//------------------------------// // X. Ferae Naturae // Story: Chrysalis Visits The Hague // by Dan The Man //------------------------------// IX. Ferae Naturae Kurhaus Hotel, The Hague 18. November, 2015 5:02 pm MET “'The discovery in the Everfree Region has sent a wave of shock and sorrow through the ranks of... of...' No no no...” the defence counsel hissed, and rolled back on his elegant hotel bed. “It doesn't fit. It sounds awkward, I can't have it sounding awkward.” A deep human hum came out of the speaker phone on the night-stand in the corner. It was the distinctive voice of Garibaldi, his Italian aide-de-camp. “I see what you mean, Mr Estermann. As it is now, it comes across... very forced... unnatural even. It shouldn't sound like we needed hours to come up with the right terminology.” “Then let's bin the thesaurus and start over!” Nervously, Estermann jolted upright once more and left the bed. He peered around his beautifully furnished room, over the vase with tulips in the corner, the running Flat-screen TV in front of him - channelled on Euronews and with the sound muted - and out the wide-cut windows that offered him a panoramic view down the southern coast landscape of Scheveningen, where he saw the church spires, the palace roofs and skyscrapers of The Hague gleaming under the setting autumn sun in the distance. The Swiss jurist had been utterly unable to find a proper flat or house to rent for himself in the town for the long term; the demand for living space had risen dramatically, in part because of the trial itself. He had thankingly, if begrudgingly, accepted the opportunity to spend a couple of nights at the famed Kurhaus Hotel. The seaside hotel itself was filled to the brim with all sorts of creatures longing for a nice evening of relaxation after a day of back-breaking desk work. The elegant art nouveau construction that had been built in the honour of the town more than a hundred years ago, now had the honour of serving a very different kind of purpose. Witnesses, observers and journalists, ponies and humans alike, but also advocates, prosecutors, judges and investigators had taken the invitation to canton themselves in the stately lodge just like him. Almost all the suites of the historical, five-star jewel of the seaside town of Scheveningen had been rented out by the Court. “You know we can simply release the press statement at the end of the week.” he suddenly heard Garibaldi suggest. “From my experience with the press, a grace period of up to five days is more than appropriate for issuing a statement.” Impatiently, Estermann crossed his arms and paced over to the phone. “If we wait until the end of the week to comment, we might just as well not comment on it at all!” With the side of his right hand he clapped into his left. “I want our reply to be snappy! Apt! Determined! We cannot let the rest of the world know that we are despairing over this mess. It's bad for our image and it's bad for our position in this trial.” “Mr Estermann,” the Italian warned, “I have five or six major media outlets waiting on the other lines. I can either tell them to come back next week to take our statement in peace, or I can tell them to hold the line, and have them wait for nought. And let me tell you, reporters don't like to be kept waiting.” “And that's why they will get their statement.” He harrumphed. “Just remember one thing, Mr Garibaldi: Queen Chrysalis is not to be implicated. Don't lose a single word about her!” There was a short pause. “How do you mean that?” “We are not going to suggest Queen Chrysalis had any part in that mass murder. There is no proof – no proof at all! - that she is involved. I mean, sure, there may have been changelings involved... And that's a big Maybe... But there is a fuck-ton of changelings out there! I'd stake my pay on that there are at least some of them that do not directly answer to her. We are not going to be the ones to draw any links between this crime and the Queen. You got that?” “I see your point. But I still need to quote you on something concrete.” “Alright, alright!” the counsel groaned again. “Ehm... 'This incident certainly affected the defence's work, making clear the nature of the crimes was-” “Why don't you talk more about Queen Chrysalis' own reaction? How about, 'the development shocked the Queen' or 'saddened the Queen'?” “Saddened? Shocked?!” He snorted. “Schön wärs. Chrysalis wouldn't even bring up the courtesy to wish them good riddance...” There was an apprehended pause. ”I see.” However, the counsel immediately dodged his thoughts. “But... I still do not see any reason to think that she's actually involved. She just hates ponies. And this is her way to express her sentiment.” ”In Italy, we say, Scusa non richiesta, accusa manifesta." Garibaldi countered. "One would expect her to send her condolences, or at least affirm that she had no part in it. If she really is uninvolved, that is.” Nervously, he scratched his trouser leg. “The Queen has a... slight self-preservation malfunction, Mr Garibaldi. That said, I am not going to claim that she cares when she actually doesn't. It would only take a warden to prattle away about her to do us all in. Never lie when the lie's flimsy.” He let out a sniff. “Talk more about the victims, and what they did to end up in that situation...” ”I'd... strongly discourage you from focusing on the victims. That would sound like you would be levelling the blame against them.” He let his words sink in for a second. “That would be the bottom of the barrel, especially if coming from the defence.” His temper was running low. “What if we just send our own condolences, and not lose a word about any accusations?” “If we do that and still refuse to talk about the possible perpetrators, it will just come across as insincere. If we are to take a position, we must take a position.” “Jesus, Maria, und Josef!” the counsel exclaimed. “How come this has turned into such a fucking minefield? When has it become so rude as to suggest that the Queen had no part in this affair?” ”Because that's... not very probable. Not to imply anything, but I would expect more involvement in changeling matters from someone who styles herself as the 'Queen of all Changelings'. We cannot just pretend that this doesn't concern her.” Slowly, the lawyer sank down in one of the armchairs near the entrance to the bathroom. ”Perhaps we both should take a day or two to cool our heads and think about how we present ourselves in light of the developments. Just so we don't slip up.” “It's going to be pitch-black in less than hour. The press would have long gone by then.” "Perhaps. Though... I would expect the at least stay until the desserts start rolling out.” Estermann huffed, both in frustration and confusion. “What desserts?” “The Court has organised a dinner in the Kurhaus Hotel today at six. Didn't you get an invitation?” Carefully, the lawyer glanced over to the wardrobe table, where there indeed lie a small pamphlet he had found at his room's doorstep, and not minded any further. “What... kind of dinner?” he asked, cautiously. He immediately noticed he his stomach began to curl up on the inside at the mere mention. Having been so caught up in the situation that he hadn't even noticed that he didn't get a bite to eat since breakfast. The Italian's answer was peppered with enthusiasm. ”Oh, the fancy kind. To toast to the successful cooperation between the ICC and the Equine institutions.” The counsel couldn't withhold a groan as his eyes twisted upwards to the ceiling. “I sincerely hope you don't plan on going there.” ”Uh... Actually, I did.” the Italian slurred innocently. “Garibaldi...” Estermann warned him, “You may have noticed that we are at the precipice of an actual development in this trial. Now is not the time to go partying and get sloshed!” “Mr Estermann, everyone's going there. The prosecution and the judges will be attending too. Cavolo, even most of the people from our office will be there. Helena, Lars... Heartstrings as well.” “I don't even know half of those names...” Estermann growled. “Well... for a start, Heartstrings is that pony liaison...” “Oh, I know her!“ he snapped. All of a sudden, he felt very lost. His brain told him to bark Garibaldi back into line. There was work to be done. But, in the back of his mind, he did start to sense an air of futility to it all. “So... “ he winced bitterly, "Do you expect me to finish all the with this statement all by myself then?“ “Of course not. In fact, I think you should come as well.” Garibaldi proposed calmly. “I'm sure everyone will look forward to meeting you in person.” “I bet they would.” he snarked. He heard the Italian sigh. “We... we can always discuss the wording some more during the dinner, if you really want...” The condescending, slightly weary tone in which his aide-de-camp slurred those words sent a last, irritated shiver through the Swiss lawyer's body. “Do not patronise me, Garibaldi. Don't pretend that your fancy dinner is more important than the job you're being paid for. Do you hear me?” “Of course not. I didn't mean it that way...” He cleared his throat. “Will you come, though?” “I will think about it. It depends on how far I'll can wrap up the draft. By myself.” “Well... good luck then.” Rising up from his chair, he skipped over to the phone and slammed his finger on the receiver lever. Garibaldi's line was immediately replaced by a consistent low-pitch beep filling the room. “Lazy prick.” he muttered as he sat down on his bed and looked over the notes he had accrued during the last few minutes of brainstorming. He had written down about twenty different statements he could have issued concerning the 'Cave of Death', as one witty mind had dubbed it, in the ever-so dwindling hope that at least one of them wouldn't come across as either pathetic, deceitful, or self-defeating. Garibaldi had that point, of course; one couldn't ignore the elephant in the room. Already the way Queen Chrysalis had reacted to his confrontation with the photos the other day - her bored, slightly annoyed look - spoke volumes. She hadn't even raised an eyebrow, for crying out loud! It all seemed to be so hilariously obvious. Of course would Chrysalis, the Queen of all Changelings, have her hole-ridden hoofprints all over the affair. The problem was that he couldn't say that. He, as her attorney... 'Alright... alright.' he told himself in a raspy enervated voice, and picked a pencil from the night stand, 'One sentence. It doesn't take more than one sentence to deny everything. That's all I will write down for now. If I write down that one sentence and it works, I will stay and I will finish the damn paragraph. If not... then not.' And one sentence he wrote. He was downstairs in the grand ballroom by ten past six. The Kurhauszaal was the main hall of the hotel, with its various historical uses ranging from balls to rock concerts. Now, the room with the swung, painted and glass ceilings, illuminated by the hundred little, bright peach-yellow lights of an enormous chandelier, was hosting a banquet in the honour of the Court and invited all the guests to an eloquent evening meal. The diners had been positioned around a number of sizeable circular tables, and were chatting away as uniformed servants chased around with platters of aperitifs, while a solitary unicorn was trying her luck at a human grand piano in the bar corner of the room. The music was clumsily performed, yet jovial and uplifting. The throats of a a few hundred humans and ponies filled the air with chatter and laughter, and there was just the right amount of alcohol in reach to make one's mind blur most of the hassle to non-existence. Everything went so fast that Estermann didn't take note of most of it; in only a matter of seconds, he found himself seated at a table, sandwiched between a joke-cracking, slightly overweight Italian jurisprudent and an overly ambitious aqua unicorn, getting introduced to other key members of his defence team. He knew that he was most certainly not going to remember any of their names if he didn't necessarily have to, and neither did he care for it. There was a female secretary with dark brown hair, a young Scandinavian legal advisor with a boyish face… He honestly did not care. Massaging his temple, he peered over to Garibaldi, who was busy sharing a funny story of his with the others. "My son, Abramo. He is in third grade now and content with it, but I tell you, back in the first? Did you know what his first words were when he came out of the classroom on the first day of school?" "I don't want to guess again. What?" a secretary with large rimmed glasses asked and gave a wide, musing smile and sipped from her champagne glass. "Well, he came out, I was waiting outside the classroom, and I asked him how it went. And his first words literally were – now, I kid you not -" 'Well, what were his damn first words already?!' Estermann hissed in his mind. "'I think I'm surrounded by assholes.'" The other guests gave a round of amused chuckles. And Lyra Heartstrings let out a penetrating, overdone screech of a laugh, tearing her maw open wide as the other guests winced. For as enthusiastic as her reaction was, it was obvious she had only just realised that the story was supposed to amuse her, but not how. She didn't want to show her new human colleagues that she didn't get the joke. Estermann just let his head slowly sink into his waiting propped-up arms and pressed his eyes shut until they were wet with tears. "No kidding?" the secretary with the glasses verified in elation, clenching her teeth as she bravely filtered out the pony's guffaw. "I am not making this up. It definitely left a lasting expression on his teacher, let me tell you that!" "What do you think does this tell you about your son?" the other assistant, the younger intern-like one with the Scandinavian accent asked. “You mean the language or the attitude?" 'It probably says that he'll grow up to be someone great someday.' Estermann pondered. He would have said it out loud, but he did not feel like announcing his participation in this conversation. He didn't want to draw out the small talk any longer than he had to. But pudgy Garibaldi talked on unfazed. Estermann swore, if that man hadn't done most of the work in organising a defence team, and was now trying so hard to lead his fellow workmen to believe that they had some kind of functioning work relationship with their boss, Estermann would have just waited for the main course and then gone back to his room. The counsel was in a strange mood - it was better than on the days before; he didn't feel as lethargic, slow and wasn't quite as plagued by headaches; but it was still far from a happy, content one. It was one of those pesky moods like when he caught a cold, just without the excuse of an actual cold. Likewise, he couldn't keep his thoughts from skipping to the Changeling regent, who was currently sitting in a jail cell less than a five minute car drive away, probably chewing on her very own dinner... Hopefully, she liked it. Only then could he continue with his defence in an orderly fashion. Somewhere in the room, someone struck a wine glass with a fork. Snapping out of his thoughts, he looked over the heads of the seated guests, and found an old acquaintance standing up rising (very slightly) above the others. Prosecutor Pierman. She was obviously giving some kind of grand speech, but her meek voice wasn't quite strong enough to carry every word as far as Estermann's ears. He could make out that she was talking to a few pony heads sitting two or three tabled adjacent from his own, who were listening to her very intently, eyes as big as saucers. The counsel could hear snippets of the riveting, Afrikaner-accented speech echoing over the chit-chat of the other guests. First, he could pick up things like, “...bound to its principle, and not its species or racial allegiance... guided by the winds of love and violence...”, and all sorts of rather corny parables. But soon, those were replaced by words like, “despotic, murderous, intolerant powers... 'might is right'... I couldn't hold back my tears. I won’t lie... ” He put a warming hand to his pale, throbbing forehead. 'Well, look who's hitching a ride on the quixotic bandwagon' he mused in melancholy. 'Does she even know with what kind of despots she is dealing with here?' Even then, it looked a rather pathetic performance. And really, it sounded little better... as if she had recently ascended to papacy and was now preaching to the quadrupedal choir. No one asked her to do that. She just did. Perhaps the prosecutor liked the sound either of her voice or - more probably - her views, and didn’t falter in letting others know. ‘What a riot.’ He was happy how he dodged the possibility of suffering through such a lecture when he kicked her out of his office the other day. A few seconds into his pondering, the speech seemed to wrap itself up, and the prosecutor's voice fell silent. Mere milliseconds after, her table was enveloped by enthusiastic applause from a hundred hooves, causing a few heads to turn around quizzically. And as hooves connected with each other, connected with the floor, and connected with the tablecloth, a few human hands from nearby tables spontaneously joined in as well. As Estermann sat there and pondered the - distant, yet so close - roar of the ovation condemning the murderous, sociopathic tyrant that was his client, he couldn't help but feel increasingly displaced. He thought, just as he was thinking two days ago, about the role impartiality still played in all of this. He couldn't say he didn't agree with what the prosecution intended. But he still felt uncomfortable to be stuck in an environment that was so violently opposed to his efforts. It didn't feel right to dine with the opponents of his client. In fact, at the moment, he would have felt more at home dining in a bombed-out officer's bunker at the edge of a raging battlefield. There, at least there wouldn't have been any moral complications. To him, this whole affair had become more and more akin to a war. In fact, he couldn't understand anymore why he seemed to be the only one who felt like he was at the receiving end of an impending bullet salvo. Or cavalry charge, in this case... Even the aqua unicorn next to him who had insisted that he didn't give up on the Changeling Queen a mere day ago, appeared very blissful, trying to blend in the other dinner guests, smiling and nodding and generally saying nothing of use. She seemed to be genuinely trying to enjoy the occasion, sitting among creatures that she appeared to be absolutely adoring. Or maybe, Estermann thought, she was just trying to make amends with the fact that this was the way the next months would be spent - a cycle of serious, morally demeaning paperwork and research - followed by lush, expensive dinners stacked with forced, artificial smiles, intertwined with pretty speeches. Why couldn't he just follow her example? He couldn't be more vain than a damn unicorn. Trying to shake the unpleasant thoughts out of his head, he let his sight zoom across the menu in front of him. Entirely Vegetarian. It stood there in big, reassuring letters. It made sense, of course, and half of the patrons were equines, but it still annoyed him to no end. He couldn't start much with tofu meatballs or eggplant lasagne. Mentally, he reminded himself to find himself a McDonalds or something on the way to the court tomorrow. One with extra greasy burgers. Almost as if his thoughts could be read straight off his face, he felt two very reminiscent purple eyes burning a hole in his cheek. Subtly glancing over his shoulder, he spotted the not very pretty sight of Magistrate Lexy Fori, glaring at him from her seat at the prosecutor's banquet. The pony judge was dining with the prosecutor? Oh, what a surprise. Irritated, Estermann sent an haughty, inquisitive glance back at her, accompanied by an trouble-inviting hand gesture. She retorted with a disbelieving, disgusted shake of her head and the mouthing of something probably not very charming. Before he could reply with a contentious cock of his own head, he aptly forced himself to look the other way when he grew aware that he was getting lulled into what was little more than an over-glorified face-making contest that wouldn't have been out of place in a school canteen. It was then that his aide-de-camp hauled him back into his own conversation. "And how about you, Mr Estermann?" "Me, what?" the Estermann asked guardedly. "Uh, well... how did you end up here?" Garibaldi asked. "I thought we'd make a little round where everyone introduces himself and tells a little about their role here, or their family life or a funny little story or something similar." "What is this, kindergarten?" the lawyer blurted out, partly confused and partly irritated, with no enthusiasm in his voice. The other guests on the table fell into an awkward silence. It was obvious that this man was not the most pleasant individual to keep in company. Estermann let out an exasperated sigh. "Alright. My name is Estermann, Alexander Estermann, and I'm from Lucerne in Switzerland. And my main job in the last few days has been holding direct contact with our client. You’re welcome." "Aha?" the Italian replied, obviously mocking interest. Exasperated, Estermann looked to his left. In the very next moment, a heavy hand descended on his shoulder. Looking up instantly, the jurist espied a pudgy, white-haired face towering over him. "Colm. What a surprise!“ The attorney said, a little relieved to see a familiar face. "Evening, Alex.“ He turned towards the other dinner guests. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.“ The others greeted the judge as well. "Are you enjoying the meal?“ "Oh, we're still at the aperitifs.“ Lyra remarked dutifully. "Ah, perfect.“ The elderly judge removed his glasses and smiled at Estermann. "My learned friend. May I abduct you for a minute?“ Estermann immediately rose, his eyes beaming. "Be my guest.“ Anything to get away from this sea of judging eyes and clapping hooves. The unicorn at his side immediately rose to follow suit, looking after her boss, but was stopped by the judge's hand. "I’m afraid it’s private, Ms Heartstrings. I will return Mr Estermann in a short moment.“ She wasn't as easily shaken off, though. “But afterwards, you will tell a little more about yourself, eh?” "Look,” the lawyer sighed into her direction, “If you want to hear an interesting life story, why don’t tell something about yourself?” Now it was the unicorn's turn to be surprised. She stared at him with big, googly eyes. "Who... me?" Estermann thought that, seeing how ready those creatures were to talk about irrelevant personal stuff no one cared about, the unicorn might be just the right candidate. "Yes you, do go on. How did you end up here?" She blushed. Then a great big white equine smile blossomed between her lips. "Well... if you insist, Mr E..." As the unicorn sat down again, perplexedly staring at the others and readying to share her life story with them, the attorney disappeared alongside his friend the judge in the other end of the room. Colm’s smile vanished as he turned back for Estermann. "Jesus, you don’t look good. You should really sit down and eat something after this, before you keel over in front of everyone.“ Estermann took note of the judge’s hand moving towards his stomach, massaging it in a Napoleon-like manner, while the other hand seemed to be searching his pockets for a handkerchief. "So... is this what you wanted to tell me? You're not an oil painting yourself, Colm. What is it, heartburn?“ But the judge merely shrugged it off. "Yes and no, I’m just a bit out of breath. I’ll have to go to the wardrobe and get some pills from my coat. Tell me, how did your meeting with the team go?“ "It depends what you mean by 'meet‘.“ Estermann groaned discretely and glanced over to his table. "You are aware, Alex, that you’re stuck with those guys for the next five or six months, right? If you have any reservations, you should tell me now.“ "Oh, like that I was teamed with a bunch of insufferable work-shys? I’ll get round to complaining. Don’t despair, old friend.“ Estermann smiled, patting his shoulder. Then his hand grabbed the shoulder as he chewed his friends words over. "Hang on... Why 'five or six months‘? I thought trials like this one could drag on for years.“ The judge nodded. "That's why I asked you to come with me. I didn’t want to tell you in front of the whole assembly. Especially not where the prosecution can hear it.“ "Tell... what?“ he inquired. He wasn’t sure whether it was going to be good or bad. He pointed at the door leading to the south wing. "I have someone waiting in the conference room. And I think you should go and see him.“ "What? You mean now?“ "The sooner, the better. You’ll be thanking me.“ "Now hold your horses. Let me be the judge of that, Colm.“ The jurist winced nervously. “What is going on?“ “I can’t tell you that. It’s best if you ask the colt himself.“ The judge slapped him on the shoulder. “All I can say is: You better not get settled in too much. I tell you, if things go well, we’ll be rid of Her Royal Highness by June.“ The attorney gulped. If things went well, he said? Somehow, it didn’t sound encouraging at all. "Just remember, Alex. Don’t breathe a word about this to anyone. Technically, I'm not at liberty to do that, as a judge. I’m doing this because you're a friend and I honestly think you need to know before anyone else.“ Colm warned his colleague as he unlocked the double doors to the hotel’s conference room. "Well... then let’s get this over with already, Colm. The last thing I want to wound up in is a breach of etiquette...“ He was still nervous about Colm’s ‘June‘ prophecy. His friend had a strange, plotting smile on his face, and Estermann could only think badly of it. When they stepped inside, they were confronted by an entirely empty room with several tabletops forming a D-shaped board desk, a dozen chairs, and a flip-chart set up in one corner, its paper filled with doodles of some equine-looking lifeforms. "Alright. What are we doing here?“ Estermann inquired. "Professor?" the judge shouted, ignoring the counsel's question. "You still there?“ There was a rustle under one of the tables. "Oh my, just a tick.“ a male voice suddenly answered from nowhere. There was a thump and one of the tables shook. “Ouch.” A grey pony’s head emerged from behind it. His messy hair gave one the impression that his head was engulfed by a snow-white flaming inferno. “I… I lost my pen. And my glasses” He uttered and smiled bashfully. Once his bespectacled eyes settled on Estermann he exclaimed. "Ah, you must be the attorney." “Ehm...” The attorney turned to the judge. “Who is that?” he whispered. “This is Professor Covalent Bond. An expert on hippology from the Royal University of Canterlot.” The erudite pony nodded and adjusted his glasses. “But you can just call me... Professor, if you are inclined to do so.” “The Professor is here to tell us the truth about the changelings. His testimony may be pivotal to this trial.” “Goody.” Estermann responded flatly, less impressed. “A pony from Canterlot? Does the prosecution know about this?” The judge shook his head. “They don’t, and if you ask me, it should stay that way for now. The point is, he knows quite a bit about changelings. More than you or I. He has studied changeling behaviour for about more than a decade.” “Well, ten years, nine months and three weeks, actually.” The professor clarified. Estermann quietly branded him a wise-ass and rolled his eyes. “And he’s going to tell us the truth about them." Colm explained. "And this truth will spin this trial around by a hundred and eighty degrees if you use it wisely.” “Me?” Estermann nodded. “Alright. Carry on.” He wasn't in a position to refuse an offer right now. The equine professor harrumphed. Theatrically, he raised his marker to the chart and addressed the two listening humans. “Gentlecolts. Let me be the first to say: You are all completely mistaken in your feeble presumptions about the changelings. As easy it is to judge a book by its cover, it’s much easier to misinterpret the written word and the painted picture. You see, the truth of the changeling matter is, that they are not the... downright memetical villains and demons from myths and ponytales of days long gone.” Estermann’s eyes widened. “They’re... not?” “Absolutely not!” Of course, the defence counsel agreed. But the shock of the moment sprang from the fact he had never expected words like those to leave anyone else’s mouth but his own. Especially not a pony. Much less one with a degree. Suddenly, he found a liking in where this was going. He liked it very much. “Where did you find this guy?” he asked Colm in silent amazement. “He flew in two days ago. With best regards from the Dean of Her Majesty's Senate.” Normally, Estermann wouldn’t have given two cents about recommendations from Equestria, seeing how they also served to install Magistrate Fori in the judge panel. But in this case, he was almost inclined to invest a Rappen or two. A recommendation from the equines would raise this pony’s credibility in front of the plaintiffs, and maybe even the judge panel. At least Colm already seemed quite impressed by him. “No, indeed they aren’t.” Covalent assured. “It may seem to many that Chrysalis and her ‘cronies’ are creatures composed of concentrated hate and malice. That their only goal and meaning in life is causing good ponies like you and me misery and sadness. That they exist merely to keep us all living in constant fear, and to supply some kind of convenient adversary for the heroes of our societies to battle and triumph over in this epic tale that we refer to as ‘real life’.” “Yeah.” Estermann nodded. He felt like couldn’t stop nodding, as much as he wanted to agree with him. That pony had taken the words right out of his mind. “Well, my dear human coeval, I say pish-tush! What a load of utter nonsense that the more romantically inclined among our colleagues have tried to read into history. Even though the truth is actually so simple and so plain.” The jurist could not help but smile. “Meine Rede. Pray tell," he asked, like a he was the announcer in a Panto, "what may this so-called truth be, Professor?” “Elementary.” He led the marker to the chart. “To put it plainly and bluntly, Queen Chrysalis – or whatever she may call herself – and her subjects, are nothing more than…” He scrawled three big red words on the paper, in typically sloppy doctor's calligraphy, “… dumb… brainless… animals.” Estermann's smile chipped. That was not what he wanted to hear. “W-what? Could... could you please elaborate that last part?” Again, he nudged his glasses. “Well, the intentions of Chrysalis and her changeling flock has been hopelessly over-interpreted. Changelings are not intelligent creatures. They do not think when they suck out the love and compassion of another living being. They just... act. They are purely fuelled by the most basic and primitive of instincts. Hunger. Anger. Supremacy. Lust. Survival. For them, it’s not a question of ‘Is it right and just to do what I am about to do to my victims?’, but ‘Will I still be hungry after this meal?’” He sounded so haughty that he was at the verge of giggling to himself. “They are pack creatures that gather around one in their midst that manages to surpass their collective minds by one or the other brain cell, and call him or her ‘royalty’. This is how changeling packs were formed. These groups soon joined to form communities. Hunting groups. Hives. The largest of hives usually encompassed up to four hundred thousand creatures – the size of a minor nation, surely, but ultimately nothing near as civilised.” That didn’t sound right, Estermann thought. It was all off. Way off. Sure, Queen Chrysalis may have seemed a little bullheaded and naïve to him when he came to visit her – but still, she was far from what the Professor had described. Despite her natural ferocity and the other little differences in morality, she still seemed a lot like a cornered, enraged, dishonoured… human. “Let me get this straight, Professor. You are telling me changelings did what they did because they were too stupid not to?” “Not the words I would have chosen, but yes.” His smile was steadfast and determined. “You see, one can compare your typical changeling to a wasp. Wasps also live in hives, have specific roles in their community, operate in groups and answer to a ‘Queen’. But are we calling for legal action against wasps because they keep hogging our fizzy drinks during picnics? Certainly not.” “That… that is…” the jurist stuttered forlornly. He could have sworn all of this was too good. Too good to be true. Colm approached him from behind, pleased as punch. “If only someone had told us this a bit earlier, eh Alex? And it's a completely legitimate concern as well. I have mentioned this to Judge Suruma and Lexy Fori the other day. We agreed that the sapiency of the changelings is a potent criticism against the charges of the court. If it turns out that Chrysalis – or any of her compatriots – were not in the 'right mind' to see the wrongness of her actions, we can’t follow up with the charges.” He scratched his nose.“See it as a step up from the ‘insanity defence’.We may not be a court for humans anymore, but we still have to restrict ourselves to sapient species. Right?“ “But… Colm. Look….” The attorney objected hesitantly. “I didn’t come here to hear… this.” “None of us did, Alex." Colm nodded. “But I'm content with this theory. That way, the atrocities won't have to be ignored by the court, but at the same time, the changelings won’t be held accountable for them, and the court will no longer take part in as much controversy for taking on a changeling. Everyone’s happy. So, what do you think of it?” “What I think…” Estermann slurred, discontentedly slumping on the board desk. “I… do not believe that I have ever heard a stupider thing in my life.” “Alexander.” The judge reprimanded him sternly, his voice overcome exasperation. “Ahem…” The professor pushed his glasses up his snout another time. “My dear friend, are you trying to say… that my theory is wrong?” “No,” the lawyer answered caaustically, “I’m trying to say that I’m going to recommend you for the Nobel ‘What the hell do you think I’m trying to say?!’ prize!” “Oh, how kind of you.” The professor replied warmly. “Let me ask you one thing, Professor. What gave you the idea to come to all the way to The Hague and insult my client in such a way?” “Insult?!” the academic pony gasped, then let out a weary laugh. “My dear human, that wasn't my intention at all. I was just stating facts.” “Exactly, Alex.” the judge confirmed. “Hear him out first. He might hold the key to an acquittal in his hands- or, hooves.” Estermann clasped his breast with a hand. “I have spent the last two days at the side of Queen Chrysalis in her cell, and I think I can say as safely as anyone that she is not a dumb animal. She had no problems talking to me, and she didn't have problems understanding what I was saying. She is clearly mentally on par with you or I... even when she sometimes doesn’t behave like it.” “Behaviour discloses more about one’s psyche than you might think.” The professor clarified. “So much for ‘not judging the book by its cover’.” “Mister Attorney. You seem to forget that I hold a degree in hippological studies at the University of Canterlot. I know what I am talking about, whether I like it or not.” Suspiciously, his eyes scanned the human up and down, his eyelids revealing a feeling of doubt. “That said... I cannot help but notice that you appear very… emotional in your response to my theories. Changelings are well known for trying to build an emotional link with their prey, often resulting in the latter beginning to severely miscalculate the former. Tell me a little about your doubts. Maybe we can straighten them out together.” “Oh, now you’re a psychologist too?” the jurist snapped back. The intellectual lowered his eyebrows, ever so slightly irritated. “Yes, actually.” “Are you taking me mentally deficient, Mister Psychologist?” the attorney snarled, “I have an IQ of One hundred and thirty-seven! Yet you're trying to say that I am not intelligent enough to find out for myself that the Queen is not an intelligent creature? That I have been successfully duped by a horse-shaped bug?! Is this what you are implying here?! Because I a take offence to that!” Again, Colm had to intervene before they spurred each other on to new levels of hate. “Now look here.” He turned to the attorney. “Alex. That’s the second time in three days that you order beans and then don’t want to eat them. You’re a like some spoiled brat at times, you know that? You always want to be right – you always want to prove everyone else wrong.” “What are you talking about, Colm? It’s my job.” Estermann growled. “No. Your job is to prove your client not guilty. There's a difference. And this is exactly what we are trying to help you with.” “When you say ‘we’, do you mean yourself and Doctor cum laude ad nauseam over there?” “My name is Covalent Bond, Doctor Doctor Doctor Doctor!” he heard the pony professor protest. “This theory may not be the most flattering, Alex,” Colm explained, “but it may be the saving grace for your defence.” He glared at him as if he was completely mad. “Good God, man! This is all you'll ever need to get this over with! What else could you possibly want? You unbelievable glutton!” “I want the Queen to come forth from this unscathed. The allegations leveled at her thrown out and scotched once and for all!” the attorney dictated, punctuating every other syllable of the sentence. “I’m not settling for a half-arsed mistrial on technicality, and neither is Queen Chrysalis! Trying to sue for a technicality at this stage won't do anyone any good. I am not going to wave the white flag before the fight has even begun. It might just come back and haunt her in yet another way! Maybe the Council of Harmony might try their own thing! Or maybe the Equestrian courts - I'm sorry, court - gets on it! There might just be a retrial here in The Hague! I don't know what the ponies might yet come up with! The rest of her life not spent in prison, but in the courtroom!" And even Estermann sometimes couldn't tell which fate would be worse. He huffed and indignantly combed back his hair with both hands. "Besides, do you really think she would ever agree to getting depicted as a dumb brute in court?” “It will be her own fault if she doesn’t!” The professor agreed. “Quite. If the Changeling cannot look the truth in the eye, it is yet another sign of increased self-delusion. Which is, by the way, yet another telltale sign of a simple mind.” “Oh shut up, you back there!” Estermann ordered before minding the judge again, his teeth clenched. “Colm. Proving a lack of intelligence is not just an insult and a damn lie, it is downright counter-productive. What about... what about the mass graves they dug up the other day? Isn’t that a sign of at least some sapience in and on itself?” “Actually,” the pony hippologist piped back in, “those were changeling feeding and breeding stations, according to my research. Once again, it doesn’t take a feeble mind more than instinctual urges to drive him to such things, as exemplified very well by ants-” “What did I just say?!” Estermann warned. “Alex.” the judge said in a stern tone, pushing the attorney away from him with a hand. “Let me stop you right there. You start to sound like someone else.” “Oh really? And who?” he sneered. “The prosecutor. You’re losing track of your job. ’I can prove that the Changelings were in full capacity of their senses as they ravaged thousands’, indeed. Alex, don’t slide off the slippery slope. Don’t present Pierman this case on a silver platter. Take this hint…” he pointed at the Professor, “and build your defence around it. Pave the road to dismissal.” Nervously, Estermann scratched his forehead as he looked back at the pony scientist, until it was red and sore. He drew in a deep breath, trying to cool himself down. He understood that he couldn’t keep shouting at others forever. He would have to resort to actual, reasonable arguments at one point. “Okay.” He said, almost in a whispery tone. “Colm. For hypothesis’ sake… what would happen if the defence did accept this ‘theory’? What would happen?” Equally calmly, the judge replied, “Best case scenario – for us – the acquittal of the Queen of all charges in record time. It will have the effect that the Queen and all other changelings – the changelings species as a whole – will no longer fit the definition of a sapient animal species, and will therefore not be covered by the Rome Statute anymore.” “And?” Estermann asked on, bitterly. “Go on.” “Well, we will be rid of her once and for all then.” Colm sniggered. “What else is there to say?” “What do you think will happen to Queen Chrysalis herself?” “Oh, she’ll be sent back to Equestria. End of story.” “So what will the Equestrians do to her?” he pressed on. “Alex, do I look like an Equestrian legal expert to you? I don’t know that!” “Incidentally,” the erudite pony next to them suddenly quipped, “I also happen to be an expert on Equestrian law. Queen Chrysalis will be, once returned to Equestrian soil, charged under an entire host of offences, spearheaded by the Equestrian Penal Code §§ 267 - High Treason Against The Princely Crowns, and 360 – Taking Of Multiple Lives. If declared guilty, according to § 33, only the maximum sentence would be in order: Exile.” “You see, Alex?” Colm interrupted, smiling. “Exile. Everything will be fine. The Equestrians will do their thing, and it’ll end dandily for everyone involved. Even Chrysalis.” “Exile where to exactly?” Estermann persisted,“Jupiter or Mars?” The judge rolled his eyes. “Oh, don't be daft, Alex.” “The location of exile is decided on a case-by-case basis.” The pony enunciated matter-of-factly. “But it is almost always preceded by the permanent 'Harnessing of Power'.” “Hm?” Colm sounded, needing a second until the meaning of those words caught up with him. “That is the... removal of all magical power from a wielding creature's system, forever. It's a safety measure that has been recently introduced in the light of... certain other similar recent incidents.” The pony seemed to fight with his own squeamishness as he explained, “First, her magic-producing and magic-delegating faculties, primarily her horn, will be... deactivated, to keep her from producing new magic or utilising it." About now, almost every word out of his mouth sounded like a dirty synonym of some creative torture method. "Then, the Queen's vast magic energy pools... will be drained from her body, to disarm her entirely. Following this, her innate abilities to change her shape, her own enhanced physical prowess, as well as the ability to corrupt and command large groups of fellow changelings and other creatures under her spell, will be effectively removed, and possibly put into safe storage.” “That sounds... harsh.” the judge mouthed, but his face quickly settled back in smugness. “But more than fair.” “Yeah, if it doesn't end up killing her!” Estermann crossed his arms. “You didn't think this through, did you? It could be Chrysalis’ death sentence if we send her back. Not to mention what will happen to any and all other changelings who will then be left at the mercy of the Equestrians.” He shuddered. Could the Equestrians be controlled before they could get revenge? “But remember what I told you.” Colm reasoned desperately. “Consider this: If this court should rule that changelings are not a sapient species, wouldn’t that translate into Equestrian law in a way? I mean, we could be setting an important precedent here. The Changelings wouldn’t be indicted of treason if there was not 'treasonous behaviour'. Equestrians probably won’t try the changelings as subjects before the law if even their very own Council of Harmony won't.” Estermann held up to hand, as if to slow down his judge’s diction. “Which would mean… Chrysalis would be cleared of Equestrian charges?” Both men expectedly turned to the earth pony professor in the corner. “Uhm… Well, gentlecolts, § 1 of the Equestrian Criminal Code clarifies that only ‘beasts of conscience and understanding before the law’ are subjects of the same. Now, if the changelings in fact aren't applicable, it wouldn’t make them subject to Equestrian law, period. They’d be but beasts.” Colm nodded. “So what is the established opinion on the status of changelings, Professor?” “That... they're but beasts, quite clearly.” Estermann felt the stowed air slowly escaping his lungs. So there would be no repercussion? No revenge? It was strange. But there it was, the answer. Changelings would not be prosecuted any longer. Neither here nor there. It sounded like a good deal. “Told you I was right.” Colm smirked. “Beasts before International Criminal Law, and beasts before Equestrian Law. Equestria would make a fool of herself if they'd change a thing now.” Too good? A small flicker of doubt remained, occupying the counsel's entire mind. “I'll... I'll have to go over this one more time. In peace.” The judge opened his mouth to say something, but he was only brought forth an impatient groan. “And I repeat: This is the only chance you'll ever get. There is nothing to 'go over' about.” “I need to discuss this with my client.” “Fuck your client!” the judge exclaimed. “She can change as little about the circumstances as you! You don't need her consent for this.” “I will conduct my defence the way I see fit.” Estermann spat. “Thank you for your understanding.” “So... is this about your ego now?” Colm suddenly asked, cocking his head to the side with an intrusive expression. “It's not about the Queen... This is just about your ego, isn't it? You need to stop telling yourself that you can magically absolve her of all her sins. You're an attorney, not a fucking Padre.” “Ja, ja.” Unsurely, the lawyer threw a glance over to the door. He had heard enough for now. “And don't act so touchy. I warned you about Chrysalis. I told you she was a monster.” That word managed to rouse the attorney's ire another time. “Damn you, Colm. Do not call my client a monster.” He glared at his learned friend. But Colm just gave him a tired, silent look. “You are making it very difficult for me to do you any more favours. I know you're a bright fellow, but obviously you can’t swallow your damn pride for once in your life and treat the facts for what they are. Professor Covalent Bond will testify to this court as an expert witness. Whether or not you make the most of it is your beef. I can only help you this far.” “Oh well... I appreciate your efforts.” Estermann stated flatly Colm in the face. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Colm? Acknowledgement? Because I'd like to let you know that there could be the slight possibility that you're making it worse. You, of all people, should know that there are two sides to every coin.” “There is no coin, Alex.” Colm reminded him. “Just a cheque, and your name on it. Either you pay up, or you let it bounce. But there's no other way 'round it.” The lawyer let his mind wander the room, alongside his gaze. “I said I will think about it. Now, if that was all, I think we should discuss this at a better, later point.” He prepared to depart. He glanced at the others almost melancholically as he approached the door. “Alex, you know I cannot keep him out of the trial.” he heard the judge's annoyed words echo behind him.”This discovery is far too important to simply ignore. We all want to get do the to the core of the matter, don't we? You know, the truth.” Estermann opened the door, already strangely enticed by the sounds of the feast that was taking its course only a few rooms away, the same one he had so desperately tried to escape barely ten minutes ago. Strange, just how quick priorities come and go. “Then I've got to ask myself why your truth is so incompatible with mine?” he wondered out loud. “Now, excuse me... but I don't want any blood on my hands if any of this goes wrong. I will call you in due time.” However, before the lawyer could finally step outside, the door harshly bumped into something on the other side. Estermann almost stumbled forward in shock, as the opening door revealed a small, deep blue pegasus with a spiky mane who had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, right behind it. Catching himself on the door frame, the counsel looked the lurking creature in its befuddled eyes. “Who the hell are you?” With the voice of a teenaged colt, the pony began to stutter, “I... uhm... Do you know where I can find the... uh... little foal's room?” Taken completely off guard, Estermann straightened up and quickly passed him without saying another word. He left behind a horrified Colm who, terribly wary of not being seen discussing matters with a defence counsel in private, hid the lower portion of his face behind his quickly-produced handkerchief. The pony professor in tow, he then also rushed out of the room and past the strange pegasus, haply throwing a few helpful words at him. “Down the corridor, left. Good night.” “Uhm... good night, my Lord?” He knew.