her tablet. “Thank you, Your Highness. Would you please arrange for more tablets?” Mark observed the spiderweb of cracks radiating from the center of the screen. “Should I get an IT person on site who can repair them?” “Might be a good idea. That was my third tablet this week.” That obstacle overcome, Mark organized a program of public appearances all over the country. Trixie arranged several teams featuring a mixture of species to attend the rallies. At least one of the triarchs or Smolder would show up at the time of the event via portal so that no region would feel slighted. If the morning talk shows were anything to go by, the citizens of Hawaii were intrigued to be playing host to the dragoness. After an enthusiastic meeting in Honolulu, Smolder asked to be given a tour of Mauna Loa, in particular the currently active lava flow. While the officials warned her of the danger of approaching too close, they nevertheless accommodated her. Soon after arriving at the designated location, Smolder spread her wings and took to the air. She ignored the shouts of warning and confusion as she threw off her dress and dived toward the deadly stream. Cries of horror came from the onlookers as she folded her wings and disappeared into the lava with a large splash. A team of reporters covering the major event with every resource including a drone camera was treated to the mind-boggling sight of the dragon lazily swimming upstream in the lava. There was still a lot of nail-biting done before Smolder finally emerged unscathed. She fanned her wings to cool down to a tolerable degree before she gathered up her dress and rejoined the others. “That was refreshing,” she said with a smile. “I’ll have to see about opening a dragon spa here. I quite enjoyed the aroma and texture of your lava.” Not knowing exactly how to respond to that, the state officials agreed to look into the possibility. Smolder received emails from seventeen vulcanologists that day alone. The powers-that-be decided upon the Denver City and County Building as the best location to introduce the citizens of Colorado to the Equestrians. Wide steps led to a large elevated platform where humanity’s newest friends could be seen by the throngs filling Civic Center Park. By happy chance, the occasional professional sports team championship season meant the city pulled out a freshly updated set of procedures to keep every being safe at the event. Sharing this plan with the security personnel of a different nation was not unprecedented and resulted in a few updates to close unforeseen vulnerabilities. For example, an effective means to sweep all underground areas before and during the event had not been considered feasible until the Equestrians came along. The McNichols Civic Center Building parking lot provided an unobstructed view of the stage from barely four hundred feet away. Of only minor curiosity was the nondescript black van parked across two spaces in the roped-off area. The name of the electrical company printed on both sides of the van did not exist in any Colorado government record. The van’s position allowed the van to face the stage directly and, perhaps coincidentally, also the large cardboard box strapped to the roof rack. Inside, the driver turned to the van’s other occupants. All three wore white Henley shirts and bib overalls devoid of any logos. “They’re sticking to the planned schedule. In ten minutes –” He was interrupted by the roar of hundreds of thousands of citizens, deafening even inside the closed van. After the noise abated, the woman in the passenger seat touched her ear. “Repeat.” A few seconds later, she gave the thumbs up while mouthing the word "Now.” The driver continued. “OK. Our beloved local sports star may not take as long with the introduction as we expected. Chris …. Chris!” The man in question jerked in his seat. “What? What?” “Can’t you stay awake for fifteen minutes? It’s showtime!” The slimmer man waved a hand dismissively while another worked the mouse next to his laptop. “Whatever. You try staying up for two days straight getting the hardware switched out and software upgraded in all this junk from the previous century B.C. Then let’s see you stay up while Grandpa Elway riles up the crowd.” While Chris had been talking, the thin man’s eyes scanned over the numerous displays of electronic gear populating both sides of the van’s cramped space, leaving him only a three-foot-wide corridor through the center. That finished, he returned his eyes to the laptop’s display and stacked dual monitors centered behind the driver’s and passenger’s seats. A few glances at the screens confirmed his earlier checks. His voice lost its sarcastic edge. “All secondary equipment is on and shows green. Everything is go for full spectrum capture. Remember, I only got enough drives hacked in to provide sixty-four seconds of recording time, so tell me when.” Behind him at the back of the van, a tinny voice said, “When!” All three humans jumped in their seats. The driver and passenger reached for their hip-holstered pistols only to realize that the way they had been seated prevented any kind of smooth draw. Chris nearly jumped headfirst into the monitors before catching himself and looking behind him. He then burst out laughing, doubling over. “Oh, my god! That was fucking perfect!” The driver and passenger kept their hands on their weapons as they glanced at each other and then at the van’s unexpected occupant. A yellow insectile, pony-sized creature smiled back at them. Chris recovered first and thrust out a fist. “That was awesome. I’m Chris. You’re a changeling, right?” The compound eyes centered on the technician and he gave the offered fist a tap with one hoof. “Crisp Berry. Pleased to meet you and all of your ridiculously expensive technology in here.” “Expensive? Yeah, I guess it is. Not my problem. So, you’re Crisp Berry, huh? Maybe we’re related.” The two shared a laugh. The passenger took her left hand off her pistol grip and picked up her cell phone. A few thumb flicks later, she pointed the camera into the back of the van. At her raised eyebrow, the driver did the same, cursing inwardly at the lack of foresight to provide even one transistor worth of recording equipment aimed inside the van itself. The technician explained the function of various components until a flash of light made everyone look outside. A mare’s voice cut through the air, “It’s SHOWTIME!” Chris smiled and pointed to a large red button connected by a USB cable to the laptop. “Time to learn how magic works. Push that red button for me, will you?” Crisp Berry nodded. “That’s funny. I’ve been trying to figure that out as well. The red one marked ‘easy’?” “Yeppers. That kicks off the master automation script. Now keep your eyes on the third display. Rhode and Schwarz FSW50 that I hacked to maxed it out with 128 GB of RAM. Second display is the equivalent Keysight Spectrum Analyzer – I forget the model on that one because we just upgraded. Plus, all the software packages have been enabled on both. That’s what I recommend you start with so you can have your own set of toys.” “Because each system does some things better than the other. Got it. Should be fine to pick those up; I’ve got a bottomless expense account. I bet all the software costs more than the hardware it sits on.” Chris shrugged. “Eh.” The two nerds looked at each other and shared the same grin. Together they chorused, “Not my problem!” While they laughed, the driver and passenger shared another look, silently agreeing not to interfere in this human/Equestrian geek session. Not that they would have anything to contribute anyway. The human pointed to both screens with a finger “So the spec-ans capture the entire spectrum up to fifty gigahertz, thanks to the antenna almost cleverly hidden in the cardboard box overhead. And look at all that damn EM traffic! What would you recommend to filter out all the background crap?” The changeling narrowed its eyes and tapped a hoof to its chin. “I would … no. All that software has to be good for something. Let it categorize everything. Then subtract out the analysis results from five minutes before all my buddies arrived.” “Got it in one! Just press the ‘easy’ button again.” As the two continued to discuss analysis results, equipment features, and favorite snacks, the passenger leaned closer to the driver. “If we need a backup techie when Chris gets sick, I know who I’m recommending for the spot.” The driver frowned until he realized she was subtly trying to tell him something important. The Head of Operations listened to the report given by the driver. “… about thirty minutes after the Equestrian’s show concluded, we heard a knock at the rear doors. One of their batpony Royal Guards opened it and greeted us. I believe it was their Captain Penumbra wearing aviator sunglasses. She informed Crisp Berry that it was time to move on to their next destination. The changeling accepted our technician’s backup personal phone as a gift and the aliens flew off together.” After no more words came out, the veins on the older man’s neck began to bulge, and his face got redder. Before the inevitable explosion, the driver continued. “Sir, there’s no question the changeling and our technician bonded over the course of that hour. Specifically on how technology can be used to study the Equestrian’s … abilities. The changeling analyst was, if anything, more enthusiastic about getting his own lab full of equipment set up to study the same. The Head of Operations gaped. “So… the aliens are going to figure out for us how their… magic works? And relay that knowledge back to our technician?” The driver nodded. “As long as we keep our operative in contact with the changeling and encourage them to do more research at subsequent events; exactly, sir.” The Head of Operations held his head in his hands. “Just… go.” # # # # # # # # #