5 May, Y.C. 970
Canterlot
“Eleven dead,” said McNamare stiffly. “Four guardsponies and seven civilians. A hundred-odd injuried. We lost five fruit vendors and a silversmith’s shop.”
“And six months’ worth of goodwill,” growled Celestia.
They were alone, here at the top of the Sun Tower. The small balcony didn’t offer much room, but it gave a stupendous view of Canterlot itself — more importantly, a view far enough removed from any prying ears, if the light privacy enchantment wasn’t enough.
It was always somewhat unnerving, hearing the Princess speak frankly, but she supposed if this was as close to anger as she was going to see, then that was all right in her book. She didn’t want to be within a hundred miles of a truly angry alicorn.
“Damage control is already underway. We’re spinning it as a peacenik gone violent.”
“Peacenik?” echoed the Princess. “Peacenik. A full half-dozen sociolinguists on staff, and that’s the best we could come up with.”
“We’re three months into a redefinition project for the word. It seemed appropriate.”
“Fine,” she said, waving a dismissal. “Peacenik bomb. How’s the investigation going?”
“Eight suspects. One publishes an antiwar pamphlet paper, four are mid-level leaders in the group that’s been organizing the demonstrations. All have been detained pending charges.”
“And how soon will those come down?”
“Five of them were found with suspicious chemicals on them. All can be traced to a known safehouse.”
“How convenient.”
“Yes, very. We’re fast-tracking prosecution; they should be arraigned within the week.”
“I don’t suppose it’s too late to play it down.”
McNamare gave a little smile. The Princess was talking to herself at this point, and what she said didn’t really matter. After all, she knew exactly what was happening. She had to. She was the Princess; knowing things was her job.
“We’re playing it straight for now, giving the press a few more days to figure itself out. There are minor leads spread out for most of the major spins we could throw on it, and depending on what the long-term strategy is, we can pull and bolster appropriately.”
A murmur of acknowledgement from the alicorn; it was apparent that the conversation had shifted from talking to herself to not talking at all.
That was fine by McNamare. She didn’t get up here much — nopony did; it was the Princess’ private quarters, after all — and it offered the kind of view that only a pegasus got on a regular basis.
Down below them, half of Haymarket Square was still roped off, and specks of blue and gold milled about. Not that the Royal Guard had anything to do right now, nor that their spears and halberds would do much against another explosive, but at least they looked like they were doing something. That’s what counted.
And, for the moment, looks mattered. The eastern half of the square was still scorched at the blast site, and the façades facing the square still bore signs of damage. One of them had collapsed entirely, leaving only a pile of brick where one of the market stalls used to be.
Had it only been a day? Certainly it felt like more; she had been at her desk almost constantly since then, fielding calls and issuing orders. Ever since the first guard dashed through her door….
She hadn’t even felt the rumble from the blast, though to judge by the destruction it was big enough. And that stuck with her. The explosive was large, but it wasn’t all that effective. A handful of dead and a hundred injured? The square held five hundred, easily, not to mention anypony in the streets nearby or buildings next to it. Frankly, the explosive seemed designed to make a big boom, rather than kill anypony.
Not that that made much sense either. Who would attack protesters? Certainly they wouldn’t; the last thing Canterlot needed was to give the anti-war factions more press exposure. Their plan had been containment through obscurity, counterweighted by a steady stream of goods news out of Blackacre, carefully culled from the daily reports and casualty lists that just kept adding up. And of course they weren’t going to bomb themselves; where was the sense in that?
Anyway. Her job wasn’t to figure out the why — at least, not for now. She had to work with what they had and try to salvage some of this mess. They needed to deliver a victory, and had a month and a half to do it. Not that there was anything tactically special about the Summer Sun Celebration — it wasn’t an equinox, with all the attendant weather changes that wreaked havock with logistics and battlefield strategies — but rather because it was a symbol. And, right now, that’s what they needed.
With a low rumble, the Princess muttered something to herself. Time for her to make herself useful again, it seemed.
“Why didn’t they detect it?”
“Ma’am?”
“The explosive. The city gates have basic security enchantments, and the reports say there were unicorn teams on patrol when the rally started.”
“There were,” she agreed. “I don’t know why they didn’t pick anything up. Maybe too far away, maybe the concentration was too low. Judging by the chemical traces, it’s a standard compound, so we should have been able to detect something.”
“Masking spell?”
“Possible. Seems to be the only way at this point. Somepony went through a lot of trouble to attack a single peace rally.”
“Peacenik rally,” corrected the Princess with tight lips. “It’s your word. Use it.”
“Of course.”
A pause.
“Accelerate the Blackacre timetable,” she declared. “Ten percent across the board. We need to end this.”
“I — understood, Princess,” said McNamare. “I don’t know how much we’ll be able to do. Their timberwolf teams are ripping our supply lines to shreds. We’ve got a few beachheads, but not much more.”
“You’re going to find a way to fix that.”
“I’ll do my best, but at the end of the day we only have so many ponies in theatre,” she said. Using a firm tone with the Princess was never a good idea, but she knew that, in this situation, it was not only allowed but expected. Half of her job was telling it like it was.
“We simply don’t have the ponies to both put on a show for the dragons and continue the advance. We’re out of reserves; any reinforcements are coming straight out of boot.”
“Increase quotas.”
“We’re already at plus fifteen percent and facing some major pushback in some of the coastal areas,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s hard to feel invested in a war a thousand miles away.”
“Make them care,” she shot back. “Because if they don’t, they won’t have a choice.”
McNamare nodded slowly. This wasn’t a subject she particularly wanted to get into at the moment. No one liked drawing up those kinds of plans.
“Aspia,” said the Princess, “this needs to be taken care of.”
“I agree.”
“This, meaning Blackacre.” She paused for a moment, staring out at the city. Her city, the one she and she alone could protect. She had been doing it for a thousand years, and somehow things kept going wrong. Just once, when Equestria was saved, she wanted it to stay saved, even for a while.
“I want contingency plans,” she said quietly. “Every possible cause, every possible effect. I want a full spread of options, ready to go at any time. I want them to cover every major contingency and then some. I want them to create contingencies. I want every possible solution to the Blackacre problem.”
Celestia turned her head, staring straight at McNamare.
“I want preparations for any means necessary.”
She swallowed.
“Any,” repeated the alicorn.
“Un… understood.”
“Good,” she said, fire in her eyes. “We need to stop this before it gets out of control.”
“It might be too late for that.”
“Then turn back time,” said the Princess with a thin smile. “That’s your job; figure out a way to do it.”
“Actually… I’m talking about the dragons. We know they’re on the warpath, and we’re about fifteen years too late to stop them.”
“Then that’s a contingency,” said the Princess, slightly irritated. “Plan for it.”
“With due respect — you don’t plan for dragons.”
“I do,” she said flatly. “Speaking of which, I will also require a complete copy of our tactical information on the dragons. Locations, extrapolations, psych profiles. Skip the strategic analysis, but I want all the low-level field information we have.”
A pause.
“That will be all.”
McNamare bowed her head slightly, leaving the Princess to her silent vigil. She shivered slightly at the thought of her task, definted with those three little words that changed so much.
Any means necessary.