//------------------------------// // Wilting Whitecaps of Warbling Wavelengths (VI) // Story: Synthetic Bottled Sunlight // by NorrisThePony //------------------------------// i Twilight Sparkle was writing. It had been a little difficult working back into the groove of doing so—Celestia suddenly inserting herself into her life, followed by arcane adventures into the depths of the Catacombs beneath the Everfree were hardly her normal speed. She hadn’t put a pen to her notebook for over a week, and her last notes were the ones she’d written when Celestia had first appeared. But after a while, simply watching the trees passing out the train window grew dull, and Twilight needed to occupy her mind with something else. And the mare she was sharing the compartment with seemed quite engrossed in a thick paperback thriller novel. Not that Twilight would have started a conversation anyways. So she wrote, instead. She wrote about Celestia, mainly. Her contingency plans—the plans she had put in place to potentially prevent some tyrannical future self. The plans that were at odds with Flim and Flam’s claims detailing Celestia’s despotic and selfish nature. Twilight was careful not to mention the Sunstone by name, and she was hardly going to even think of publishing anything without asking Celestia if she was comfortable with it first. Twilight found herself smiling as her pen scratched against her notebook, happy to once more be doing what she loved. Making Equestria a little better in her own pathetic way. As if reading her mind, the other mare in the compartment suddenly spoke. She had lowered her book for the first time during the long train ride, only just now taking notice of Twilight. “Hey… sorry… uh, are you by chance Twilight Sparkle?” Resisting the urge to groan in frustration, Twilight looked up from her notes to greet the voice. “Yeah. Hi.” “I’m a big fan of your writing,” the mare said excitedly. “You’re… heh… a bit of a personal hero to me.” “Oh?” Twilight blinked. This was new. “Yeah! Your article about equalizing the educational system really struck a chord with me.” It took Twilight a moment to remember what exact article the mare was referring to. Equalizing the… Then she remembered. She’d just learnt about the newest testing system that categorized ponies under the same spectrum of intelligence, regardless of learning styles and personality traits. Her article had been a furious and only semi-coherent rant about how their attempts for equality were only making the system less equal. It wasn’t an article she was particularly fond of in retrospect—there were many points she certainly would have revised and reconsidered in order to make herself less hypocritically biased. But this mare seemed to like it. Then again, Twilight had learned that screaming “equality!” into a crowd usually produced at least a little praise regardless. “Well, thank you,” Twilight replied. “Not often I just get a straight compliment like that.” The mare cocked her head questioningly. “Normally it’s laced with some sarcastic retort,” Twilight elaborated. “You’re hilarious! You’re soooo researched! Do you still believe in segregating earth ponies, too?”  The other mare let out an annoyed huff. “Ponies are like that. Thinking about themselves instead of the common good goes hand in hand with stupidity.” Twilight said nothing, scratching an ear and looking back outside. The mare’s boldly stated remark was hardly relevant to what they’d been talking about, but she was hardly about to say that to her. “So, what are you working on now?” she asked, seeing Twilight’s awkward stance. “A historical analysis of Princess Celestia’s rule.” “Ah,” the mare nodded. “Interesting. Not really fond of her whole ‘abilities-equal-greatness’ psychology, myself, but she seemed to have things in a lot better control than the powers that be. She was a good leader, at least. Bit of tragedy, really.” “No arguments here.” Twilight nodded in agreement, internally wishing to blurt that Celestia’s tragedy was only a temporary one, or tear open her saddlebag to reveal the glimmering Sunstone. “Do you think she really did kick the bucket herself?” “Uh…” Twilight shuffled in her seat. “N… no.” “Hm, not sure I do, either,” the mare said. “I was in Canterlot when the sun first rose after the Third Longest Night, actually.” “Wait… what?” Twilight blinked. “Yeah. I live in a bit of an isolated town, so when the sun didn’t rise I decided to travel and get answers for everypony else. I’ve got a friend who was part of Celestia’s elite arcane researchers or something. ” “Huh.” Twilight rose an eyebrow. “Neat.” “Thanks. Really, ex-friend is probably a better term though. I didn’t really keep tabs out of fillyhood. Anyways, I talked with him while the sun was still down, and he said there was no magical link between the sun and planet Equus.” “Right. Cause Princess Celestia was dying.” “Yeah. According to guards, she was in self-imposed exile, though. Violent towards anypony trying to help her… y’know, not die. Apparently when they finally worked up the courage to confront her, she was toast. Overloaded her magic and burned up her brains.” “Huh.” Twilight didn’t know what else to say, so she just repeated the same interjection once again. The details of Celestia’s suicide had always been barren and sparse–particularly because they would’ve been fictional anyways. Interestingly, the thought of a magical overdose-induced-suicide was disturbingly possible—a unicorn could theoretically cast more magic than they could handle as a means of ending their life. The mare frowned and continued. “The clincher, of course, is that the Sun rose a few days later. So my friend the arcane researcher is trying to find out what the hell’s happening; how the sun can rise if Celestia is dead. He says the link between Equus and the Sun was back again… and he said it was Celestia’s magic stream, but with something artificial laced with it.” Twilight nodded. What had Celestia called it? The SunSpotter 3000? Whatever it was, it matched exactly with what this mare was saying. “Sorry, do you mind if I write that down?” Twilight reached for her notepad. “That’s like… concrete evidence that Flim Flam Industry might be liars.” “Yeah, of course,” she nodded. “If you want to meet with my friend in Canterlot, by the way, I can give you his address. He’s a reclusive fellow, but I imagine he’d make an exception for you.” Twilight said she would indeed, and she passed the mare her notebook. She wrote quickly and passed the notepad back to Twilight with a sheepish grin. It did not take long after for their conversation to lapse into awkward silence, but thankfully it was a silent void that the squealing of the train’s brakes filled before long. One glance out the window, and Twilight saw that they were approaching the towering heights of New Canterlot, with its great skyscrapers ascending into the sky. “Well… this is my stop,” the mare said, rising from her seat and stuffing her book into her saddlebag. “I’d better go get my bags from the boxcar. Fragile stuff, y’know? Don’t want them shattering it.” “Right.” Twilight was unsure how to reply. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Twilight Sparkle,” she said. “I look forward to reading your Celestia article.” “Okay. Thank you.” The mare smiled, and toting her saddlebag, slid the door to the train compartment open and took a step into the hall. “Hey, wait! I don’t think I got your name…” Twilight’s voice stopped her as she exited the compartment. “Right!” The mare nodded, turning around and offering a hoof which Twilight stared at blankly for several seconds before shaking. “Heh, sorry. Guess I should’ve said my name sooner,” the mare withdrew her hoof and smiled. “It’s Starlight Glimmer.” “Nice name,” Twilight complimented distantly, jotting it down in her notebook. “Pleased to meet you, Starlight.” ii Twilight could feel the familiar pulse of Celestia’s magic amongst her enchantments the moment she finally set weary hooves into her library. The earliest train out of Ponyville had left in the middle of the day, and by the time it arrived the sun was already beginning its descent. As a result, Twilight found herself functioning on several hours of sleep and a dozen cups of coffee, and even so the weariness of the past several days was enough that any semblance of lucidity had long since passed and she instead walked on disobedient hooves. She’d made one quick stop to grab some take-out food, knowing that she was probably already out at home, and by the time she entered she felt like she’d just walked from the gates of Tartarus. Apparently, Celestia felt her enter, too, for her playful voice echoed from the librarian’s office-turned-study that Twilight had made her own—although for the past few weeks the ragged couch within had allowed it to double as Celestia’s sleeping area. “Hello, Twilight! I’m in here!” she trilled. Celestia was lounging on her couch, frowning at a composition notebook with a fountain pen in her magic, but she turned as Twilight entered. For a moment, Twilight simply stared. Celestia’s status had been tossed unceremoniously in the corner—a lump of glimmering regalia. She had attempted to arrange her mane into a braid, but it still stretched down long past the length of her neck, as though she had given up halfway through. Nonetheless, the straggly bits of greying hair were less prominent—for once, her appearance seemed one of maturity instead of injury. Her tail was arranged similarly, braided together so that it was significantly shorter. “How do I look?” Celestia asked warmly, catching her glance. “You look beauti—” Twilight stopped, blushing in an instant. “Nice. You look nice, Princess Celestia.” Celestia chuckled. “Thank you. But it’s just Celestia, remember?” She sniffed curiously and questioningly, pointing a hoof at the plastic bag still hovering in Twilight’s magic. “I—I got take-out,” Twilight stuttered awkwardly, tossing the bag onto her desk. “Oh, thank you,” Celestia said cheerily. “How was your train ride?” “Uneventful, mostly, although I met a mare who told me about… uh…” Twilight shook her head and withdrew her notepad instead, passing it to Princess Celestia. “Ah yes, Sunburst.” Celestia seemed to recognize the stallion in question simply from his house address. “A very skilled unicorn. She was his friend?” Twilight nodded, and quickly repeated what Starlight had told her. “Very nice.” Celestia smiled. “It is comforting to know I still have a bit of support out there. It sounds to me like you made a friend today, Twilight.” With her magic, Celestia lifted the plastic bag of take-out food closer. She plucked out a box of rice and began rubbing together a pair of chopsticks, and then drove the bamboo utensils into the box with playful vigorousness. She was quick to turn her attention back to her composition notebook, munching idly at her rice, although she shuffled a little to make way for Twilight on the couch. “Uh… what are you writing?” Twilight asked. “I’m just reviewing my… ah… ‘Return to Equestria’ speech,” Celestia hid the book slightly, wearing an embarrassed smile. “You look tired from your trip, and I wouldn’t want to bore you with it…” “Are you kidding? I’d love to read it!” Twilight said. She finally sat down on the couch, although she cradled the opposite arm as though Celestia’s side were submerged in lava. Celestia looked embarrassed, too, but she passed the notebook anyways for Twilight to read. Her speech was short, and a pony with less attentiveness would have called it jaded. Twilight, however, saw it for what it truly was—prompt. A quick deliverance of many points, in little time. For too long, Equestria had been swimming in lies. To Twilight, it felt wonderful to read the truth so eloquently stated, by a mare who had been writing speeches when there were different stars in the sky. “Well?” Celestia asked, dragging the word out like a cooing dove. “Is it good? Feel free to tear it to shreds… you’re the writer, not me.” “Princess Celestia, it’s fantastic.” Twilight assured, setting the notebook back down beside the sheepish alicorn. “We still have the issue of getting you a public platform to read it from, right?” “Actually, about that…” Celestia pursed her lips, fiddling with her chopsticks. “I was thinking of… ah, ceasing subtlety tomorrow.” Twilight cocked her head. “What do you mean?” “I mean, literally walking through the streets of New Canterlot to the nearest radio station and asking politely for a moment of their time to say a few words.” Twilight stared. “I… I don’t think that’s how it works, Princess Celestia. I think you need to have a broadcasting license or something.” “Well, surely they would be willing to make an exception?” “I… I guess.” Twilight sunk her head. Princess Celestia seemed to have no clue that the radio was as much a business as a restaurant or a chariot dealership. She instead seemed to see it as some public platform any pony could use, like Letters to the Editor in a newspaper. Suddenly, realization struck her, and she brought her hoof to her face with so much force that she winced a little. Was it the fault of her tired mind… or was she really that dense? Business? Of course the radio was a business. And why, exactly, would a statement from the infamous Princess Celestia ever be turned down on the basis of business? License to broadcast? It wouldn’t matter. They’d get their airtime, and it wouldn’t cost them a penny—they’d already be paying the station’s liabilities for a month. “Alright.” Twilight nodded. Celestia’s eyes had widened a little at her outburst, but she did not speak. “Tomorrow, we’ll do it.” Then, Twilight let out an enormous yawn. Celestia chuckled politely. “Tomorrow, we’ll do it,” she repeated. “But now, you should sleep, Twilight Sparkle.” Twilight was hardly in any position to argue. iii For a long while after dawn, Twilight simply lay awake. Normally, she would have risen early—she had never really seen much merit in lying around in bed and not doing anything. Especially considering her 'bedroom' was in reality the library’s book sorting room. She had put very little effort into changing it into anything more, beyond simply dragging a rusted bedframe and mattress into the cluttered room. An elaborate little chute and pulley contraption dominated the majority of the room, in another life its purpose had been to transport heavy carts of books to the other two floors, but it had grown rusted with years of abandonment. The library had been ancient a hundred years ago, after all, and now, in its state of loneliness, time seemed to be taking its toll even swifter. Nonetheless, for a rare moment in her life, her desire to postpone the inevitable day was stronger than her natural disdain towards inactivity. Outside, birds were chirping through the early morning darkness, and Twilight could hear Celestia’s heavy hooves clacking against the metal stairwell. Presumably, she had just finished raising the sun from what had become her favourite place to do so: the library’s roof. Twilight had awoken with a strange sense of fear, fear that the sound of Celestia’s hooves hardly did wonders to quell. She could not even truly trace the source of her fear… the events of the coming day perhaps, or the inevitable persecution she would receive from the majority of the nation’s populace. After all, she could not know how they would be receiving Celestia, and such reception would directly affect how they responded to her actions in turn. It was possible that they would see her as supporting a monstrous, tyrannical dictator who had freakishly escaped death itself. A sudden flare of what sounded like radio static exploded from the main reading room, followed by Celestia’s surprised yelp. The static was promptly silenced. Twilight grinned despite herself. Before she had gone to sleep, she had shown her radio to Princess Celestia, who had been considerably fascinated by the various voices and music bursting out from the small box. Celestia had greeted the device with an almost filly-like curiosity. The sudden noise of static had been enough to get Twilight on her hooves and out of bed. As usual, her mane was a disaster upon waking, so she hastily stuffed an elastic around it and formed a lacklustre pony-tail, before venturing out into the reading room. Celestia was still fiddling with the radio, but she looked up sheepishly as the sorting room door squeaked open. “I’m sorry,” she said instantly, as Twilight stretched and yawned. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I cannot for the life of me figure out this thing.” “You didn’t wake me,” Twilight assured, still fiddling with her hair elastic. “I was already up. And you’re turning the volume knob, not the tuning one.” Celestia blinked, glanced at the radio, and then sunk her head sheepishly. “What a foolish thing to do. I’m sorry.” “It’s fine,” Twilight said. “So… today, huh?” “Today.” Celestia nodded. “The ride is going to be a turbulent one from here on out.” “Yeah…” Twilight scratched an ear. “Y’know, I’m kind of excited. And nervous.” “Nervous is good,” Celestia said. “Being aware of the consequences of failure is important. So long as you do not let that awareness escalate to fear. You should always approach a problem with the mindset that you will succeed, but never dismiss failure, either. That is how mistakes get made.” “What… what exactly are the consequences of failure, Celestia?” “For you? Or for me?” “For us.” Celestia smiled. “Twilight… I think it would be best if you stayed here in the library. Where you are safe. Remember, by the end of the day I can be found guilty of… I don’t know, war crimes. And then you will be guilty of harbouring a dangerous fugitive. That’s not a position I want you to be in.” Twilight frowned. “But… but I want to help you!” “I know.” Celestia rested a wing on her back. “But I want you to be safe.” “Safe from what? Bureaucrats?!” Celestia swept aside her newly styled mane to show the electrode scar. “Yes. Trust me on this one, Twilight.” In the end, Twilight had no choice but to do so, for Celestia had abruptly vanished in a great teleportation burst while Twilight was making them coffee. She cursed and considered pursuing her, but Twilight knew that by time she reached New Canterlot, any damage would already have been done and her intervention would only make matters even worse. In the end, she had no choice but to bitterly wait, fiddling with her radio, while anticipation gradually tore apart her sanity. Celestia had also left behind her notebook, where she had meticulously planned and revised her speech. Whether she had left it accidentally or intentionally, Twilight could not know, but the end result was still quite the same—Celestia would be winging what was possibly the most important speech of her life. With this in mind, Twilight was nearly shivering in anticipation as she hunched over her pathetic little portable radio—a mess of wires and gemstones stubbornly replacing what in another life had been electricity. The condemned library had none, and as such she had to make do with magical alternatives. She was turning the Sunstone over and over in her hooves, if only to give herself something to do beyond wait in terror. She rose only once, trotting swiftly to her study and removing a pack of cigarettes from within. Things she hated herself for buying, if only out of her disgust for the smiling twins on the packaging. Still, it gave her something else to fiddle with besides an irreplaceable magical artifact. A cheery, upbeat song with lyrics about canvas skies and paper moons bled into a weather report (rainy all week, with chances of hail in the evenings) followed by a calm instrumental cello piece. Then, abruptly, the music was interrupted by a sharp, static-like click—the sound of the studio microphones springing back to life and the reel-to-reels beginning to whir. Then, Princess Celestia’s voice came clearly through the cracking fog. “Hello, Equestria. My name is Celestia. I was the ruler of this fine country for approximately twenty-five-hundred years, up until November of twelve years ago—which you may remember as the month of my suicide and death. Both of which, as evidenced by my voice reaching your ears, have hopefully been proven as largely fictitious. Allow me to extend my apologies to any publishers and authors of history books, I realize that revisions will be costly and inconvenient. We’re losing enough trees as is. “Naturally, that is the reason I am speaking to you ponies now. I do not wish to point my hoof at other ponies and shovel blame upon them, but I will state that my permanent resignation, as it were, was by no means approved by myself. I never took my own life, I never abdicated my throne. “Of course, a lot has changed in twelve years. I don’t expect my return to be greeted with a flowery red carpet leading back to my throne. Many of these changes are good—the progress that has been made in the fields of agriculture, for example, have made me considerably proud. I have spent a good portion of my night fiddling with this very radio device, and I am earnestly amazed at the possibilities it unfolds. I have nothing but pride for your progress. “And yet, there are negative changes, too. Unemployment rates have skyrocketed thirteen percent despite the rapidly shifting infrastructure—partly thanks to the destruction of rural lifestyles ground under the wheels of modernization. Quality of life in both rural and urban settings has been threatened by the overhanging clouds of smog thanks to poorly evolved industry. And, most disturbingly, the pollution levels have placed a countdown timer on this planet’s survival. We have lost seventeen percent of our forests in twelve years. I would like everypony to pause and reflect on that number for a moment.” Twilight blinked. True to her word, Celestia was silent for nearly fifteen seconds, only fragments of static coming through the radio’s speakers. Twilight took the time to snuff out her cigarette. “Clearly, this cannot go on,” she eventually continued. “I am not advising a complete cessation of industry and progress. That would not only be unfeasible and pointless, it would be devastating to the crippled environment and the unemployment rate. No, that is quite silly. “I am instead calling for two things, and I am doing so on a public platform so that my words cannot be minced. Firstly, I am calling for a gradual reform of the industrial structure. We can make it sustainable, but we can only do so by making the ponies our main priority, instead of the value of the bit. Secondly, I would like to formally request an audience with Flim and Flam, or a high authority representative. Preferably the former, but I am not a picky mare. I merely wish for an informal conversation, where we can discuss our plans moving forwards. I would also like for this exchange to be broadcast—I have nothing to hide and I hope they do not, either. “Do not be mistaken… I wish to retake my throne in time. I did not properly abandon it, and I have no future intentions of doing so. I realize many of you may be alarmed by this, but rest assured my plans are merely long term, and it is unlikely any of you will notice immediate change. I do this out of my undying dedication to bettering everypony’s lives. Not for any purposes of profit and personal gain. I hope to come to a compromise with Flim and Flam silently and peacefully, so that we can all be on the path for a better and more sustainable future. “Together, we can both reap the benefits of change you have all sown, as well as plant seeds for our future generations. I apologize for interrupting your scheduled broadcasting, and I hope you all have a wonderful day. Thank you.” Another electric click. Somewhere, miles away, the whirring tapes would be easing to a halt. Twilight had a mental image of Celestia taking a content step back from the receiver, giving the technician a grateful nod, charging magic into her horn, and then— In a flash of arcane light, Celestia burst into being in the library. Her gaze swept over Twilight, who quickly sunk her head to hide her shocked expression. “Were you… were you serious about that?” Twilight whispered eventually. “Do you really think they’re willing to give you your throne through… through compromise?” “No,” Celestia admitted. “No one seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. We’ve only taken the first step towards a very long battle, but it is important I don’t appear to be on the offensive. For now, we can do little else but see how Equestria responds to the ashes we have stirred up.” iv Celestia and Twilight spent a significant part of their day still surrounding the radio as though they were in the middle of some worshipping ritual. The radio had fallen to static for nearly a minute after Celestia’s speech had ended, and then the cheery music had comedically continued on as though the speech had not occurred at all. As fascinated as Celestia was by the device, she began desperately wishing it would produce something other than music as the hours carried on. Several times Twilight had interjected into their tense silence by offering that typically there would have been some news report or advertisement, and such a long period of uninterrupted music was not natural. Celestia imagined her speech was probably being replayed over and over again—hopefully by Flim and Flam themselves. Ponies in dapper suits were probably tearing apart every line she had spoken, hunting for some weakness to exploit. It was not a voice through the radio, however, that cut through her anxious thoughts, but rather a sudden, blaring ring coming from somewhere in the library. Twilight perked up, too, and was on her hooves in an instant. She looked intensely excited and intensely frightened as she sprinted towards a device mounted on her wall that seemed to be the source of the ringing—a wooden box with two bells on the top, a rotary dial on the front, and what looked like funnel-like device with a wire hanging from a cradle on the side of the box. It was this funnel that Twilight viciously dove at and tore from its cradle. “What?” she hissed, as if speaking to it. Celestia blinked. Twilight was silent for a moment, listening intently. When she next spoke, it was in the same irritated hiss. “No, you know what, Shining? Shut up. I told you before not to call me—” Twilight suddenly stopped, as though she’d been interrupted. She glanced at Celestia in terror. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shining! She’s… she’s dead, right?” Slowly, Celestia realized what she was seeing—in fact, now that she thought closer, she recognized the device from Shining Armor’s apartment, too. Whatever this thing was, it was like a radio, but with two-way communication. “…you’re not making any sense, big brother,” Twilight was saying. “I… I don’t even own a radio, how would I know—” “Is it Shining Armor?” Celestia approached the device. “He wishes to speak with me?” Twilight’s eyes grew wide—first in shock, then in defeat. She wordlessly passed the receiver to Celestia. “H… hello?” Celestia felt foolish speaking into an inanimate object, but a voice emanated from it regardless, distorted and crackling but undoubtedly familiar. “Well, you’ve done it, Princess,” Shining Armor said. “They’re here right now, y’know. In my apartment. Demanding information about how to contact you. I guess they figured I’d be the first pony you’d contact.” “What, precisely, is this?” Celestia said cautiously. “A… a communications device…” “It’s called a telephone, Celestia,” Shining Armor said. Even with only his voice as a reference point, Celestia had an image of him bringing a hoof to the bridge of his snout in irritation. “Twily graced me with her telephone number, but wouldn’t tell me where it actually led to.” “You lied to me,” Celestia said. “You said you had no way of contacting her.” “Yeah, why don’t you sic your guards on me, Your Worshipness?” he drawled sarcastically. “First of all, nice speech. Seriously, brought a tear to my eye. I’d honestly started to think you’d gotten yourself caught and hauled back to your subterranean kingdom.” “I was… occupied with other matters.” “Oh? I wonder if those matters are connected to two artifacts worth nearly five thousand bits a pop vanishing from the Everfree Museum?” Celestia grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Is this what you do? You come back, infect my sister with your archaic ideals even more than you already have, and then have her help you steal stuff from a museum? Did you lose your mind?” “Captain Shining Armor, I fear we have been driven off the trail. Can we go back to talking about my return announcement?” “I don’t have anything to say to you about that. But stay on the line for a second.” There came a clicking sound from the funnel-device, followed by silence. During it, Celestia cast a cold and accusing glance at Twilight. “You refused to tell your own brother where you live?” Twilight’s head sunk, but any reply she had was interrupted as a new, unfamiliar voice rung through the telephone. “Miss Celestia?” A voice, distinctly a mare, asked her. “Miss Celestia,” Celestia repeated, arching an eyebrow even though Twilight was the only pony who would see so. “That’s new. Who might I be speaking with?” “You’re speaking with Flim Flam Corp, Miss.” “The entirety?” Celestia tried and failed to repress a chuckle. “You identify as a unit? That’s sombering. I presume you wish to discuss our meeting? I made the request publicly, so everypony in Equestria will know if you refuse.” Whoever the mare on the other end of the line was, she seemed unphased by Celestia’s taunt. “Obviously. We would be thrilled for a chance to speak with you.” “That’s wonderful! On a public platform?” “You made that rather clear.” “Indeed I did, and I will take your answer as a yes,” Celestia said, moving the receiver to her other ear. “So then the details? The radio station that hosted me earlier this morning were rather polite and accommodating…” “They’re the New Canterlot community radio. They have to be. They’re called public radio for a reason.” Celestia fiddled with the receiver again, smiling widely, wishing Twilight could hear, too. This mare had quite a sharp attitude—Celestia almost felt guilty for finding it charming. “Duly noted. Then they will do fine… so it is merely a matter of date and time?” “Tonight. Six PM.” “Rather direct,” Celestia said. “And sudden. I’d think you’d like to give the papers a chance to tear me to pieces again, but no matter. I am perfectly content with that time.” The mare on the other end started to say something, but Celestia brought the device back into its cradle, where it clicked and cut the conversation short. Twilight was peering at her curiously, looking ready to burst into questions but keeping them back all the same. “Six.” Celestia grinned. “Tonight.” “What?! Seriously?” “Seriously,” Celestia repeated. “They are wasting no time.” “I’d think you’d have a point, though. Wouldn’t they want to tear into your reputation a little before giving you a public voice?” “Oh, of course. But what did I give them that they can shove out as fiendish? That ponies who don’t have jobs should have jobs? That ponies' children should be given a good future? If they spoke against those, they’d only be revealing themselves as flawed. Plus, keep in mind, they’ve been planning since I escaped.” “That’s true,” Twilight nodded.“I’m going with you tonight.” “You most certainly are not. Not when there is still risk of—” “Of what? Me being found guilty of helping you?” Twilight rolled her eyes. “Fine, I could live with that. Besides, do you think they’re not already onto me at this point? They’re onto my brother, so why not his nutcase journalist sister who has, on multiple occasions, written articles claiming the death of Princess Celestia is a staged conspiracy? They’ve already been looking for excuses to shut me up long before you entered the picture.” “Have you forgotten what the point of retrieving the Sunstone was, Twilight? You are hope if I fall. You cannot fall with me.” “What about that talk about me being your… your Crown Minister?” Twilight was pacing back and forth. “How am I ever going to be that if I just stay in the shadows? Besides, you’re not a dangerous criminal, and if they claim you are, they’d also have to claim they wrongfully imprisoned you without a trial for eleven years.” Celestia opened her mouth to protest, but couldn’t actually find an argument to use. Twilight Sparkle was right, after all… and truly she had been nothing but useful in the time Celestia had known her. Would it really be so selfish to accept her help when she desperately needed it? Twilight was determined to do her best and for the first time in her life was showing signs of actually having a purpose she was proud of. Why should she snuff that out? Keeping her hidden in the library may keep her protected from the various voices tearing her reputation down, but would letting her face those voices herself be such a terrible alternative? Truly, they were safer in the public limelight than they were in the shadows—any claims regarding her tyranny or Twilight’s madness would be better denounced through public trust than simply laying in the protection of Twilight’s abandoned library. Besides… she was simply speaking with Flim Flam Corporation, and with the whole of Equestria as an audience. Twilight had been exemplary by her side retrieving the Sunstone—would she really be any different by her side now? Celestia shook that thought from her head promptly. Twilight’s usefulness was certainly a contributor, but not the only variable. She thought herself to be pathetic, to be a freakish misfit, and yet in so many years Celestia truly felt as though she had a pony who would actually listen to her when she spoke. For more reasons than confidence and usefulness, Celestia decided keeping Twilight close could hardly have a harmful impact on their slim chances. Six PM. Celestia was ready. v New Canterlot loomed ahead, compressed into the small rectangle of a train window. Celestia peered thoughtfully at the bright and colourful lights, blinking and dancing as the train made its way into the heart of the city on an inclined rail. Below them, streetcars darted to and fro on their electric trails… another impressive development that had required explanation from Twilight. The heart of the city was at odds with what had lined the outside—colourful and bright on the inside and bleak and sombre on the outside. The outskirts, with their billowing vapour, seemed to be sacrificing their own beauty for the benefit of the city within. Once more, Twilight had been a source of information as they had passed the stacks. “Tobacco factory,” she’d said, pointing at each. “Fossil-fuel power station. Manufacturing line. Petroleum refinery.” She’d also rattled off their pollution rates per year, something Celestia was more than thankful Twilight had on hand. Every second that passed, even on their eventless train-ride, she was becoming increasingly grateful for Twilight’s presence. The unicorn herself had arranged her mane into a bun that seemed caught in a limbo between casual and classy. It was a manestyle that Celestia had tried and failed not to gush over. She had used the word adorable to describe it and hadn’t even felt guilty when Twilight had blushed intensely. Why should she feel guilt for simply saying the truth? Besides the smokestacks, there were also thin metal scaffoldings, standing like artificial trees. Wires snaked from scaffolding to scaffolding, leading the way into New Canterlot proper. Telephone lines, Twilight had quickly explained as she traced Celestia’s curious gaze. Before too long, the train was screeching to a halt in the midst of the much more tolerable interior of New Canterlot. Celestia led the way, first down the train carriage and then down the city streets. There were crowds, but they all parted as she walked proudly past. They gawked and whispered, some cried out in surprise. Twilight trailed nervously behind, her eyes on her hooves, for the entirety of the short walk to the studio. There was a heavy crowd of at least two dozen ponies surrounding the New Canterlot Public Radio, like it was the premiere of some popular film. Except with much more malice than Celestia would have expected from such an event. She kept her expression stoic and calm, ignoring the jeering and screaming crowd that had gathered. Celestia had seen her fair share of protests—she’d even seen effigies of herself during the Crystal War, although those had hardly been erected by her ponies. This was relatively tame by comparison. The faces and expressions were the same, although the slogans were new; Monarchy = History and All Hail The Queen of Corruption. Celestia ignored them, and with a backwards glance she told Twilight to do the same, up until one particular cry caught her attention. "Princess Celestia! Manehattan Times! Can I get a photo?" She'd been catching flurries of camera flashes in her peripheral vision the moment she had stepped off the train, but for the first time she actually turned for one, and with a wing on Twilight's back gently turned her to do the same. A small smile on her part, a torrent of a dozen camera flashes, and then she turned and continued her walk into the studio without any further events or confrontations. It was all familiar to Celestia from earlier, entirely unchanged save for the abundance of ponies within. There were several guards—domestic police; her royal guard had been disbanded since her fall. Celestia noted how each had a firearm. During her rule, such a thing had never been needed, but then again she was probably the reason why they were carrying them now. They were standing at the entrance, and Celestia gave them a polite smile as she trotted in, not hesitating in her walk towards the studio proper. “Miss Celestia.” She turned. The voice belonged to the same mare that she had been speaking with on the telephone—a young mare surely nowhere older than her mid-twenties, a long light gold mane and orange coat. “Florina Harshwhinny.” She offered a hoof. “We spoke on the telephone?” “Indeed!” Celestia blinked, amazed. Perhaps not a familiar face, but a familiar blood relation nonetheless. She shook her hoof and smiled with earnest mirth. “I do believe I knew your mother, Miss Florina. Equestria Games Inspector?" The young mare nodded. "That's her." Celestia withdrew her hoof, still smiling at the semblance of familiarity. "Pleased to meet you. I suppose you will be representing Flim Flam Industry?” She nodded. “I’m the head of the public affairs department.” “Ah, very nice. This is my friend, Twilight Sparkle. She’ll be sitting in, if that is alright.” Twilight was blushing furiously. “We’ve… ah… met.” “Hello, Miss Sparkle,” Florina grinned devilishly. “Steal any more corporate paperwork, recently?” Twilight blushed further. “Shut up. You didn’t even prove anything against me.” “We didn’t publicly expose anything against you,” she corrected cheerily. She seemed to be several years younger than Twilight, but her confidence was boundless nonetheless. “Quite the company you’re keeping, Miss Celestia. Equestria’s model citizen herself.” “I’d appreciate it if you saved your petty insults for when the entirety of Equestria can hear you,” Celestia shot back in defense, although internally she was making note to confront Twilight about the accusation later, hoping desperately it indeed was not truthful, despite Twilight’s reaction. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t wait any further.” The prim mare motioned at the sound-proofed room beyond the glass and radio equipment. Tall reel-to-reels and other elaborate looking electric equipment soared to the ceiling on one side, but beyond the glass was simply a padded room, two microphones, and two comfortable looking couches. “Perhaps we shouldn’t,” Celestia agreed. “Before the reels begin spinning, allow me just to say that I greatly appreciate your promptness in meeting me. I am amazed with how civil you are treating matters, all things considered.” She rose an eyebrow dubiously. “…All things considered?” “I understand I am perceived as a figure of contempt and perhaps even fear. It is comforting to be treated in such a manner.” “Uh huh. Well, we’ll see if you’ll still be thanking me when this is all over, Miss Celestia.” Without saying anything further, Florina Harshwhinny turned and led the way into the next room. Celestia hesitated for a moment with Twilight before following. “It is very important how we present ourselves,” she whispered. “I don’t know how much merit her accusations of you carry, but you will not be acting in such a manner in there. Do you understand?” “Y… yes.” “Twilight, it is imperative that we build trust here. Not merely with a specific group, as you have, but with everypony.” A wing on Twilight’s back and a warm smile defused most of the tension, and then Celestia removed it and led the way forwards. On the other side of the glass, the reel-to-reels sprung to life. Florina Harshwhinny cleared her throat, tapped her microphone, and then gave the technician beyond the glass a nod. Then, she addressed Celestia. “You can go ahead and have the first word, Miss Celestia. This is more or less simply a briefing of events that I’ve been told to relay to you, but you can offer a few remarks of your own if you want. As soon as the light turns red, you’re good to go.” Celestia only nodded, and leaned towards her own microphone, keeping the glowing yellow bulb in the corner of her vision, drawing in her breath, and then… The colour switched red. “Well, since we’re not making wine or cheese, I see no reason to delay…” Celestia decided it would be best to begin not with somberity but rather good humour. “My name is Celestia. I am here with my associate and friend Twilight Sparkle, and Flim Flam Corporation’s head of public relations, Miss Florina Harshwhinny. On behalf of the three of us, allow me to offer our thanks for your attention during these proceedings, as they were, as well as my apologies for their less than formal nature. “I made my stance quite clear this morning, and it has been played back several times today for your convenience. I imagine it has been published in the papers as well, so there is not much cause for repetition there. I hardly wish to appear offensive or confrontational, so with that said I will allow Miss Florina to offer her reply, on behalf of Flim and Flam.” With a bored-looking stare, Florina Harshwhinny obliged. “First of all, if you could ditch the pretentiousness, we would probably all be quite content,” Florina began, leaning back in her seat. “I don’t imagine many ponies wish to sift through your showy language to get to your point.” Twilight opened her mouth with a sharp retort, but Celestia was quicker. “My point, in your eyes, being?” “That you have no idea what the hell you’re supposed to do. And you expect us to give your throne back, without you lifting a hoof or proving you deserve it, because you don’t even know how to begin shrugging off your own reputation.” “Hm, perhaps you are right, and my use of language was needlessly confusing,” Celestia replied, her smile unfailing. “I’ll be blunt, then; I want my throne back, but I wish to do so without villainizing anypony. As such, I leave the first move up to Flim Flam Industry, to be done in the limelight. If you truly wish, I can have the first move, but I don’t think you would wish if I did.” “Is that blackmail, Miss Celestia?” “I hardly think so. Blackmail entails you having done something wrong, and I said no such thing.” Twilight’s pen scratched furiously, and the unicorn herself was wearing a smug grin. “Fine,” Florina replied, narrowing her eyes. “You want our reply? Alright. A hearing. That’s our reply. A criminal hearing.” “A criminal hearing?” Celestia cocked her head. There was a jug of water on a nearby end table, and she poured herself a glass without breaking eye contact with Florina. “I am confused. What offense, exactly, am I being accused of committing?” Florina was silent for several seconds, and Celestia truly did not care to hear whatever answer she’d had before continuing anyways. “I don’t enjoy pointing hooves and shovelling blame onto other ponies, but it seems to me I should be the one proposing such an action.” This time, Florina looked up in surprise. Celestia could have sworn she’d seen a trace of genuine joyful surprise flit across her stoic expression. Her response was one syllable. “Oh?” “Oh indeed.” Celestia took a dainty sip of her glass of water. No sense keeping her cards hidden, now. “I think unlawfully imprisoning me for eleven years in atrocious conditions without fair trial and carrying out blatant torture against me are grounds for legal action on my part—both under the infrastructure you ponies have set up in my absence, and under my former semi-autocratic government. Is that the trial you are proposing…? “No. You misunderstand,” she replied. “Ah, I do?” Celestia gave an innocent looking smile, before waving a hoof dismissively. “Then enlighten me.” “Your rule is under trial. The—and I mean no offense with this term—despotic nature of your self-identified ‘autocratic’ government, is under trial.” “Mm, indeed.” Celestia nodded, setting down the glass of water again. “That makes much more sense. Although I must wonder why such actions were not taken eleven years ago.” In the ensuing silence, Celestia’s stubborn pride bade her add another muttered remark: “Seems to me like with your so called proper legal standings, you could have gone… ah, Queen of Prance on me right then.” Twilight perked up a little, but Celestia got the impression nopony else listening beyond the studio glass had understood her remark. Still, her intent and tone remained clear and Florina was quite indignant. “That is slander, Miss Celestia.” “Ah, is it?” The irony was hardly lost on Celestia, but her mind had since caught her inconvenient pride and scolded it down. To engage this foolish mare in petty bickering before all of Equestria would not be beneficial to her cause even remotely. Instead, she smiled sheepishly and apologized. For the record, and what not. Twilight, however, perked up from her notes wearing a dubious expression. “Sorry to interrupt, but… what exactly is the purpose of this… uh, hearing? To prove she’s a tyrant?” “Not a tyrant. Simply unfit to rule.” “Interesting.” Celestia brought a hoof to her chin. “And if you fail to? Then what? You shall give me my throne back?” “That is not my authority to say.” “Mm. Figures,” Celestia mused. “Precisely why I wished to simply speak with Flim and Flam. Not their flying monk…” She trailed off before she could finish. Thankfully, Twilight was quick to leap in again. “So what’s the end result of this hearing?” she inquired, setting her notes aside. “Both results—if we win, and if we lose. And it’s gonna be public again, right? So you can’t pull your corrupt propaganda censorship bullsh—” Celestia silenced Twilight with a raise of her hoof. “Yes, it will be public,” she said. “Not broadcasted live, but open to the public nonetheless. And the end result, assuming you disprove the allegations presented against you, will most likely be your eligibility for candidacy.” “Wait…” Celestia blinked. This time, it was her turn to be indignant. “I have to be elected? Why would I have to be elected if I already proved my leadership worth? What, do I need more job experience?” The moment the sharp remark left her tongue, Celestia knew it had been a mistake. The entirety of Equestria had just heard her practically boast. Florina took a sip of her own water, disguising a satisfied smile with a hoof. “No, you need to prove that Equestria wants you to be their leader. Isn’t it all for the ponies, Miss Celestia? Because you make it seem like it’s a pursuit of pride.” Beside her, Twilight dropped her pen. Despite the severity of the situation, Celestia found herself more curious whether or not the sound would have been picked up by the microphones. “I’m curious, Miss Celestia, and I’m sure the entirety of Equestria is, too…” Florina looked first at Twilight, and then at Celestia, like a great bird eyeing down prey. “You have made it quite clear that you are discontent with Equestria’s new democratic rule. I’d like to hear you elaborate on these problems, as you see them.” “Certainly.” It wasn’t a challenge Celestia had any intent to back down from. She politely took Twilight’s notebook and unfolded it. “Let’s start with the laws surrounding industrial production. Or the lack thereof. You’ve established a free-market capitalist state without any government intervention.” “So you’re saying the government has a right to arbitrarily dictate production?” “No, but unbridled control given to those whose sole intent is to turn a profit? I fear for the well-being of the working class. And that’s to say nothing of the mass amounts of pollution that you’re churning into the skies.” “Right. So a bit of unpleasant looking fog stirs up on the outskirts of the cities and you’re calling for an entire social overhaul.” “That unpleasant looking fog…” Twilight Sparkle growled, apparently not even needing her notes. “… is sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxide. Long term exposure—and by long term, I mean a mere decade—can cause respiratory diseases and shorten life spans. So, yeah, a bit of unpleasant fog that poses significant health risks to innocent ponies.” “That’s quite funny, Miss Sparkle, because every single professional evaluation has found the pollution—as you call it—to be perfectly safe. Unless you think your little homemade evaluations are more credible?” “Yeah, well, I'm sure you'll forgive me if I'm dubious of professional evaluations of Flim Flam Industry carried out by Flim Flam Industry.” “And how exactly are you any less biased?” “—which is precisely why we need unbiased government intervention instead of completely unbridled capitalism.” Celestia cut in. “You say unbiased, and then refer to ponies chosen by you.” “Chosen by me, based on their talents, abilities, and knowledge. Not their current economical or political positions.” “You've presented no reason why such interventions wouldn't be done in order to further your personal agendas.” “And you have presented no reason why anypony should fear what my personal agendas may be. Why would I be concerned if your pollution is proven to be harmless? Why would I intentionally sabotage production?” “You are asking an entire country to simply trust you.” “Prove they shouldn’t," Celestia said simply in response. “A criminal hearing. Alright. I agree. I presume the planning is to be done by Flim Flam Corporation?” “Yes, provided your tinfoil-hat-wearing ‘friend’ doesn’t steal our paperwork.” Twilight bristled with fury, but thankfully remained silent. “You’re gonna need to give us a contact address, by the way. I can’t write ‘Condemned Library’ on my documents.” “Perhaps the library shouldn’t have been condemned in the first place,” Celestia replied passively. “Fine. Will do. Are we done here? I have a moon to raise.” As if in reply, the buzzing red light suddenly blinked out. Celestia and Twilight both cast a sideways glance, watching as the reel-to-reels slowed to a stop. In a blur, she had thanked Florina, and once more extended her thanks to the radio operators. She felt as if she was a ghost as she led the way from the radio studio and through the same group of protestors. Her horn was aglow as she raised the moon while sifting through the crowds, doing her best to hide her wincing expression. The only semblance of lucidity Celestia found herself observing was that it had begun storming furiously in the short time they had been inside. It wasn’t until they were seated within a scummy cafe back in Old Canterlot nearly an hour later that Celestia finally spoke. “That could have gone better.” Twilight looked up from her swirling coffee. She had an expression comparable to a shell-shocked soldier. “You think? They destroyed us.” “I was a fool. I let her get under my skin.” “That’s not exactly hard to do.” Celestia sipped her coffee. “Indeed. I feel as though something is wrong. They are taking too big of a risk.” “What do you mean?” “This hearing, as they call it. They are putting all their chips down on the assumption that they will succeed. However, if they fail, they will essentially be discrediting their own rule and admitting to the unlawful and inequine treatment of… ah, me.” Celestia scratched an ear. “It just seems too big of a risk. It is as though they have some way of ensuring victory I do not know about.” “Well, what exactly is their other option?” Twilight reasoned. “I mean, it’s like what you said, right? About giving opposition a voice so they can refute it? The opposite is basically letting you blab on about their horrible treatment of you, and build up a group of ponies willing to support your cause.” “I suppose.” Celestia did not look entirely convinced. “But with their continued propaganda and censorship, they could combat that. It just seems like an odd gamble, especially since if I really did speak out regarding their actions, they could just feign innocence and shove out propaganda to support themselves.” “Do they… uh… I’m not accusing you of anything, Princess… but do they have anything that might incriminate you? Y’know, justify what they did?” “Hm…” Celestia pursed her lips in thought. Did they? “I attempted to escape several times, and destroyed some expensive equipment whilst doing so. But that seems like it would be easy for me to justify.” Thanks perhaps to exhaustion alone, Twilight did not seem to catch Celestia's hesitation. Instead, she merely shrugged. “That's true. Uh… also… I know you were joking, but that Queen of Prance remark…” Twilight scratched an ear sheepishly. “You don’t seriously think ponies will do that to you, right?” “Not to sound morbid, but I was good friends with the Queen of Prance, and she was a very nice mare. Not the best leader, but a very warm and friendly pony. That did not stop history. Nor keep her head on her shoulders when her subjects grew tired of her.” “Goddesses above,” Twilight mumbled, crinkling her nose. The rain continued to pour and the rumbling of thunder offered a reply to Twilight’s disgusted exclamation. “There’s an old saying, Twilight: the dance of a feather can make a kingdom burn. The tiniest of actions can shift history and kill queens. We must tread carefully.”