//------------------------------// // 39. The Jailor's Dilemma // Story: Imperatives // by Sharp Quill //------------------------------// Discord’s plaid pills still had their uses, even in this day and age when numerous portals connected Earthly and Equestrian cities. However, Meg did not wish to be seen, to attract attention as the celebrity she was. She needed her privacy, to freely ponder her current problems. Below her was where it had all started, nearly two centuries ago. Where her Pinkie Pie doll had brought an impossibly flesh-and-blood Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash into her life. That apartment had, along with the rest of the neighborhood, been torn down and redeveloped—thrice. The original still existed in the past, of course, and she had paid it a visit not too long ago to reclaim all her belongings, just prior to the mob doing whatever the mob would have done to them. Yes, the quantum dice had said not to do that, at the time, but it was no longer that time. Besides, she had needed her old clothing, so as to be appropriately dressed when she met her past self in hyperspace, hence why the time loop—if one could anthropomorphize it—required her past self to forfeit them. That trip had itself been a nostalgia bomb; so much had changed since then. She spotted some pegasi putting rain clouds into place. The whole area, like most major cities these days, had a robust magic field—so robust, that plaid pills needed an added spell to keep their invisibility protection active. Twilight had invented that spell over a century ago. Meg watched the congested roads below—some things never change, though those vehicles were powered by micro fusion reactors only made possible by magic, running off the hydrogen present in humidity. She doubted any of their occupants would volunteer to become the first ponies; “bronies” weren’t a thing anymore, and the cartoon itself was all but forgotten, something relegated to the history books. Contemporary humans weren’t an option anyway. Discord had been quite clear on that. Meg laid down on the roof behind Discord, using him as a shield against the ferocious wind. How the draconequus could stand there without being tossed away by that wind… She could only assume he was using on himself the same anchoring spell he’d used on the guards. Asking him, asking him anything, was no longer possible over this wind. The wind only got stronger the closer to the anomaly you got. Buildings that had previously survived everything thrown at them were now disintegrating. Cars were being thrown about. Larger pieces of debris were starting to fly past her, but somehow always missing the draconequus in front of her. And what that wind must be where the guards were… Twilight was somewhere there too, though she had lost track of her some time ago. How could they possibly be surviving this? Yet Twilight had not come back, as she’d said she would when the wind became intolerable. Meg could only hope that was because it was still tolerable, and not because something had happened to her. Those magic beams were still zapping the anomaly, so… everything going according to plan? As for herself, she was stuck here. If she tried to move, she’d be blown away. Her only option was to invoke the return spell. Maybe she ought to. Maybe so she could close the portal. Yes, it was parallel to the airflow, but turbulence had to be spilling through into the tunnel. Hopefully the unicorn guards there knew shield spells. She wasn’t even sure she had much of a choice, for the roof she was hugging was buckling under the wind. Buildings here were designed to withstand earthquakes, not hurricane force winds—nor had anyone the warning or time to board up any windows. What hadn’t been destroyed by the anomaly directly might ironically get destroyed indirectly by its elimination. She could already imagine the headlines. What had Routledge said? It’d be all the easier for her to get her good name back by being a hero who had gotten rid of the anomaly? Perhaps that had been a tad optimistic. The only silver lining in all this was that the media was gone. No drones, no news crews. What if something had happened to Twilight? She was no longer part of any uncompleted time loop; she didn’t have that protection. How much longer do they let this continue? How bad could it get? She could no longer see the anomaly, but the last time she saw it there was plenty left of it. If she did decide it was time to end this, how could she communicate that to Discord? Shouting was not going to work. Kick his tail? Twilight suddenly appeared. Discord snapped his talons and all the pegasi got tossed away from the anomaly. The deep monochrome red was already lightening. The wind began to lessen, though not rapidly. Precious seconds passed. Discord was obviously using that time both to let the anomaly eject as much as possible and to recover his strength. He snapped his talons once more, then vanished. What did he just do? The wind was too strong to fly over there, but it was quickly lessening. In fact, Meg found she could safely stand up. Twilight touched down beside her. “Let’s hope that was enough.” A bang reached them. The wind reversed again. “That can’t be good,” Meg needlessly stated. “I better get over there fast and reapply the time dilation spell.” Twilight took off. Orange colors were beginning to return. A Royal guard set down next to her. Meg looked up and around and could see others making their way back. “I think you’re done here,” she told him. “We are,” he confirmed. “All will be accounted for before the portal is closed.” “I’ll inform the princess,” Meg said, because she felt she ought to somehow acknowledge that statement, and took off and flew after Twilight. She rapidly gained altitude, as much to see what was left in that giant hole in the ground as to keep her distance from it. In front of her was devastation. How fast did that wind get, this close to the anomaly? Every halving of distance would quadruple the wind velocity. The ground was blasted clean for a good distance from the edge of the pit, and near that edge the ground itself was blown away. This was all the doing of Routledge’s minions, Meg reminded herself. True, it was not their intention for this to happen. No doubt they would have done things differently if they had known then what they knew now. But the sheer recklessness! And they had tried to pin the blame on herself and Equestria. How could I possibly consider working with him? And yet it was her future self who had provided them the necessary knowledge. Yes, she had done so therefore she would do so—it would be a paradox otherwise—but that was an execrable rationalization and she knew it. A time loop may make the improbable happen, but it cannot make the impossible happen. Her doing this was possible. She would have to live with that. What else was it possible for her to do? The bottom of the nearly half-mile wide and half-mile deep pit came into view. It was close to hemispherical; what ought to have been vertical sides at the edge instead formed a slope. Yellowing sunlight illuminated the bottom. If there was still an anomaly—dare she hope there was not?—it was too small to make out. Nor could she make out Twilight. Down she went. The air around her was turbulent, but it didn’t seem to be flowing in a particular direction. Below ground level she descended. The turbulence was diminishing. Water was oozing out the sides, well below the surrounding surface, wetting the geologic layers of sedimentary deposits. Ground water? Previously the anomaly was sucking it all up. Now it was filling up a newly born lake. Over that oh-so-slowly forming lake hovered Twilight. Meg altered her course. Twilight noticed her arrival. “Discord did it,” she declared. The anomaly’s gone. Truly and completely gone.” “Then what was that bang?” “My guess? He lacked the time or strength to do it with finesse. I think he just made it go away and left a vacuum in its place.” And the surrounding air rushed in to fill it. That would do it. “I wonder how much air and—” Meg waved a hoof around them “—dirt went with it?” A destruction of mass and energy only possible due to the displacement. “Some of that dirt was starting to come out, it’s what finally made me return to Discord, but most of it… didn’t. As for the air, I don’t really know.” Nothing man-made could be seen from down here. “Any chance Discord could come back and return all this to what it was?” Twilight considered the question. “I doubt it. He presumably doesn’t know what was originally here, and even if that wasn’t a problem… I doubt he’d have the strength to do it after causing another displacement.” Meg sighed. “Still, wouldn’t hurt to ask him.” “I suppose not,” Twilight said. “At least we have good news to pass on to your media.” Blue was finally returning to the sky. “Let’s make sure all Royal Guards are accounted for.” Her face went grim. “Then we can talk about Routledge.” All thrones were occupied, even Spike’s mini-throne. It was far from clear what insight or advice they could offer on human politics, but Twilight had insisted on their presence and Meg hadn’t cared enough to successfully talk her out of it. An elevated cushion had been provided for Meg, and she used her wings to lift herself onto it. Then, at Twilight’s prompting, she informed everypony and baby dragon what had gone down with Routledge. “I have no idea what to do,” she concluded. Rarity tilted her head at her. “Have you considered asking Serrell for advice?” Meg shook her head. “Not an option. He’s far from neutral in this matter.” “At least we’re neutral.” Meg jerked her head towards Applejack. “Are you, really?” “Ah can see where yer coming from. But Routledge is singing a different tune now, ain’t he?” “Doesn’t mean it’s an honest tune.” A grimace. “You got me there.” “What about the prisoners?” Twilight asked. “Do we or do we not go ahead with the interviews?” Meg slumped. “It’s something he asked me: Do I believe what the prisoners plan to say is the truth?” “It will all be verified by the records from the warehouse. They know any lies they tell will be exposed.” Meg looked the alicorn in the eye. “Do you know for a fact that those incriminating records actually exist?” “Well, no, we didn’t have the chance to look through them all, you know that.” “We barely looked through any of them, and now we no longer can because they’ve all been removed by the special counsel.” “True, but that still begs the question of why the prisoners would lie about that.” Never mind why Routledge would lie about them lying. “So they volunteer to go on TV and go whistleblower on Routledge. It’s all going to come out eventually anyway, so why bother?” As soon as Meg asked it, she realized the question answered itself. Twilight then proved it, by saying, “To get it out in public now.” “Right, to make it public—now. Not who knows how many months from now when the special counsel concludes its investigations.” Applejack nodded. “A lie can do a lot of damage before the truth can come out.” Could it be that simple? That Jackson wants to get back at Routledge somehow? Maybe he had always been a loose cannon? He certainly appears to have outlived his welcome with the senator. Meg grimaced. “It all depends on who is lying.” Someone isn’t telling the whole truth, that’s for sure. Or maybe neither of them. Worst of all, maybe the liar wasn’t Routledge. Rainbow Dash smirked. “So just go ask Serrell! Surely he can find out what that special counsel found out, and why wouldn’t he share it with us?” Meg suppressed a groan. “It doesn’t work like that. He’s also a potential target of their investigation; he cannot interfere.” “Could Twilight nicely ask them?” Fluttershy asked. “They’re not investigating her, are they?” They’re trying to be helpful, she reminded herself. But it only confirmed why Meg didn’t want Twilight bothering to involve them. “No, they’re not—at least I don’t think so—but they’re not going to share that information with anyone until they’re done investigating.” “Months, you said?” asked Rarity. “At least,” Meg declared. “Well we can’t wait that long!” The unicorn looked over to Applejack. “You need to question the prisoners.” The earth pony nodded in return. “As soon as I can get there.” To Meg, she asked, “And then what?” That was the question, wasn’t it? “It depends on whether they’re telling the truth about the dirt on Routledge.” “Well,” Twilight began, “if they have been telling the truth, then Routledge did not, and I’d say let the interviews go ahead as planned. And if it turns out Routledge was right about them…” Meg had nothing to add to that. Spike raised a claw. “If Routledge was right about them, will you take him up on his offer?” That was the question, wasn’t it? To be fair, in that case, he wasn’t as evil as she had thought. Probably. His tactics sure as hell left a lot to be desired. Yet he was offering to undo the damage—if it could be fully undone, or undone at all. Hell, even if the prisoners were being completely honest… But if Routledge was lying about them, then why wouldn’t he be lying about his offer? But what if she first demanded evidence of good faith, for him to take the first steps in repairing her image? I can’t believe I’m even considering it. “Meg?” She dragged her head up to look at Twilight. “I just don’t know.” She wondered what advice Luna would give. Probably something along the lines of “if Routledge was playing her for a fool, then she ought to play him for an even bigger fool.” Easier said than done. “Why don’t we examine this from a different angle?” Rarity suggested. “Say the prisoners are lying and you take up the senator’s offer. What then do you tell your president?” Meg grimaced. “Beats me.” “Say the prisoners are telling the truth and still you take up the senator’s offer. What then do you tell your president?” All eyes locked onto the draconequus, floating down from on high. “I don’t recall you being invited,” Dash said. Discord waved it away. “An oversight I’m willing to forgive.” He looked expectantly at Meg. She could hardly fault him for suggesting that; she had just considered it herself. “Regardless of what I do or do not tell him,” she admitted, “that scenario would cause the most chaos, I should think.” A genuine smile graced his face. “You are learning, Padawan.” Applejack fumed. “The goal here ain’t chaos.” “Chaos leads to change. Change leads to improvement. Improvement leads to happiness.” “Works for me!” Pinkie proclaimed. Applejack snorted. “Well, not for me. How can taking the offer of a liar lead to improvement?” “We don’t know,” Rarity countered, “that he is the one lying here.” “Hardly matters. He’s done enough we do know about.” This was going nowhere fast. “I wish it were that simple,” Meg said. Before anypony could say anything, she turned to Discord. “By the way, any chance you could turn that huge hole in the ground back to what it originally was?” “Strong am I with the Force, but not that strong.” “Force what now?” asked Dash. “Enough with the references, Discord, especially references only I would get.” The draconequus pouted as Meg turned to the pegasus. “It means he can’t do it, especially when he has to do a displacement first. Twilight and I already suspected that.” Twilight nodded in agreement. “As for everything else,” she continued, resigned to the inevitable, “why don’t we get more facts first? Let’s pay the prisoners a visit.” Meg and Applejack followed Twilight through the dungeons. It had given Meg plenty of time to ponder the what-ifs, with little to show for it. Eventually that time ran out, for they had arrived. Meg squeezed her pendant before they would see her. She wanted to face them as a human. Twilight stopped in front of the cell holding Jackson, the ringleader. He was standing in front of the bars, apparently tipped off by the sound of approaching hooves. Whatever he had been about to say was preempted by the sight of the orange earth pony. “I see you brought your lie detector.” Meg took the lead. “Any reason in particular that would concern you?” There was no immediate response, so Twilight went next. “It’s for your own benefit,” she said. “This way we can take your word at face value. It would… expedite matters. We could, for example, release you from this facility and grant you freedom to roam freely through Canterlot, until such time you could be returned to your own realm.” Applejack took a step forward. “And ’cause it’s for yer own good, I’ll be there for your interview. That way, everypony watching will know you speak the truth.” Jackson turned around, walked a few steps, then turned around to face them again. “No, it doesn’t work like that. Everyone watching will think I’m being forced to regurgitate your propaganda. No pony shall be present.” He glared at Meg. “Nor part-time ponies.” He went back to the cot and laid down on his back, looking up at the ceiling. “Or no interview.” Meg walked by the other cells, asking, “Anyone feel differently?” Silence was her answer. “I think we’re done here,” she said as she walked past Twilight and away from the cells. “Come along, Applejack.” Twilight proceeded to follow Meg. “I reckon you’re right.” Once they had put sufficient distance behind them, Meg first returned to being a pony and then spoke up. “He’s not wrong, you know, about the ‘regurgitating propaganda’ bit. Doesn’t mean he intends to tell the truth.” Applejack snorted. “Ah’ll say. He lied by not saying anything back there, if ya ask me.” One hardly needed to be the Element of Honesty to have noticed that, but what to do about it? Meg suspected that subjecting Routledge to Applejack would yield similar results. All she could conclude from it all was this: The media interviews with the prisoners should happen if and only if she declined the senator’s offer. Which only brought her full circle to the question of whether to accept his offer. But if Jackson refused to talk in the presence of Applejack, maybe Routledge had a point? Was the senator, perhaps, not quite as guilty as she believed? “Serrell once told me,” Twilight said, “that the members of The Section wouldn’t give each other the time of day, if not for their common cause—us ponies, that is.” Meg looked at her. “You think this may be what’s going on between Routledge and Jackson? That seems unlikely. Jackson was Routledge’s ‘fixer,’ according to what he told Andy. Though… now that I think about it… that might mean Jackson doesn’t tell his boss everything he does, so as to provide plausible deniability.” She sighed. “I dunno.” “I don’t know either.” “Then again, a ‘fixer’ is supposed to stay out of the limelight and Jackson has failed to do that—spectacularly failed to do that.” Twilight had nothing to say to that. In silence the three mares continued their journey out of the dungeons. “I just don’t know what to do.” Meg paced back and forth in her brother’s living room as he, his wife, and Steve watched. “Sure, I could ask Celestia or Luna for advice, I certainly don’t think they’re too innocent and naïve, but it… just doesn’t feel right.” She stopped and looked at them. “This is a human problem? They’ve been running an equine monarchy for over a thousand years. Could they really understand how our system of government works?” “Do we?” Matt asked. Meg cringed at that. “Regardless,” Lori said, “how are we supposed to forget what happened to our daughter?” “Sunk cost fallacy.” Lori glared at Steve. “We can’t change what happened,” he explained. “We can only strive for the best future outcome.” He shrugged. “The trick is figuring out how to achieve that.” Meg resumed pacing. “And taking the senator at his word may be the way to do that.” Matt threw her a grim smile. “Or may lead to disaster.” “Yeah.” She paced back and forth a few more times. It didn’t help. There were just too many unknowns, and no apparent way to make them less unknown. For the next few back and forths, she considered using time travel to the future. But that wouldn’t really work either. Sure, she’d see one outcome, but there was no reason to believe it’d be the best outcome. And once seen, it was immutable as far as she was concerned. Nor was there any obvious way to turn a bad outcome into a paradox. It was almost enough to make her resume quantum coin flips. Whatever came up would have to, somehow, lead to that future self she had met in the hyperspatial void. No flipping yet, though; even if the destination was assured, the path to it was not assuredly pleasant. Especially if either choice would lead to that future self—how could she know they didn’t? But then what? Not knowing what else to do, Meg grabbed the remote with her hand, turned on the TV, and changed the channel to CNN. More live coverage of the aftermath of the anomaly’s removal, still hosted by Andy. Andy. The former Lord Tirek. And before that, a human royal. A human quite familiar with human power struggles. Who may be sufficiently unbiased with regards to this particular power struggle. Meg made up her mind. “I’m gonna ask Andy for advice.”