The City of Tall Grass: April 2028
Two years into Zebra Empire rule
Berry Punch walked down the sidewalk, her mane occasionally sprinkled with raindrops. Without pegasi management, the weather had reverted to natural: a near-constant, slight drizzle. Both downpours and sunny days were rare. When the sun came out, though, it was glorious. At least all the rain was good for Berry Punch’s vineyards.
Gotta focus on the good sometimes, she thought.
On a corner sat a shop with a cracked and faded brick front. At the top, a white wooden sign with faded red letters said “DISCOUNT LIQUIDS.” The ‘-IDS’ at the end of Liquids stuck out as brighter red, having clearly been painted more recently than the other letters.
The bell dinged as Berry Punch entered. She was the only customer… or so she thought. The shopkeeper, a pegasus, smiled and waved at her. At the end of his wave, his hoof stuck in the air a fraction of a second too long. Punch’s eyes darted to follow his hoof. Down an aisle, in front of the grape juice, stood a zebra-sized cluster of slightly ‘off’ colors, just like the ‘-IDS’ on the sign.
A chameleon. She’d watch her words. Berry Punch’s eyes flicked back to the shopkeeper as if she’d seen nothing.
“Hey, Berry,” the shopkeeper said with a smile.
“Hi, Discount,” she said.
“Fancy seeing you here today. Where’s your usual distributor?”
Berry Punch chuckled. “Where do you think? He’s with all the rest of the pegasi who went to Applewood and Las Pegasus.”
Discount’s eyebrows raised. “You mean that he left Tall Grass, too? But why? It’s just great here!”
“Oh, I know,” said Punch, her voice tinged with the slightest sarcasm. “It’s almost as nice as Van—uh... Savanna.”
“Unless I get that special contract, I’m not going to have any customers left at this rate. Business is down,” Discount sighed, his face melancholy.
Her eyebrow raised. “I hope that you still want my shipment, at least.”
“Hmm…” said Discount. “Well, let me see.”
Discount gazed at Berry Punch and motioned with his eyes towards the chameleon. Discount hustled over towards the grape juice where the discoloration stood. Punch took another aisle, and they both met in the middle. They had now trapped the chameleon between them.
Discount pretended that he still didn’t notice the chameleon, even though he’d have to be blind not to. As he reached towards the grape juice, his hoof touched the zebra, and the camouflage changed into black and white stripes.
“Hello, citizens,” the officer said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just been caught spying. “Obeying the new laws, I hope?”
Berry Punch and Discount smiled and nodded at the officer, who wore a badge and an octagonal hat.
“Good,” he said. He scurried down the aisle and the doorbell rang as he left the shop.
Now confident that they were alone, Discount and Berry Punch both burst out laughing.
“You know, I normally try not to catch them, but it’s always funny when I do. They act just like teenage peeping Toms when they’re caught,” Discount chuckled.
“The zebras should get a few pointers from the unicorns on invisibility. I could spot that cammy from across the store,” Berry Punch noted.
“Well, what can you expect from using a potion that you can mix up in three hours to turn invisible, instead of using a magic spell that takes years to learn? Invisibility is like fine wine: it takes time to perfect,” said Discount.
“Funny you should mention that,” replied Berry Punch. “I’ve been doing some research since prohibition took effect. Since I can’t make alcohol anymore, I decided I’d study potion making. Well, as much as an earth pony can hope to. Some of the more advanced potions, like the chameleon potions we need, call for zebra magic.”
Discount nodded. “Since you’ve been here last, I’ve stocked more potions. Whiff of Wellness, Cauldron of Cleanliness, all sorts. Replacing the lost alcohol with potions has been the only thing that’s kept the liquor store afloat. ‘Cause let’s be honest, here, your current product isn’t exactly flying off the shelves...”
He pointed towards the almost full shelf of grape juice.
Berry Punch shrugged. “It’s the economy. My grape juice is pricey compared to cheaper substitutes like soda. And a lot of our customers moved to Equestria. The only big spenders in Tall Grass anymore are the zebras. That stupid tax sure isn’t helping us, either.”
She scowled. She had thought that Equestria’s taxes were bad. At least they hadn’t been taxing her for being a non-zebra and then spending the money to enforce a ban on alcohol, her main product.
“Let’s go into the back,” said Discount. He flipped the ‘back in five minutes’ sign and locked the shop door. Then, he and Berry Punch continued into the back office.
Inside sat Zecora and Zarek at the table. Zarek ate a piece of pampas-grass jerky, which had replaced his usual cigarettes since the tobacco ban. Zecora read a copy of the Tall Grass Grazer, formerly known as the Tall Tale Times. Despite Zecora’s lawsuit against the internment, she was nevertheless a known Equestrian loyalist and threat to Zaporizhia. When she was in the Northwest, she had to stay hidden.
“Hi Zarek. Hi Zecora,” said Berry Punch.
“Hello, Discount and Berry Punch. Glad that you could join us for lunch,” said Zecora.
“It’s four in the afternoon, and I’ve already eaten,” Discount quipped.
“Take it easy on Zecora!” Zarek implored. “She has to come up with these rhymes on the spot. She can’t always get them perfect.”
Berry Punch giggled. “What, are you her lawyer for everyday life, now, too?”
All four laughed.
“So how did the Drowsilia work out?” asked Discount.
“We tested it on an unsuspecting guard the other day. He dropped dead this morning. I think we finally have a working virus in a large enough amount,” said Zarek.
“The problem now is distribution. It requires your solution,” said Zecora, turning to Zarek.
Zarek nodded. “The chameleons are clever. Their camouflage might be easy to spot, but their source, not so much. At first, I thought that they mixed the chameleon potions in-house, but actually, they buy from private potion suppliers. Only three chemists in the whole northwest are trusted enough to make it. You have to fill out reams of paperwork and legal documents to be authorized to sell it. There’s a whole extra hundred pages of background checks if you’re a non-zebra like Discount. But I got through the red tape. Soon, Discount Liquids will be an authorized chameleon potion supplier for the Tall Grass Religious Police. After that, Zammi’s Potions, Wheeler Wonders, and the Homely Herbalist will all be de-authorized for major violations. I’ve observed rats in their stores, inconsistencies in their brewing process, and unsecured potion storage lockers.”
Discount smiled. “And just like you asked, I’ve been tidying up everything around the shop to make sure that I’m not denied, either.”
“Good, and I hope that you haven’t said anything incriminating, because you never know who could be listening,” said Zarek.
“No problem there. Discount and I were just talking up the ZE in front of a cammy,” said Berry Punch. “I’ve finished switching the winemaking vats over to making chameleon potion. I have all of the ingredients, so now it just needs your zebra magic touch, Zecora.”
“It’s all coming together, then. It could be a while before we strike, because everything needs to be in position first,” said Zarek.
Discount frowned. “We’ve already waited two years. I say that we do it as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the higher the risk that we’ll get caught.”
Berry Punch nodded in agreement, also eager to get on with the attack.
“No,” said Zarek. “Zecora wants to wait until we know that we can strike with maximum effectiveness. She’s going to coordinate our efforts with the princess, and get Equestrian special forces support. We don’t want this to turn out like the last rebellion. We want this one to be nice and clean, and for us to win.”
Berry Punch reluctantly nodded. She recalled the three months after Tall Tall and Vanhoover had initially become Tall Grass and Savanna. Hundreds of thousands of residents fled the cities, leaving their homes. Most of them had nothing but the saddlebags on their backs. Others, like her, stayed out of sheer obstinance or need. She couldn’t imagine life anywhere else, where she couldn’t grow her grapes, in just the right coastal climate, with her hard-working, now-legal zebra immigrants.
But then, after the three-month grace period, the religious laws and the non-zebra tax came into effect in April 2026. Despite Princess Twilight’s calls for peace, not everypony obeyed. Thousands of ponies rebelled, and started killing zebras all over the cities. Like Zaporizhia himself, his opponents had little regard for civilians. To Berry Punch, it seemed like the rebels’ enemies weren’t just the Zebra Empire military or police, but all zebras. In addition to bomb and gun attacks against police stations and military bases, the rebels also burnt down zebra churches and schools, and shot random zebras on the streets.
The most extreme anti-Zebra faction was a militant atheist group called The Eradication, which sought to cure the ‘mind virus’ of organized religion. They had previously burnt down pony churches in Equestria, so the new Tall Grass theocracy drew them like flies to dung. They crucified zebra children and ate their hearts. They tortured a zebra grandmother who’d lived in Tall Tale her whole life, and then broadcast her screams over a pirate radio broadcast. The group was so brutal that even some of the other rebels started infighting with them, since their terrorism was discrediting the cause.
Infighting also occurred between Equestrian loyalist ponies and the zebra rebels. The ponies wanted Tall Tale to return to Equestria. The zebra rebels hated Zaporizhia, but still wanted an independent, secular Tall Grass where zebras could be free from discrimination. The fractured rebellion was finally put down in mid-2026 when a new potion was discovered, made from a type of moss indigenous to the Northwestern forests, which allowed zebras to turn partially-invisible. The potion needed zebra magic to make, and only worked on zebras, so it gave the Zebra religious police and military a huge tactical advantage. But that was about to change.
Hopefully, Berry Punch thought, when the next rebellion came, it would be only against the religious authorities who oppressed ponies and zebras alike. The civilian zebras should be left in peace. So Berry Punch, Discount, Zarek, and Zecora would fire the first shot, but only at those who truly deserved death.
Fillydelphia: April 2028
Pound Cake flew through the unusually clear and fresh sky of Fillydelphia, and his lungs filled with clean air. He could actually see the blue sky above the city with no haze.
At least there’s an upside to a bad economy, he thought.
In the two years since Equestria had surrendered Tall Tale and Vanhoover to the Zebra Empire, the Equestrian GDP had fallen by 10%. Losing Tall Tale and Vanhoover was the biggest blow. Refugees overwhelmed local government resources, straining budgets, and the homeless population grew. Tall Tale and Vanhoover had been major shipping ports, so without them, transnational trade tumbled. Factory orders for raw materials went unfilled, while finished goods sat in warehouses unsold. Ships lined up for hours at Equestria’s remaining major ports of Baltimare, Manehattan, and Applewood.
But even though a lack of trade had harmed the economy, so too had a new trading partner. The Second Duchy had finally perfected automated unicorn farming. The free trade treaty had put many Equestrian small farmers out of business, since their hoof-pulled plows couldn’t compete with the efficiency of mechanized farming. World food prices plummeted. Normally, that would be good, since consumers would have extra disposable income. But with Equestria’s unemployment at 13%, many ponies had no income at all.
After the war, the military laid off fifty thousand soldiers and 100,000 military support personnel: cooks, maintenance ponies, etcetera. Fillydelphia now had the worst economy in Equestria, since the military’s equipment orders from JSUC and other Fillydelphia factories had slowed to a trickle. Thousands of workers lost their jobs. As Pound Cake passed by the soup kitchen, the line stretched for five blocks. When ponies had lost their jobs and started to default on their home mortgages, a few banks had failed and needed bailouts.
Pound Cake glanced towards Manehattan. Some ponies had blamed parliament for Equestria’s troubles. Silver Spoon, the silver magnate, laid off 5,000 ponies at the Dodge Junction mines, and blamed new environmental rules passed by the now-majority Party of Laborers. Nonsense, Pound Cake thought. Environmental laws were good for the environment, good for the citizens, and therefore, good for the economy. Even if it did harm her mining business, it was worth it so that the groundwater wouldn’t be contaminated with heavy metals.
The Party of Laborers had also increased taxes and the minimum wage, which businessponies had complained about ceaselessly. The usual suspects: Diamond Tiara, Filthy Rich, and the Oranges, had all threatened to offshore their businesses. But high taxes and a high minimum wage were both needed, in Pound’s opinion. Equestria needed the money to establish a safety net for the poor, and so that the government could employ more ponies. The Party of Laborers hadn’t gone far enough, and Pound thought they were too weak. Some of them were even in bed with the banks and had approved bailouts.
If Pound were in charge, he wouldn’t have sacked a single soldier after the war. In fact, he’d have raised taxes and enlisted even more soldiers, nationalized JSUC munitions, and liberated Tall Tale and Vanhoover from the Zebras. If he couldn’t do that, then he’d use the money to build new ports and increase trade—the free market clearly hadn’t moved fast enough. But he’d also impose a tariff on imported wheat and corn from the Second Duchy, the free trade clause of the peace treaty be damned. They were putting Equestrian farmers out of jobs. And, of course, he would demand a parliamentary inquiry into every major case of corruption. The courts were moving far too slowly on prosecutions. Graft and bribery alone probably cut Equestria’s ailing economy by 5%. It infuriated him.
And his sister… he couldn’t even think about what she’d been doing these last two years, or he might vomit in disgust. Every time he saw her, usually only on holidays or birthdays, he had to refrain from sliding a magic suppression ring around her horn for the good of society.
Pound Cake entered the door of the new Equestrians For Action building. It was smaller and in a crime-ridden area of town, as they had to sell of their old building due to the tough times. The EFA mostly relied on member contributions to function, which had been way down, even as membership had spiked. Pound Cake, Rainbow Dash, and the other council ponies had all taken severe pay cuts. Even as co-chairpony, Pound Cake barely earned enough to eat or afford good housing. Pumpkin Cake had offered him a gift of fifty thousand bits, but he would rather pluck his wings off feather by feather than take a single cent of her rotten, stinking money.
The EFA meeting room was small and cramped, with little room in between the table and the walls for ponies to scoot out of their chairs. Lead paint peeled off the walls, the shag carpet was worn, and the table was dented and scratched. The room had an odd earthy smell that Pound only hoped wasn’t asbestos.
Around the table sat Rainbow Dash, chairpony; Doctor Stable, head of the Healthcare wing; Raindrops, head of the Anti-Corruption wing and the chief of the Fillydelphia Police Department; Featherweight, head of the Basic Necessities wing; and Organized Labor, head of the Labor Unions wing.
“Ah, Co-chair Pound Cake has arrived. We can start the meeting,” said Doctor Stable.
“Awesome,” said Rainbow Dash, smiling. “First, Doctor Stable with an update on health care.”
Doctor Stable nodded. “Thank you, Chairmare. Due to the recession, twenty percent of ponies lack adequate health insurance. Despite my extensive lobbying, the bill to implement a single-payer health care system is stuck in parliament, filibustered by the Equestrian Voters Party. The Party of Laborers refuses to amend the filibuster rules to allow a simple majority vote, which they could surely win. Every day they don’t act, expensive hospital bills bankrupt ponies, and many die without care. Equestria is the only industrialized nation without universal healthcare. We pay twice as much for care per capita than other countries, because the free market is inefficient. All care in Equestria should be no cost, no exceptions. Medicine is a fundamental right.”
“You’re preachin’ to the choir,” Pound Cake said. Everypony chuckled.
Doctor Stable smiled. “I do have some good news, though. Thanks to our group’s campaign, 60% of Equestrians polled by Gallop now answer that our health system ‘does need reform.’ Additionally, just yesterday, my colleagues and I published another article in the Manehattan Gynecological Journal warning expectant mothers about the dangers of delivering their children in foal farms. Several hundred obstetricians and gynecologists have been put out of jobs. And for what? Low-quality, cookie-cutter care from a ‘midwife’ instead of a doctor. Cheaper care means exactly that: cheap. Ponies shouldn’t be forced to seek out such low-priced, quack alternatives, because even the best care should be free. Foal farms should be banned, just like sweatshops.”
“Amen,” said Rainbow Dash. “Next up, Featherweight with the Basic Necessities Department.”
“Thanks, Rainbow Dash,” said Featherweight. “Our soup kitchens in Manehattan and Fillydelphia can barely keep up with demand. The official unemployment figures are wrong. The real number is 25%, not 13%. Many ponies have stopped paying their water bills. Most of my workers at the desalination plant in Las Pegasus now have to get second jobs. I’d love to pay them more, but that’s just not possible with our current finances.”
Organized Labor narrowed her eyes at Featherweight, and he shrugged slightly.
Organized Labor said, “As for the unions, our remaining dockhooves in the ASDF have had their hours doubled to pick up the slack from Tall Tale and Vanhoover. The average Manehattanite stevedore now works eighty hours a week, but with overtime pay limited. Just like Featherweight here, the dock management all say that they’re hurting, too. But how can that be when their profit margins are well above 3%, and they’re making record money? In my mind, any profit is exploitation at the expense of the workers, but surely at least half of their 3% margins can go to the workers who make it possible.”
“Greed knows no bounds,” said Raindrops. “The treason and corruption cases for the Oranges and JSUC are stalled in the courts. Their lawyers argue that, since Equestria made peace with the Second Kingdom and surrendered to the Zebras, those treaties retroactively absolve them from any wrongdoing. It’s the sleaziest argument I’ve ever heard, but a lower court dismissed the case against the Oranges. It’s on appeal now. Also, regular street corruption is through the roof. Cops trying to make ends meet are demanding even more bribes. Drugs, guns, and dirty money have gone ‘missing’ from evidence lockers. I’ve fired a dozen crooked cops just this week. Corruption won’t fly in Fillydelphia!”
The other councilmembers all cheered.
“That’s good news,” said Pound Cake. “But… I don’t know…”
They all looked at him inquisitively.
“It’s just… we’ve been having these same meetings for two years. Like clockwork. It’s always the same problems. No health care. No workers’ rights. Starving ponies. Corruption. It all comes from the same place: greed at the top, at the expense of us at the bottom.”
“Yep,” said Rainbow Dash. The rest of them nodded.
“So we need a new strategy. We need to remind the parliament who’s in charge. We need to remind those bankers and businessponies that they’re outnumbered and unpopular. We need a protest.”
“We’ve been protesting,” said Rainbow Dash. “Every few months, we have a big march. Thousands of ponies come.”
“That’s not good enough!” exclaimed Pound Cake, slamming his hoof into the table, making everypony jolt. “Our marches last an hour, and then everypony forgets us. Parliament always promises to pass new laws, but never does. The oligarchs always give some pittance to their workers, like a small holiday bonus, but then as soon as we leave the streets, it’s back to being abused.”
“What do you want us to do, Pound Cake?” asked Featherweight. “Ponies can’t protest all the time. Most of them have jobs.”
Pound Cake chuckled. “Not anymore, they don’t. A lot of them are jobless and homeless.”
Then Rainbow Dash smiled. “Wait a minute, Pound. You’ve given me an idea…”
Mareicopa: April 2028
The white-washed hallways of Saint Prancis Medical Center were overflowing. Patients sat on benches, leaned against the walls, or sat on the floor, while doctors tried to squeeze their way through. Since the Mareicopa Special City Council had voted to repeal all magic laws, medical tourists from all over Equestria had come to receive various treatments. Voodoo cancer treatments and want-it, need-it pain management were the most popular. Because of the influx of business, Mareicopa had the highest household income in Equestria, and was Equestria’s only city with unemployment below 10%.
But ironically, despite the magic law repeal, the most popular treatments in Mareicopa were also legal everywhere else in Equestria, and weren’t even carried out inside St. Prancis.
Right across the street from the hospital sat a two-story clinic formerly called “Backup Plan.” Before the Second Kingdom occupation, it was an abortion clinic, and would cater to pregnant mares who couldn’t have the procedure at the religious Saint Prancis. After the SK occupation and the abortion ban, Backup Plan had closed its doors. Now that the SK was gone, the clinic had reopened, but under new management. It would conduct no abortions; instead, it focused on an entirely new branch of medicine.
Two years ago, when Equestria had surrendered Starswirl Peak, Pumpkin Cake had thought that her days of making millions were over. But it was actually a blessing in disguise. She’d invested a few million bits into a business venture, and it was paying off enormous dividends that made the mining operation look like peanuts by comparison.
A giant new sign at the top of the clinic said, “PHASE HEALING.” Lines stretched around the block. Some ponies had even pitched tents on the sidewalk. If the line had been filled with cosplayers instead of cancer patients, it might’ve resembled the queue of feverish fans camping outside of a bookstore for the new Daring Do novel release.
“Hot dogs, get your hot dogs here!” A vendor pulled a hot dog cart, salty-smelling steam wafting from it. He had several buyers.
Once ponies finally got to the front of the line, they sat inside the crowded waiting room. Nurse Redheart sat at the front desk, sometimes running off to do nurse duties, and other times handling check-in at the short-staffed clinic.
“What is your name?” she asked a patient, smiling.
“Valence Knock,” said the stallion.
“And what is your condition, Mr. Valence?”
“Inoperable lung tumor. I heard there’s a doctor here who can remove it safely.”
Nurse Redheart clarified, “There is a pony here, yes, but Pumpkin Cake is not a doctor, and has no doctoral degree. She just knows a unique magic spell. However, all procedures are supervised and guided by a licensed surgeon.”
Valence shrugged. “I guess if that’s the only way. I already rode all the way across the desert here from Albuckerque, and have only two months to live, so I might as well.”
Nurse Redheart nodded. “Good decision. But let’s have it in writing, shall we?”
She retrieved a clipboard with a piece of paper attached.
“This is a waiver,” said Nurse Redheart. “The gist of it is in paragraph seven. ‘For these medical services, you forego all legal rights to sue either Miss Cake, the attending physician, or Phase Healing, LLC in the event of any injury or death alleged to have been caused by the aforementioned parties, except in cases of gross negligence or recklessness.”
Valence’s eyebrow raised. “That sounds harsh. My other doctors never made me sign anything like that in Albuckerque.”
“The laws are different in Mareicopa,” said Nurse Redheart.
Pumpkin Cake had lobbied the new council of Mareicopa to pass malpractice reform and other laws favorable to health care professionals. With the right waivers and disclosures, it was very difficult for a patient to sue a care provider in Mareicopa who’d acted in good faith. In the rest of Equestria, the situation was reversed, and frivolous lawsuits abounded.
Valence signed the form.
“Thank you,” said Nurse Redheart, and filed the form inside of a cabinet behind her desk which was nearly full to bursting. She slammed it shut with a clank.
“Now, let’s discuss payment options. The prices are on the price list above me.”
“Price list?” asked Valence. He chuckled. “That’s something new. Most doctors don’t take payment until after the procedure. You have no idea what it’ll cost beforehoof.”
“We like to be transparent with our patients, and we find it helps keep costs down,” said Nurse Redheart.
He gazed up at the price list above the desk. It was organized almost like a restaurant menu.
PHASE HEALING CLINIC PROCEDURES:
CHILDBIRTH
No long, agonizing hours spent in labour. No risk of complications. Painless, instant childbirth at the time and date of your choosing, in a five-minute procedure! No abortions, sorry.
2,000 bits if scheduled one week or more in advance
3,000 bits within one week
5,000 bits if emergency
Ask about our 50%-off groupon!
APPENDIX REMOVAL
Remove an infected or inflamed appendix. No anesthesia required!
7,000 bits
TUMOR REMOVAL
Remove a cancerous tumor. Works in any area of the body. Have other doctors turned you away? Give yourself a second chance and beat the odds!
7,000 bits for regular tumor
10,000 bits if otherwise inoperable.
Other procedures available on request. No house calls. Cash only. Pain-free guarantee, or your money back!
Valence’s eyes widened. “Ten thousand bits? In a recession? That’s insane! And cash only? What about my insurance?”
Nurse Redheart shook her head. “I understand your frustration, but look at the long line out there. Thousands of ponies need to see Miss Cake for all sorts of things. It’s basic supply and demand. Keeping a clinic like this open, advertising, and keeping our employees paid costs money. Avoiding the insurance companies lets us keep our administrative costs low, but you can always seek reimbursement from them yourself. Besides, think about it this way. Our care is actually rather affordable. What would this surgery cost you at a regular hospital, if you could even get it done there?”
Valence stared down at the floor. “A lot more, I guess. Twenty, thirty thousand, maybe.”
Nurse Redheart nodded. “I used to work in a hospital, and that sounds about right. So just grab a seat, and Miss Cake will see you as soon as she can.”
“And… just another suture there… that should do it,” said the surgeon.
Valence’s eyebrow raised up as he looked at the unicorn surgeon who held the scalpel in his magic, and Pumpkin Cake, who’d allowed him to reach the inoperable tumor.
“That… that’s it?” Valence asked.
“You can even see it, if you want,” said Pumpkin Cake. A small, mushy, gross lump floated up towards Valence.
He guffawed, and laughed so much so that he nearly fell onto the floor, tears streaming from his eyes.
“I… I can’t believe that little thing was going to kill me, and all the other… all the other doctors said there wasn’t anything to… to do, and you took it out in two minutes with no pain, no blood, no sedatives! Oh my goodness… thank you both so much!”
He hugged Pumpkin Cake and the surgeon in a giant bear hug.
“You’re welcome, sir,” said the surgeon.
“And it’s nothing, really. I’ve been casting that spell my whole life,” said Pumpkin, smiling as she blushed. Despite working in the medical industry for over two years now, she never had gotten used to receiving high praises for something that, to her, seemed so mundane.
Valence practically skipped out the door.
“What’s next on the list?” the surgeon asked.
Pumpkin glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s three o’clock. Time to go up and down the east coast and do deliveries.”
As if on cue, a bright flash erupted, and Walkabout appeared.
“G’day Pumpkin. Ready to harvest the foal farms?”
Though Pumpkin had invented quick, painless, group childbirth sessions, she hadn’t coined the term ‘foal farm.’ She preferred either ‘mass delivery,’ or maybe ‘cash cow.’ It was highly profitable, at 1,000 bits per child delivered, and she could deliver over a thousand foals per day, even in addition to her other duties. And her services were always in demand, even in a bad economy: the soldiers returning from war had started a baby boom, and a thousand bits was dirt cheap compared to a hospital.
Pumpkin Cake’s media critics and competitors had coined the words ‘foal farm’ to try to scare mares away from it. Walkabout started using the term himself as a point of defiance. It reminded Pumpkin of how certain racial groups had tried to ‘take back’ slurs used against them, like zebras who casually called each other ‘zeeb.’
The media alarmists had all said, “Don’t go to the foal farm, or your baby will have autism! He’ll get ear infections, and he might die! The clinics are unregulated and nasty!” In particular, Doctor Stable had written papers about the supposed risks of birth by intangibility. Nonsense. Pumpkin wasn’t a doctor—she only called herself a midwife—but she was studying to become one. Neither she nor the doctors she employed had ever found evidence suggesting that birth by intangibility was any riskier than vaginal birth. It was safe so long as it wasn’t done prematurely in the pregnancy before the baby had finished developing, and her staff checked for that.
In fact, birth by intangibility was better than traditional birth in every respect. It was very affordable. It was entirely painless. It never ruined the genitals. It could be scheduled a week in advance and took a few minutes. For a struggling working mother who didn’t want to go broke in a hospital and didn’t want to miss work, it was the best way to deliver a child. Doctor Stable desperately wanted the poor to have access to medical care, didn’t he? Even if it meant turning hospitals into bloated, government-run bureaucracies?
So Pumpkin would’ve thought that Doctor Stable, of all ponies, would encourage her affordable ‘foal farms.’ Or at the very least, he would know his place and keep his big mouth shut. But Doctor Stable represented hospitals that were bleeding billions in revenue to Pumpkin, and doctors who were losing their jobs to her. So of course he’d blatantly lie to preserve his own inefficient, overpriced medical establishment, she thought. And yet the EFA called Pumpkin selfish and greedy? It baffled her.
It also baffled Pumpkin Cake when a pony burst through the operating room door, fell to his knees, and pleaded at her.
“Please, Miss Cake, you gotta save my kid! He drank a bottle of rat poison when I wasn’t looking, and I can’t get him to vomit!”
Pumpkin was used to patients waiting their turn. They were called ‘patients’ for a reason. She also was used to her security guy catching those that tried to barge in. Nevertheless, Pumpkin tried to be as polite as Rarity had taught her to be in a customer service environment.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, forcing her mouth into a smile.
“Uh… no…”
“Is your child here at the clinic?”
“No, he’s at home.”
Pumpkin didn’t do house calls. The menu was clear on that. Ponies had tried luring her into traps at their ‘homes’ before. She sighed, as her veneer of politeness disappeared.
“Do you even have any money?”
The stallion shook his head. “No. I couldn’t carry him ‘cause I have a bad back and the ambulance wouldn’t come, and I can’t pay ‘cause I’m jobless. I need you to come to my home and turn his stomach intangible, so that the rat poison spills out and he doesn’t die!”
She shook her head. “No, sorry. I have a tight schedule. I’m not keeping my expectant mothers waiting.”
The stallion threw his hooves up. “Oh, come on! They can just give normal birth. This’ll take five minutes to save my son’s life!”
“Not doing it.”
“You greedy, foul witch! Come save him right now!” he demanded, shouting as his face contorted in a scowl.
“Well, I doubt she’ll do it with you calling her names like that,” Walkabout quipped. “Why not call her a stingy ranga sorceress while you’re at it, too?”
Pumpkin said, “And I’m not greedy; I’m just self-interested. I do charity care. Ever heard of Free Care Friday? I do it so that ponies like you won’t shake me down on the other days of the week. I’m sorry, but today’s Tuesday, and you should’ve kept a better eye on your kid. Security!”
Nopony came.
Walkabout grinned. “I got him. Off ya go!”
The stallion disappeared in a flash as Walkabout teleported him back into the waiting room. The security guard arrived back from his break and escorted the kicking and screaming stallion out of the building.
The evening sun hung low in the western sky, obscured by the skyscrapers in Manehattan. After traveling to the major cities along the eastern seaboard to visit all of the Phase Healing branches there, Pumpkin and Walkabout were both exhausted. They usually always took a dinner break at a different pizza parlor every night, all of which claimed to have “Manehattan’s best pizza.” Thus far, only DeManey’s on seventeenth met food-lover Walkabout’s high standards. Pumpkin didn’t really care as long as she ate something.
They walked towards DeManey’s, crossing Celestial Street.
Pumpkin raised an eyebrow. “Is somepony camping?”
On the square in front of the Equestrian parliament, dozens of tents sat on the pavement, with ponies all around. A makeshift fire rose from a trash can.
“They look like derros,” said Walkabout. “But the homeless don’t usually have picket signs, just cahdboard ones.”
As the gathering had piqued their interest, they both walked over. Soon, they realized what the gathering was. A pony shouted through a megaphone loudly, in the middle of giving a speech: Pound Cake. He was too far away to see them, thankfully.
“...The greedy oligarchs like the Oranges, JSUC, and even my own sister have run this country for way too long, making billions of bits while ponies in poverty go without food, water, shelter, and medicine! Corrupt tycoons like Filthy Rich kick ponies off their own land. Banks get huge government bailouts, and foreclosed houses are unoccupied when you all could be living in them. Street cops demand bribes. This greed is an epidemic that’s killing Equestria, and it's all signed off by a dictator ‘princess’ who’s unelected and unaccountable!”
The crowd, now a few hundred ponies, cheered.
Pound continued, “For years, we’ve marched and demanded that our elected parliament provide for its people, but they haven’t. A single march is easy to forget, but let’s see if they’ll forget us when we’re here constantly. From now on, we won’t leave Parliamentary Square until our demands for a fairer and freer Equestria are met! We’ll peacefully protest every day, and we won’t back down until we get what we deserve, what we are entitled to as basic rights!”
More and more ponies streamed into the square from the streets around. Some were filthy and obviously homeless, while others were better-dressed protesters. Many of them carried tents and backpacks, ready to set up.
Pound finished by shouting, “We are Equestria! We are united as a country! We are the vast, impoverished majority! We deserve housing, food, and health care! We deserve basic necessities! We deserve an elected president, not a princess for life! We deserve democracy and a government that works for us, not the rich!”
The cheers grew louder and louder as the crowd had now swelled to thousands.
“We are The Encampment!”