Lyra Heartstrings v. Republic of Terra

by PegasusKlondike

Tinker, Mare, Soldier, Spy

"We shall continue to hear argument this morning in Case No. 1 of the Terran Judiciary, Lyra Heartstrings vs Republic of Terra. Mrs Heartstrings, you may begin your statements."

The minty mare stood from her seat, wearing a grin of confidence like a filly might proudly wear a ribbon in her mane. "Thank you, Madam Chief Justice. And a 'good morning' to the rest of judiciary as well."

A few of the Justices on their bench tapped their fingers in apparent nervousness, and they had a reason to be nervous. On Friday, Lyra had been the only pony in the courthouse, completely outnumbered and outmatched by the humans present. But the numerical advantage and the psychological detriment that had on Lyra had completely evaporated when she had brought a few supporters.

Ponies were herd creatures, they needed others of their own kind around for emotional and mental support. It was a simple biological imperative that far predated the Surges and the sentience of ponies. And Lyra had found herself a herd. A big herd.

Almost every seat in the gallery was packed full of ponies. To the human eye, so accustomed to a much drabber and more neutral world, the painter's pallet of brightly colored fur, pointed horns and fluffy wings could have caused a headache with very little effort. When the first few had come to the door of the courthouse, the MP guarding the door turned them away. But when the ponies came en masse, he suddenly found his courage faltering in favor of nervous politeness, and nearly four dozen mares and stallions of every tribe filed in to give their support.

And the gallery was not only filled with the hoofed citizens of the Republic. More than one curious human had wandered into the courthouse that morning, seeing for themselves about this rumor of a single pony challenging the justice system. But not just bystanders, a few paid the greatest attention, scribbling down notes on a little pad of paper, getting their frontline stories for tomorrow's paper or the top story for their radio show.

Chief Justice Haliburton's ultimate goal of keeping this completely under the table had been utterly shattered, and now the Chief Justice had to sit on at the bench and watch as more and more residents of Lazarus learned about Lyra's case.

The mint green mare carried herself confidently as she strode in front of her desk, a few pages of notes hovering in her yellow aura. And to the surprise of everyone in the court, she reared up on her hind legs, folding her forelegs behind her back. Though it was a mild strain on her back to stay bipedal like this, Lyra's many years of practice were paying off with how comfortably she could maintain that pose for a long time.

"If it pleases the court, I would like to address the issue brought before the court at the previous convention. My opponent has so rhetorically pointed out that we ponies may be prone to certain illnesses. I will not debate the idea, because yes, we do have cases of brucellosis and anthrax."

Lyra stopped her monologue, pacing on her hindlegs. "But, it is common knowledge to the people of Equestria that these diseases are in such a state of decline that not a single case of anthrax has been reported in any county or province of Equestria in over twenty years! This is an inherent fact to my people, I did not even have to look it up!"

Nearly four dozen ponies in the gallery muttered to themselves, nodding in agreement. Disease was always treated swiftly and decisively in the kingdom of the ponies, and the knowledge of spotting it and preventing it was always taught at a very young age. In fact, thanks to Princess Celestia's continuing campaign of health, both the dangerous diseases of leptospirosis and rabies had been completely eradicated from both the North American and South American continents. The old efforts of the human based World Health Organization would have done well to take notes on Equestria's methods when they tried to stop toxoplasmosis.

A few of the more liberal Justices took note of the popular consensus concerning disease in pony society, but the more skeptical held on to the idea that it was just plain dangerous to be around ponies.

"In fact, if you believe that it is dangerous for a pony to be around a human because of disease, can we assume that the inverse would be the same? Should ponies avoid humans because of your literal tens of thousands of transmissible diseases? My opponent proclaims that a human should avoid contact with ponies because of the infinitely small chance of catching something. But, I say that we ponies should be more wary of being sneezed on by a human! Various poxes, staph, ebola, hundreds of different strains of influenza, these are all illnesses that rightfully should be feared. It is because of this disproportionately high amount of diseases that can be transmitted from a human to a pony, and not the inverse, that I say my opponent's argument is invalid! If I were to adopt a human child, I put myself at greater risk than I put her in."

She took a quick sip of water, moistening her parched throat. The ghost in her ear had made her memorize that speech line by line, and now was the time to launch into the almost pure sophistry that he would whisper to her.

"But, if we want to talk about disease, rest assured, I've spotted the most dangerous illness of all, right here in Lazarus," Lyra calmly said to the nobody in particular. She sat down at her desk, folding her forelegs behind her head and kicking up her hindlegs to rest on the desk. By all appearances, she had rested her case for today, but she had made no declaration.

Justice Brockmann fidgeted in his seat, and Lyra could barely contain her grin as he took the bait.

"Mrs Hearstrings, do you rest?"

Lyra shook her head. "Nope."

"Then would you please inform us about this "most dangerous illness of all"?"

The mare dropped her hooves back to the floor, solemnly nodding as she launched into it again. "Of course. I've seen this disease attack every level of a society. I've traveled much of the known world, and everywhere I went, people were afflicted with this dangerous plague. But, no matter how much it permeated the very fabric of society, nobody ever seemed to notice what was truly wrong until it was too late. This is a plague that has wiped out entire civilizations in a matter of years, brought the greatest forces on Earth to their knees, and yet... I saw this disease, this... this... pestilence," she said as if the word left a foul taste in her mouth, "right here in this very courtroom. That disease... is ignorance."

Ignorance? many of the observers thought. How could a society so steeped in knowledge be anything but enlightened? Humanity had ten thousand years of accumulated knowledge, they had even put a man on the moon! How could she knowingly proclaim that humanity was ignorant!

"Ignorance. The very reason why I'm here today, why I even have to fight for my rights and the rights of my kind. Ignorance is the disease that afflicts this country, and this case is a symptom of it! If it pleases the court, I would like to bring the example of Mr James Howell, seen here in this newspaper clip."

Lyra levitated the morning edition of the day's paper, clearly showing the headline news about yesterday's tragedy at the Slagworks. "It was originally believed that Mr Howell was the only casualty at yesterday's breakdown in the factory, but this morning, Mr Howell himself came forward to state that a diamond dog was also injured. That dog, a steelworker by the name of Salty, suffered extreme burns to both his arms and his torso. Salty received those wounds when he pushed Mr Howell out of the path of destruction. He saved his life, just because he was in the right place at the right time. Mr Howell himself proclaimed that before the incident, he held a prejudice to the Stoneclaws, but after Salty intervened and saved his life, he could not even remember why he held such a prejudice in the first place. James Howell was a victim of ignorance, and it took a close brush with death to make him realize that he was truly ignorant of his fellow beings! The diamond dogs of the Stoneclaw pack stepped out of their way to accept Mr Howell, to see him as a true equal. And just like Salty saved the life of Jimmy Howell, I want to save the life of that little girl. And I want my people to have their voices heard, when all they want to say is how they can help you. The first ponies in Terra may have come with swords in their hooves and the command to fight in their minds, but they stayed here and offered an olive branch of peace and understanding and the determination to make things right! And the only way we can help you cure yourselves of this disease, this plague of ignorance and distrust, is if you let us try. And the only way we can try is if we can see eye to eye, and have our voices heard."

Lyra felt a pleased warmth emanating from her left ear. "Good, good, drive it home, turn the focus away from yourself and onto the bigger problem," the ghostly presence of Mr Darrow whispered.

The mare did not respond, nor even show any sign that she had heard at all. Just like they had practiced.

"How many of you live in a home on the surface?" Lyra asked the Justices. The row of stoic human judges remained silent, knowing full well where this was going. "How many of you wake up every morning to sunlight instead of a cold stone wall? How many times have you walked the road leading out to the countryside, or used the rails? And who, might I ask, helped build those things for you? Was it the stalwart government? Was it Terra's finest, the soldiers of Fort Greenewell? Was it the politicians, the bureaucrats, the doctors, the lawyers of Lazarus? Human beings may have built everything below ground, but it was ponies who built it from the ground up. And most of the creatures that worked their hooves to the bone building homes and businesses for nothing but the cost of materials, they live in shacks on the edge of the city. Sometimes a dozen stallions will live in a place with barely enough room for two, just because they believe in atoning for what our ancestors did. We helped to rebuild your civilization, and the least you can do.... the least you can do is let us be a part of it. The Republic of Terra allows to be citizens in name only, and nothing else. And that, that is the ignorance that has spread through this city."

Lyra paced back to her desk, taking a seat in her chair and resting her back from the strain of staying bipedal the entire time. "I close my arguments for the day by asking that you please think of this as a new opportunity, instead of a simple obstacle."

A few hooves stomped on the floor in the gallery, the ponies giving a slight applause for Lyra's passionate speech. And with the petitioner's argument given, the respondent stood from his seat, hooking his fingers in his belt loops and lazily pacing in front of his desk.

"Respondent, you may begin your argument at this time," Chief Justice Haliburton said to Bennett.

Attorney General Bennett nodded to the Chief Justice. "I would like to begin by applauding my opponent on a well delivered and very impassioned argument. It is true that the ponies who live in this city seem to deserve more than what they currently have. But, as any sensible person knows, you can only get out of life what you put into it. If the ponies live in shacks at the outskirts of town, isn't that their own fault? They have the materials and the abilities to build themselves much more accommodating living quarters, and yet they seem to insist upon living in squalor."

Lyra ignored the almost insulting observation against her people, and chose now to instigate Operation Cigar. Her horn glowed a soft shade of yellow, the musical chiming of magic barely heard to even her. She carefully fished a bit out of her saddlebag and set it on the table, moon side up. Bennett was making another of his very persuasive arguments, and right now, she didn't intend on flipping for suns or moons.

Setting her focus on the glass of water and the pitcher at her desk, she magically levitated enough water for the glass to be as close to half full as she could get without overdoing it.

Now came the tricky part.

If one knew how to do it, and if one knew the small flaw that was present on the moon side of most Equestrian bits, a clever illusionist could safely balance a glass of water on its edge without fear of it spilling. The entire illusion was that the glass was balanced precariously, and would spill at the slightest jostle. But, Lyra had spent weeks of boredom in primary school perfecting this illusion, completely blowing off her teleportation lessons.

Tipping her glass over to a 45 degree angle, she carefully slipped the edge into the top curve of the crescent moon, and the tiny flat spot of a star near it. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead as she released the glass from her aura, and with a sigh of relief, the glass of water stood on its own, looking for all the world like it had frozen in mid-spill. The bait had been cast out, and now it was time to reel in some fish.

Leaning back in her chair, folding her forelegs behind her head, Lyra kicked the leg of her table.

It wasn't a hard kick, but enough to make some noise, attract the glances of the Justices, and slosh the water in the glass.

Bennett faltered for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to check on what caused that commotion. Seeing nothing but a curiously balanced glass and a smug unicorn (he had never thought in all his life that this scene would ever be considered normal), he returned to his argument.

"Which is why I say the implementation of social programs to assist the ponies is a mere reflection of twenty-first century attempts to appease minorities, when in fact that "minority" easily outnumbers us hundreds to one on the broader scale! Why should human beings, the obvious minority, be the ones to pay for the advancement of ponies in our society?"

The Justices seemed to be taking notes of that, and Lyra decided now was a good time to distract their intent and thoughtful train of ideas. She nudged her table enough so that the water visibly sloshed, catching the eye of the Justices, who expected it to fall and spill.

Just like the ash from Clarence Darrow's infamous cigar.

Bennett paused for a moment, then continued on with his rebuttal. "Some governments have actually seen such things like "equal opportunity" programs and the encouragement of interracial equality has shown to have detrimental effects on the intended goal. I cite the near infinite examples of the attempts to make reparations to the African American communities following their emancipation from slavery in the 1860's. Countless times, the African American community was encouraged to take charge of a greater part of their own welfare. And the government spent countless billions trying to encourage racial equality. And what did that accomplish? Racial discrimination. Segregation. Poverty, distrust, even racially motivated hatred and crime! Brought about when the Caucasian majority felt the government to be favoring of the minority, and shirking of themselves."

Kick.

Again he paused, taking a shallow breath and continuing.

Hehe, this is fun! Lyra thought to herself.

"If civil rights are simply handed to the ponies, if government programs are enacted to hopefully encourage equality, we'll see the results in a century or more, when the old timers all recall what it was like to live in a lopsided society. When the history lessons about the first days of the Republic all focus on the accusations that we humans are unfair and uncaring."

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, David Bennett put his best foot forward, and played his 'A' game. He spoke truthfully about his knowledge of the failures of civil rights movements, and the consequences they had upon societies as a whole. The distrust that they sowed, and the decades of legal fine tuning that it took to properly enforce. But not a word of the good stuff reached the Justices. For whenever he seemed on a roll, their eyes would drift over to Lyra's mystically balanced glass of water. By the end of his argument, he had started slipping in old baseball scores, just to see if they noticed. They did not.

********************************************************

"Ha! No wonder you were the best! What should we try next, balancing a feather on the tip of my nose? Chewing on a hard candy?" Lyra said excitedly to the companion that was invisible to all except herself, and a few specifically talented magic users.

"None of it," Mr Darrow responded. "Once was enough. And the fact that you got away with doing that for half an hour without reprimand is evidence to say that it didn't work. Your ploy didn't garner enough attention at the crucial points. Do you know how many times I used my cigar to distract my opposition? Once, because my opposition would always adapt their own strategies to combat mine. That trick only works once, and you jumped the gun by using it now."

"If not today, then when? Please enlighten me," Lyra replied back, a touch of attitude coming into her voice.

She trotted down the market streets of Lazarus, stretching out her legs and back from trying to use her bipedalism ploy to subconsciously garner better favor. But subtle cues and good facts didn't seem to be enough. Despite a good argument and a strong group of supporters, most of the Justices seemed to be leaning towards Bennett. And Clarence could confirm this.

At one point during Bennett's response, he had left his safe gemstone haven and taken a look at the Justice's notes. Highly unethical, but he argued that the laws concerning unethical behavior only applied to those who could actually be punished in some way that didn't involve exorcism. He had gotten his information, even gleaned which Justices had more influence over the others and which ones were still on the fence.

"In a last resort situation. Now, we need to focus on getting as much information on our three target Justices as we possibly can-" The ghost stopped himself, zipping out of Lyra's earring and scoping out the street. "Keep moving," he said to her, his tone changed from the scolding of a lawyer to a more tense sense of worry.

"What? Weren't you saying something about the Justices?"

"I said move it!" he shouted.

Lyra jumped at his sudden change, quickening her trot. "What is it?" she asked.

"There's a man in a black coat that's been following you since you left the courthouse," the ghost replied. "Get to a populated street and find a crowd."

Lyra slowed down, chuckling at her lawyer's paranoia. "Look, just because I upset a few people doesn't mean that "They" are out to get me. This isn't one of those spy novels that my dad used to read. I'm sure that guy is just coincidentally on the same route as us."

"And mirroring our movements? And keeping a precise distance back? Do you think those are coincidences too?"

Lyra peeked over her shoulder to get a look at her stalker, and when she spied the man in a black coat, a needle of fear jabbed into her heart. He wore a black jacket and broad sunglasses, and all Lyra could really tell about him was his tall frame and blonde hair. But as soon as she really got a good look, he ducked into an alleyway.

"Okay, that was a bit more convincing," she acceded.

Picking up her pace, Lyra moved quickly, yet calmly, towards a more populated area. But still she had a feeling of the man's eyes on her back, watching her every move, yet keeping far back. She considered just leaping into the open door of a house or a shop, but somehow she felt like that wouldn't stop her stalker. Lyra's easy trot turned to a canter, and a sheen of nervous sweat began to build up on her forehead.

Throwing him for a loop, she ducked into an alleyway herself, emerging into the street on the other side and hoping that she had thrown him off her trail. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she stifled a laugh, wondering if that guy was just some wackjob who disagreed with her court case. But that sweat came back a second later when she spied a black-coated shape in the corner of her eye.

Looking right at the man, she spun on her hooves and ran at a gallop for the marketplace, hoping to lose him in the crowds there. She didn't know how fast humans could run, but few things in the world could catch a pony at full speed.

But, few things in the world fatigued faster than a pony running at full speed, and after a few blocks, Lyra had to stop by the entrance to an alley to catch her breath. "I really should have laid off the chips," she panted. Peeking around the side of the building, she pulled her head back when she saw the black-coated man just up the street, scanning the area for her.

"Keep moving!" her ghost friend urged.

Lyra stumbled onto her hooves, trying to control her pounding heart and her surging adrenaline. Whoever this man was, he was dead set and determined on getting her. And from what she saw next, he wasn't alone. A woman in plain clothes walked out of an adjacent building, saying something quick and low to the black-coated man. With a nod, they both began walking down the street, each taking a side to search.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Lyra bolted out of her hiding spot and towards the safety of a busy street. She saw the comforting sights of crowds that she could lose them in, and even a patrol of soldiers that might protect her.

And she would have made it, had her pursuers not expected her mad dash all along. A third person stepped out of the door of a shop, placing himself right between her and her freedom. Lyra skidded to a halt, falling back on her haunches as the third person approached her. She considered standing up and fighting, using her sharp, pointed horn to skewer the man or her magic to beat him senseless. But her conscience forbade her from harming a human being, even if it meant they were going to harm her.

The other two pursuers closed in around her, blocking off any hope of escape.

"P-please, don't hurt me!" she begged. "I never did anything to harm anyone, please, just let me go!"

The man in the black coat grabbed her haunches and lifted her to her hooves, checking her flank and her cutie mark. "This is the one," he said to his comrades. "You're coming with us. A very important citizen would like to speak with you."

"And what if I don't want to!" she shouted back, hoping her raised voice might attract attention and maybe some assistance.

The man grabbed the front of his coat, flipping it back to reveal the stun gun holstered on his hip. "I'm afraid that's out of the question." The other two humans took their places by her sides, obscuring as much of her from as many prying eyes as possible. The black coated man took the lead, and began to march his little procession towards the center of the city.

Lyra was panicking to herself, wondering if they were going to take her out to the woods and make her dig her own grave. She stifled back the fearful tears, and the thoughts that angering the Republic could have just cost her her life. And then it hit her, she could just teleport away! She tried to embrace her magic, to think of the spell that would remove her from this horrible situation. But the moment she tried to touch her magic, she felt the rolling waves of dulling power coming from one of the humans.

They had been smart, and one of them had brought a micro-Tesla device. Whoever they were, they had been planning this for quite a while. And for a moment, Lyra had absolute mental clarity. Whoever these people were, they had access to military-grade magical suppression technology. And she still had a ghost on her side.

"Clarence!" she hissed as quietly as she could. "Go get help! Please, hurry!" But the realization struck her, souls were made of magic, and they had just put up a magic nullifying shield. Her heart raced as she thought about what might have happened to the poor specter, but her fears were assuaged when she saw the flickering spirit orb, apparently tracing the perimeter of the shield to try and find any weaknesses. "Go get help!" she mouthed to him. The ghost seemed to understand, and zipped away.

Clarence wondered what in the hell this could all be about. In all his years as an attorney, not a single one of his clients had been abducted. Sure, threats had been made, there were even a few assaults, but never anything like this. Flying through the city as quickly as he could, Clarence wondered who he could go to for help. Screeching to a halt, he realized his condition made things rather complicated. Not a single person in the city could see him or hear him, except for the necromancer. And he didn't even know if Aaron could help him or not.

"Damn it!" he swore aloud. "God damn them all to Hell! God-" He stopped his rant, realizing that no mortal beings could see or hear him, but there were immortal ones who could get Lyra all the help she needed. In a perverted sense of things, Clarence went against all his living morals, and decided that he needed the help of God to get through this one.

Buzzing through walls and flying through streets, the ghost passed the border of the homes and the residences, going straight for the heart of the Park. It was midday, everyone was either at work or beating the heat at home, and so the shrine of the Singing Crystal was barren of visitors.

Going straight for the Crystal, Clarence began to buffet it with pulses of his psionic pleas. "Come on, answer!" he growled in frustration. "Lyra is in danger, I need your help!"

The Crystal flared with an inner light, and he felt a magical tether link his energies with the familiar energies of the other side, energies that had been his home and his paradise for over two millenia. And with that link established, he felt the awe-inspiring presence of the one that many called the Dream Walker fill the void.

You have called, and I have answered. What is it that you seek?

"I'm not looking for anything! My client is in danger, and I need your help! Lyra was taken by some goons with an anti-magic shield, and they're taking her somewhere. Send some warrior spirits, maybe even one of the elementals or one of the Conduits in your service to save her!"

The ghost faltered when he heard the god-spirit calmly chuckling from her side of the link.

Lyra is in no danger. She is safe now, and she is going where she needs to be. Rest easy, my child, for Lyra will soon be in the company of those who seek to be her allies.

*******************************************************

Her ghost hadn't shown up yet with some kind of a rescue party in tow, and Lyra was beginning to wonder how long it would take searchers to find her body in the woods. The three people who had taken her walked in a tight formation around her, keeping her almost completely obscured from view, and preventing her from seeing almost anything at all. They walked silently for many long minutes, turning and weaving through the streets of Lazarus until Lyra could no longer tell where they were in the city.

Perhaps that was the intent. Maybe they knew she was trying to keep track of where she was, just to make her escape easier. But when the man in the black coat, who had taken the lead position, stopped his march suddenly, Lyra peeked around the edge of his coat, and her mind began to race. She could barely see the gray, black, and white splotches of his urban camouflage fatigues. But the gun in his hands, and the straight, stiff way he carried himself screamed one word to Lyra: soldier.

She had definitely kicked the lantern over in the hayloft now. The presence of a soldier could only indicate the government's involvement in her foalnapping. The man in front talked quickly and quietly with the soldier, opening up his coat to flash some kind of identification. And when he saw it, the soldier stepped aside, promptly saluting. The trio and their pony captive passed through the checkpoint, and again Lyra peeked out to get a good look at where she was.

In the distance, helicopters and tanks sat idly in rows, and soldiers bearing the phoenix of the Republic on their shoulders milled about in their general duties. The flag of the Republic of Terra snapped in the breeze, and looking back she could see the chain-link fence that separated the base from the rest of the city.

Sweet Celestia, I'm in Fort Greenewell, she thought frantically, What does the Army want with me?

They marched her across the training fields, trying to avoid as many soldiers as possible, all the way to an office building at the center of the base. They entered through a side door, walking quietly down a side hallway and flashing their badges whenever someone bumped into them. And for each person that averted their eyes to the floor and kept on walking whenever her captors flashed their badges, the more she felt that these people were far more dangerous than she anticipated.

Finally, they came to a room with a pair of soldier elites standing guard outside. And once again, the trio flashed their badges. The guards nodded, and the trio of her foalnappers stepped aside for Lyra to get through.

"You go alone," the man in the black coat said to Lyra.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, and knowing that compliance may be the only thing keeping her safe right now, she stepped through the doorway, wondering what tortures lay on the other side. What horrors they might inflict upon her for challenging them, maybe they would throw her in the Iron Mare, or pull her legs out of their sockets on the rack. Who knew, perhaps Bonbon's long ago prediction of a cage over a pit full of snakes would come into play.

But instead, she was treated to a different sight, an orderly and professional office, lined with shelves full of books, photographs, war memorabilia, and even what looked like an office plant or two. But the centerpiece was the huge oak desk, one that might sit comfortably in the office of one of Equestria's wealthiest CEOs or even in the Royal Palace. But the man behind it did not bring her the comfort that the rather plain setting had bestowed. He stood with his back to her, looking out the broad window and out at the base full of soldiers.

And with his extremely broad shoulders and huge frame that only a minotaur could compare to, he could only be one man. The one man who could rightfully claim that he held the true power of the Terran Army in his command. General Pilotte.

"Simply magnificent, aren't they?" the hugely muscular general said to his guest, not even bothering to turn around as he addressed her. A grin of pride began to grow on his face as a column led by a chanting sergeant marched under his window. "The finest soldiers in all the world, men who would lay down their lives for this nation and their people. And they have done so, many, many times."

He turned to meet his guest, eye to eye, yet his expression bore no surprise when his eye met the amber eyes of a pony mare. "Have a seat, if you will." He himself took his seat, gesturing to a plush looking chair that seemed specially designed with the comfort of a pony in mind.

And though compliance had been her saving grace with the men who had taken her in the market, now she knew that defiance was the last weapon in her arsenal. "I prefer to stand," she said curtly. Even though she was alone in the room with the general, she could feel the unseen eyes of others on her and the general, ready to come in at a moment's notice with guns leading and anti-magic devices at the ready.

Pilotte just shrugged, turning to a small cabinet and bringing out a nondescript brown bottle. "May I interest you in a drink?"

"No," Lyra responded, keeping her eyes on him at all times and keeping her horn ready with a spell in mind.

"Your loss, I suppose. This is Ardbeg, single malt scotch. Well over two thousand years old. Most likely the last bottle in the world, unless your kind has one on display somewhere in some museum." Pilotte poured himself a generous helping of the endangered scotch, leaning back in his chair. "I trust that my men were not too rough in finding you?"

"Finding me? That's what you call abducting me from the street and taking me prisoner?! What gives you the nerve to say that that was anything less than a foalnapping!" Lyra snapped.

The general took a sip from his scotch, chuckling lowly.

"What's so funny?" the mare growled.

"Nothing, I just find pony idiom so.... adorable. "Foalnapping", "somepony", it is as if someone designed you to be cute. And as for my men, they could have been much rougher. I consider the execution of their assignment rather clean. It is their duty, after all."

"Duty?" Lyra asked.

General Pilotte nodded once, taking another sip of his scotch. "Tell me, Lyra, if I may call you that, what wins wars?"

The Terran general looked at her expectantly, and as long as she was under his power and protection, she felt that she would avoid the chopping block if she played his game. "I don't know; soldiers, weapons, tactics?" she spewed venomously.

General Pilotte shook his head, draining the rest of his glass and placing it on his desk. "Wrong. Intelligence is what wins wars. Yes, you may have the grandest and most expansive army, the finest and deadliest weapons, and even tacticians that would put both Sun Tzu and George Patton to shame. But if you lack the knowledge of where to deploy these soldiers, how to use their weapons most effectively against the enemy, or what tactics might succeed against the cunning of your foes, you may as well have spent your entire treasury on a flashy bunch of men who sit there, sucking their thumbs while the world threatens to eat them alive. The Republic has one of the most powerful armies on the planet, easily the deadliest and most advanced weaponry, and more tactical geniuses than Canterlot could ever hope to find. All we lacked was an intelligence network. Which is where my men come in."

"So this is about intelligence?" Lyra asked. "Those men that came and took me, they aren't soldiers, they're spies?"

The huge man nodded. "In layman's terms, yes. They are three of ten, each of them a member or a trainee of an Old World intelligence agency. During the early days of Project Lazarus, we looked specifically for their types, and we found them hiding among civilian populations, awaiting orders from governments that no longer existed. Members of the CIA, MI:6, FBI, Mexican Federales, even a member of the Israeli Shin Bet, the most elite counter-terrorist force in the world. They're in every level of society, keeping their fingers on the pulse of Lazarus and reporting it all back to me. You may know some of their faces, but you would never guess that they are the most trained killers and intelligence agents in the world. Shop-owners, laborers, soldiers," Pilotte paused for a moment, smirking at Lyra, "tour guides."

Lyra blanched at the memory of the overly excitable tour guide, and how the government may have known about her since the day she arrived in Lazarus. "What does this have to do with me?"

"You were good practice for the recruits. And besides, I could not openly approach you on the street or at home, not without indicting myself and causing another unneeded controversy. I've been meaning to speak with you ever since my spies reported that a pony mare had tried to adopt a human child. I knew it would soon grow out of hand, and I've been trying to make contact with you since."

Lyra began to relax her fear and her rage in favor of curiosity. The general had just told her that he had been watching her with some of the most dangerous agents on the continent, and yet all he wanted to do was talk? "Why did you tell me about your spies? I could go straight to the press, tell them that the government is watching everyone's moves, and then your game would be up!"

The general chuckled to himself. "Clever one, aren't you? I have given you collateral, Lyra. I want you to trust me. At any moment after you leave here, you could destroy my career, wash away the entire upper echelon of the Terran Army. But, I simply want you to know, barring the fact that I can not publicly come out and say so, that we are on the same side. In a convoluted sense, we have the same goal, but vastly different reasons for achieving it."

Lyra stood stock still, and her face broke with a single disbelieving laugh. "The same goal, huh? Tha-that's what this is all about? You and I have "the same goal"? I want to enrich a child's life, and give her a chance at happiness while your government keeps her locked away in some underground dungeon! And what do you want, huh? What could you and I possibly have in common that makes it seem like we have the same goal?"

General Pilotte snorted, pouring himself another glass of his rare scotch. "But, your goal is not limited to such a specific original intention, is it not? This very morning, when I went on a little morning jog with the President, I saw a pony holding up a little sign in the middle of the street, shouting for all the world to hear that ponies deserved more than what they had received. She was staging a one-mare protest, in the middle of downtown Lazarus. And on the way back, we saw three ponies being bodily hauled out of a 'humans only' cafe. Don't think for a moment that I don't know where that idea started. You want to see your people and my people as social and political equals here in Lazarus. I dream the same dream that you do; a nice, joyous little society where a pony gets everything he works for, and a human gets the same for his own work."

It was Lyra's turn to snort in derision. "What could you possibly want with ponies having equal rights?"

General Pilotte set down his glass, taking in a deep breath and letting out a sigh. Standing from his desk, he turned around, looking out the window and at Fort Greenewell. "You see them out there? By your own words, they are "Lazarus's finest". Each one of them is a disciplined soldier, proud of his country and his heritage. General Steel Specter of Equestria once told me that their very presence sent shivers down his spine, both in fear, and respect. And seeing them in combat made him glad that he was on their side. But, each one of them is also a human being. A human being who wants to settle down, build a life, and raise children. A human being that doesn't want to be a soldier forever. Tell me, Lyra, how long is a term of service for an Equestrian soldier?"

Lyra had to really think about that one. She thought back to the only Equestrian soldier she had ever really known, her old brother-in-law. He had originally done six years as his tour, but he had gone career at the promise of a fat pension. "I don't know, six or eight years?"

General Pilotte nodded, his gaze not even drifting away from his pride and joy marching and chanting out there in those training fields. "For us, it is anywhere between two and six, typically four. Four years of service before a soldier can honorably discharge back into society. Four years before a soldier can say that he paid his dues to society, and he can rest. Many of those soldiers out there, they have gone above and beyond the call of duty, and have served past their normal enlistments. They only stay on as soldiers because they believe they have to. But one day soon, they will sign their discharge papers and go make their families. And on that day, Terra will become weak, weaker than she has ever been before. Our entire army will dwindle away, and it will be eighteen years before the children born today reach the age where we can even ask them to serve their country. There will be a lag time of nearly two decades when this country has no worthwhile army."

And with that, all the pieces fell into place for Lyra. "Your country, your people, will be defenseless. You want to attract ponies to the Republic with the promise of equal rights... and entice them into military service. You want to turn Equestrian immigrants into Terran soldiers."

General Pilotte did not look away from his army of soon-to-be civilians, nodding slowly. "Who is more tenacious and unbreakable than an earth pony? Who can fly faster, see farther, and is a better natural scout than a pegasus? And whose magic is a better complement to human cleverness than a unicorn's? And that's only the beginning, think if we used gryphons, minotaurs, diamond dogs and so many others to fill the ranks! The perfect foot soldiers for the mightiest army in the world."

"That's... that's evil!" Lyra shouted. "You want ponies to have rights, just so they can lay down their lives for your people!"

The general turned slowly on his heels, glaring Lyra directly in the eye. "Evil? Do you think you know the definition of evil? Do you think you can fathom the inhumanities, the horrors, the evils that I have seen?" He reached to a drawer on his desk, pulling it open and withdrawing a small jewel box from it. Laying it down on the desk, he sat down in his chair, staring at the closed box.

"Let me tell you a story, Lyra. Though most of my waking life has been dedicated to the military, to protecting the people I know and love, I was not born a soldier. No one is born a soldier. I was not even a particularly large child. I was just a boy from Alsace, living in the little countryside chateau that had belonged to my family for nearly a century. I lived my days of youth roaming the meadows and playing games to pass the warm summer days. But never, not once in my young life did I have many friends. I would often go to my maman, and say to them that all the other boys were mean to me, that they did not want me to play with them. And she would frown, and tears would come into her eyes. But never once did she say why, though somehow, I knew that she knew why I was a lonely child, why none of the other children or their parents would want me in their homes. But, every week, my grand-père... my grandpapa, he would visit my home, and he would make all my tears, and all my worries vanish. I never truly knew my papa, and my grandfather did his best to fill in that void. I loved him more than I loved life itself, and he always seemed to smile, no matter how bad life seemed to be. I grew up, learning what I knew about being a man from him, learning about the rights of all people, about how it was my duty as a man to protect everything I loved."

General Pilotte took a deep breath, pouring himself another glass of his scotch. "And one day, when I was in my teens, my grandpapa died. My mother begged me not to go to his funeral, she told me to let his spirit live on in my memory as it was. But I went. And when I passed by his open casket to give my respects to the man who had been as my father, I saw this on his lapel."

The general carefully opened the ring box in front of him. Swallowing his anxiety, he carefully pulled the lapel pin from its two thousand year resting place, and set it on the desk in front of Lyra. A small black cross, with four arms bent in the same direction at ninety degrees, on a red background. General Pilotte took a deep breath, controlling his emotions. "How does one take this? How is a boy supposed to learn that the man he loved with all his heart was a Nazi?"

And as soon as Lyra heard that word, her heart sank. In her studies of human history to hopefully learn any information that might be relevant to her case, she had stumbled upon that word in the history books. And she had read about how the Nazis had exterminated millions in a campaign of eugenic superiority. How they had starved, burned, poisoned, suffocated, shot, and mutilated millions of innocent souls and threatened the entire world with war.

"And when I showed this pin to my mother, she cried for days and days, screaming about how her father had caused all of her suffering and mine. She did not have the heart to tell me when I was a boy, that all the people in my town knew about his past, and how they scorned him for selling out their loved ones and relatives back in World War II. They avoided me because of his evil. And as I grew older, I looked at the world and saw the same evil that my grandfather had done all around the world. I joined the army to fight for good, to destroy what I believed to be evil. And at the time, when I enlisted in the Brigade des Forces Spéciales Terre, that evil had a face, the Soviet Union. I believed them to be evil because of what they did to their citizens, so much like the Nazis in their day. By the time I had advanced to the rank of Commander, the Cold War ended, the Soviet Union crumbled, and I was transferred as a part of a NATO alliance deal over to America. It was there, in Fort Bragg, I met the man who might fill my heart again as the father figure I had always desired, Nolan Esera, Commanding General of the United States Special Forces. He taught me that evil was always relative, that there were always two sides to every fight. But then, he was taken from us in the heat of the greatest battle of the Great War, by the man who bore that gun."

The general pointed a heavy finger to a display case on one of his many shelves. In it, an antique pistol lay, a pistol of Russian make and original bearing, a revolver that had once been the sidearm of Brigadier General Johnathan Winters, a man whose horrid ambition had sabotaged the entire campaign at Operation Hammerstrike, whose foolish orders had slaughtered ten thousand drafted civilians, and ultimately lost the War of the Fallen Race for humanity.

"So, Lyra, I know evil better than most men in this world. And though you may believe that what I intend to do is evil in nature, remember, I do this because I love my people. And as a man, I was taught to protect everything I love. You may call my motives "evil", but what is more evil, encouraging your kind to take up arms for the Republic, or sitting back while my kind gets annihilated?" Pilotte poured himself another glass of scotch, taking a solemn sip. "Some nights, I dream about all the missions, all the conflicts, all the wars I have seen and fought. All the evil that humanity has done to itself. And some nights, as I lay on the verge of dreaming, I find myself agreeing with Patterson's friend."

His story had struck a nerve in Lyra, and now she did not see a powerful and universally respected warrior, all she saw in Jean Pilotte was a man. A man who had endured more than his fair share of hardship, and many times, he might have done acts which would be ordained as evil, but always in the interest of the greater good. Perhaps she saw a man who sought to redeem himself and his ancestors.

Lyra knew she had found a possible friend in him.

Taking a gamble, her horn lit up with magic, levitating another glass from the cabinet and filling it from his bottle. She felt the scrutinizing eyes on her tense, preparing to rush in at the drop of a pin. Taking a sip from her glass, Lyra sat down in the chair that had been offered to her earlier.

"Jean, if I may call you that, I believe that I might be able to see this from your angle a little more. Perhaps it would only be fair that if ponies were offered the same rights, that they do their civic duty as well. And perhaps our motives for our goal aren't so different after all. I only want to protect one human being, and raise her in a good place. But you, you want to protect all human beings. In a way, it's far more noble than my simple goal. Don't you agree?" she said coyly.

The Terran general grinned. "I'm glad we could come to such an understanding, Lyra."

"Now, barring the fact that I now know your life story, why am I here?"

General Pilotte nodded, pulling out a folder from his desk and laying it open for her to see. "I'm glad you asked, Mrs Heartstrings. My agents have been keeping very close tabs on your case, even sneaking back the stenographer's transcripts. And from what I've seen, you have made many good, valid points. In fact, your turnaround was nothing short of astonishing. As if someone has been coaching you." General Pilotte raised a questioning eyebrow, for he knew that she was getting help, but the source of it eluded his best efforts. The mare only responded with a coy smile. "But from today's transcripts, you seem to be attacking the broader issue, the restriction of rights on your people. I believe I can help you with that, or more specifically, I know someone who can help you prove that Equestrians deserve fair and equal rights."

"Oh?" Lyra quipped. "Who do you have in mind?"

"Down in Delta Company, there's a soldier by the name of Johnathan Whistler. Talk to him, and you'll get all the evidence to support the rights of ponies in Lazarus that you'll need." The general steepled his fingers, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "I've even had a subpoena filled out for him."

Lyra picked the pink sheet of paper out of her file, scanning it. Looking up at the general, she cocked an eyebrow. "You forged my signature?"

The large man shrugged. "That was the easy part. You're a slippery mare, believe it or not. So much time around Patterson makes you nearly untouchable. Did you know he sweeps his entire house for bugs, daily?"

Of course Equestria lacked the electronic technology for spy tech like receivers, but they had magical equivalents that had plagued the Royal Castle years ago. And the mare thought for a moment that this truly was like the spy thrillers that her dad had always loved. Lyra chuckled under her breath. "And I thought he was just dusting."

General Pilotte finished his third glass of scotch, pressing a button on his desk. "Now Lyra, the men who brought you in earlier are going to escort you off base, with a few more manners this time. But, they're going to get lost along the way, and stop by the canteen on the way out. Your contact should be in there. And remember, this meeting, this conversation, it never happened. And even if you dream that it somehow did occur, the government and I have plausible deniability."

Lyra rose from her chair, finishing off her glass of scotch and taking the subpoena. "You know, a few minutes ago I thought you were going to torture me, murder me and leave my body in the woods. I'm kinda glad we talked, Jean."

The general blinked at her as though she had just appeared in his office in a puff of smoke. "Talked about what?"

Lyra raised an eyebrow in confusion, but she suddenly caught on to the general's drift, forming her mouth into an O shape. "Gotcha," she said with a wink.

"Madam, these premises are off limits to civilians, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," General Pilotte said sternly to her. Whereas Lyra joked about it, General Pilotte looked ready to draw his sidearm at any moment. She very quickly made her way out the door.

****************************************

The trio of Terran espionage agents had waited patiently and stiffly outside the general's office, and once Lyra stepped out the door, clutching a few more papers in her magical grip, they wordlessly fell into position around her again. She didn't even have to say a word, yet she already could tell that they were taking her to another part of the base, and not back towards the market.

She trotted much more easily around the dangerous spies, knowing that they were under orders not to damage a minty hair on her body. And when they left the odd sterility of the offices and made their way out into the sun baked tarmac and training fields, Lyra got to wondering: What kind of a man was Johnathan Whistler? How could talking to him help her case? Was he some kind of a civil rights lawyer, perhaps a family law specialist? And if so, what was he doing serving in the Terran Army?

And when the mare and her escorts approached a large building, she knew that she might have her answer very soon. She could see half-fatigued soldiers through the window, lounging around, shooting pool or just sitting in front of a fan, half asleep in the growing summer heat.

Again, her escorts stopped at the door. The man in the black coat nodded to her and waved her in. Taking a deep breath, Lyra went head first into a place filled with people that no polite civilian should ever be around: off-duty soldiers.

The hall was fairly quiet, a few men and women in partial uniform chatted lowly, and the clack of a billiard ball being struck by a pool cue were the loudest things overall. The place had a smell that could easily be bottled, advertised, and sold to kill small rodents. A mixture of sweat, blood, a few tears, some homemade alcohol, and the curious scent of motor oil and petroleum.

Lyra was repulsed, yet fascinated, by this display of the human warrior at rest, so similar to their Equestrian counterparts in all those military bars Lyra had frequented years ago during her global hunt for evidence of these very creatures. For a bare moment, she wished she had a camera.

"Excuse me," she said to a man kicked back in a chair by the wall. The soldier's light snoring cut short, and he stretched out, leaning forward in his chair.

"Hmm, wha' sup?" he asked groggily. Noticing a pony addressing him, he rubbed his eyes, just in case this was some kind of odd dream.

"I'm looking for 'Johnathan Whistler'?" she asked.

The soldier cocked an eyebrow, then shrugged. "One sec, HEY JOHNNY!" he yelled across the hall. "You got a visitor! Looks conjugal!" The last comment raised a few wolf whistles, and when Private First Class Johnathan Whistler raised his head, Lyra suddenly understood why he might be pivotal to her case.

He was tall, with blonde hair that was cut very short like all the soldiers of the Republic, silvery-gray eyes, an easy stride, and a charming smile.

Not to mention, a very nice pair of wings.

The soldier walked over to the mare, a big smile adorning his face at the prospect of a visitor, conjugal or not. "Are you looking for me, ma'am?"

Lyra's jaw hung slack. Her eyes flicked over the body of Private Johnathan Whistler, making sure he wasn't one of those "pantomime horses" that Aaron had once joked about. His hooves seemed solid, his fur was clean and even, but he had the close cropped mane cut of a human, and he wore an oddly oversized army fatigue shirt.

"Ma'am?" Whistler asked, cocking an eyebrow at her silence.

"You? You're Private Whistler?" she said in disbelief. Somehow, she hadn't figured General Pilotte's ambitious plan to incorporate non-human creatures in the armed forces would come so... quickly.

The pegasus flashed a grin, snapping her an impromptu salute. "Private First Class Johnathan Whistler, 248-34-4492, Delta Company of the Republic of Terra's Third Army Division, at your service."

"But... but.... Johnathan is a-"

"Human name? Yeah, I get that a lot. I'll explain." He ushered Lyra over to a quieter table, one that was unfortunately far from all the fans.

Lyra seemed to snap out of her funk once the soldier sat her down, and she quickly remembered her manners and extended a hoof in greeting. "I'm so sorry, I'm-"

"Lyra Heartstrings," Whistler finished for her. "Sorry, your picture has been all over the papers lately. Couldn't help but recognize you. And besides, I got a letter from the general saying you might be coming." The stallion took her hoof and politely shook, grinning widely.

Lyra blinked at her apparent fame, or perhaps her infamy. And it stunned her as to how much General Pilotte had planned this. But there were a few things she had to know about this strange stallion. "So, um, Johnny, what's with the name?"

"I changed it," he said cheerily. "When I first came here, I was just plain ol' Tin Whistle, and when I applied for citizenship, I decided that maybe I should change it to something a little more human. "Johnathan" was the first name the Immigration Services guy could think of, and it kind of stuck. Besides, it just sounds like one of those names that sticks with you, "Johnny Whistler"," the stallion said his name with a certain reverence.

The mare shrugged, feeling that his current name felt more dignified anyways. "So, Mr Whistler, I'm sure you've heard about my case." Whistler nodded, and Lyra continued. "I've come to a point where I need statements other than my own to influence the Justices. And, well, a few people who choose to remain anonymous pointed me to you. So, I have to ask you, what's your story? How are you here today?"

The soldier pony smiled with pride as he launched into his fond reminiscence. "Well, where do I start?"

"Why did you come to the Republic? What makes a pony like Tin Whistle into Johnathan Whistler?" Lyra asked.

Private Whistler blushed a bit under his fur. "It's kind of embarrassing, but I used to be kind of a kook about humans. You know, before all the stuff happened, before even Princess Luna came back. I grew up believing that ponykind couldn't have come this far without something behind it. I would look at doorknobs and wonder why ponies even put them there, since only unicorns could use them. I would look at string instruments that could only be used with wing feathers, and question how we came to use them. And did you ever wonder what was the deal with saddles?"

"What do you mean?" Lyra asked, cocking an eyebrow. She herself owned a saddle or two, and she never really questioned what they were good for. (Other than the kinky things that she and Bonbon had done involving plenty of saddles and black spandex.)

"Humans were the ones who originally made saddles!" Whistler exclaimed. "Ponies used to be much bigger, and way back thousands of years ago, we could carry them on our backs! I got so much crap for that all through school. All the other colts would tease me for believing in imaginary creatures, for questioning the history teacher when he told us that pony history started at the Tribal Unification."

In all her days of human conspiracy theorism, that thought had never occurred to her.

He's a stallion after my own heart, she thought to herself. If only I'd met him before I met Bonbon. And if only I was into stallions.

"And what brought you to the Republic?"

The stallion patted his shoulder and the emblem of the Terran phoenix. "You know what I wore before I wore the phoenix? The emblem of the sun eclipsed by a crescent moon. The symbol of the Equestrian Royal Army. That's right, before I was a soldier, I was a soldier, just serving under a different flag. When the Grand Galloping Gala was interrupted by a human being wielding magic and the entire army went in pursuit of him, I was one of the stallions that marched westward. I knew I was marching to a bloodbath, but deep inside of myself, I knew that I was right, that my entire life had not been wasted. Human beings were real, heck, I was chasing one! And when they signed the Armistice, and the Royal Army withdrew, I got my discharge papers and stayed behind."

Whistler chuckled to himself, running a hoof over his short mane. "I can't tell you how many weeks I slept in a tent on the edge of Fort Greenewell, hoping that each morning I would be able to go out and say hello to a few of the creatures that had fascinated me since my foalhood. And once the other ponies started building homes and businesses, I tried to get involved, but these hooves weren't made to swing a hammer. I tried everything to help out humankind; I tried growing crops, building homes, even pulling out some of the heavier stuff from the Vault. But no matter what, it just didn't feel right. I felt that I just wasn't giving all that I could. And one morning, it hit me. There was nothing in life that I hadn't excelled at more than serving my country. So I went to the Immigration Offices, made myself an official citizen, and then marched myself over to the recruiting station."

"And how was that taken? When I tried to adopt a human child, they turned my away. Heck, they insulted me!" said Lyra.

"I'll admit, it took a little while. The man working the recruitment station had to go get one of his superiors, and he had to go get one of his superiors, and so on and so forth, until there was nearly the entire recruitment branch of the military sitting there, scratching their heads and wondering what to do. After nearly six hours of debate and trying to find some kind of precedent, they decided to let basic training do the work for them. They let me in, and I went on to boot."

Lyra scribbled this all down. It could be used as evidence of usury on the part of the Terran government, accepting a pony to fight for them, but not allowing a pony to cast a vote or eat in the same building. "And what do your comrades think about you? What do they think about an Equestrian being in the same unit as them?"

"Equestrian?" Whistler said. "No no no, I'm not an Equestrian. If anything, I'm an ex-patriot. I renounced my Equestrian citizenship, and now I'm fully Terran." Lyra was speechless. Private Whistler had gone so far above his dedication to humanity than her that he had renounced his own country of birth to be more like them. It made her and her endeavor to make ponies closer as equals look like child's play. "But that's beside the point I guess. These guys here didn't like me at first. They'd call me things, trash my bunk so I'd fail inspection, and just tried to get rid of me in general. But I stuck to it, and a few patrols and a few broken bones later, I'm just one of the guys."

"Broken bones?" Lyra asked.

"Yeah, I'm the medic for my unit. You know, since I can't really hold a gun without fingers," he said with a chuckle, holding up his digitless hooves. "I tried it once with my teeth, but that was the day I learned that an M-4 Carbine has a lot more kick if it's in your face." Again, the pony soldier laughed out loud, leaving the completely oblivious mare in the dark. Whatever an "M-4" was, she felt that she didn't want to meet one in a dark alleyway.

Lyra looked down at her notes, scratching her neck in some confusion. "So, let me get this all straightened out. You immigrated from Equestria because you believed in human beings, and you believed that they would accept you as an equal. You've put your life on the line for their protection, and more than once you've even saved their lives. What possessed you to do this? Doesn't the fact that Terran law forbids us from voting anger you or offend you? Or that we ponies can't express our freedom of speech with fear of getting arrested? Doesn't that bother you?"

Whistler's normally jovial face melted into a more somber expression. "Of course it does. But I don't like to think that way. I look in this hall here, and you know what I see? People. Sure, some of them are loud-mouthed, obnoxious, and on more than one occasion they tried to sit on my back and ride into the sunset, but I don't see humans. I see people. Look, Mrs Heartstrings, I came to the Republic because I believed in humanity, but I stayed because I fell in love with their culture. I love their art, their music, their food, their... everything! I love the idea of democracy so much that I'm willing to put myself in harm's way, even if I don't get to partake in it. I do what I do, because I love humanity."

Whistler's impassioned speech had touched a part of Lyra that she had been repressing lately. That little portion of her heart that loved everything that was human unconditionally. And here she had been, trying to tear them down and turn them back into the demons that Equestrian folklore had remembered them as from ages past. Lyra felt ashamed of herself for letting that part of her get so buried under all the stress and tribulation of the past few months.

"Mr Whistler sir, in the interest of the greater good of humanity and ponykind, would you be willing to say that in court?"

*******************************************

Far across the city, in the industrial complex called the Slagworks by those who worked there, a greater part of the creature social revolution was underway.

Mr Mackenzie sat in his office, filling out one of his many response letters to his customers in Equestria and Kali'Gryph. Each and every one was brimming with positive things to say about the high quality, and more importantly, the high volume of Terran steel. Ponies and gryphons made their steel the old fashioned way, taking an individual chunk of iron ore, heating it as hot as they could in a ladle, and blowing air through a pipe to hopefully even out the carbon content. With such a painstaking process to make quality steel, it was no wonder neither of the Republic's nearby allies had any worthwhile industrial complex. It could also explain why they seemed to value iron over more easily smeltable metals like gold.

And while it took a pony smith nearly a day to get a few pounds of ore smelted into just the right alloy, it took the Slagworks only a few minutes to get several tons of slag superheated and processed. Though the smiths of Equestria hated the industrial efficiency that threatened to put them out of business, their clientele loved dealing with Chester Mackenzie. And Mackenzie loved helping them with their problem of having too much gold on their hooves.

Finishing another letter to Baron Aldo of Kali'Gryph, a client of his that liked to boast about how well Mackenzie's steel was performing beyond his expectations, the president of the steel company kicked back in his chair, glancing over at a picture of his idol that hung on the dingy wall of his office.

"Ah, Carnegie you Scottish bastard, we're two of a kind, aren't we?" he said to the black and white photograph of the great steel industrialist and philanthropist. And Chester had been trying to emulate the great philanthropist, commissioning a few of those statues in the park, and even throwing a little funding each month towards the theatrical company that did Shakespeare plays every weekend.

Life was good to him, and he was good to life.

Or at least, on the outside he was good to life. There were a few.... "corners", he had cut. And those corners that he had been cutting were about to rise up and bite his ass so hard that it would take a prybar and the grace of god to get it off.

His relaxation was cut short by a frantic knock on his office door.

"Mr Mackenzie sir! There's a situation outside!" the voice shouted through the door.

Mackenzie rolled his eyes, looking at the clock. "Can it wait?"

"Sir, you're gonna want to see this," the dirty steelworker said, poking his head into the office. The president of the steel company quickly followed, thinking that perhaps another catastrophic accident had shut down the entire production floor again, and how much of his own money would have to go towards actually making sure his factory was up to par on safety measures.

What he saw both calmed his nerves, and simultaneously annihilated any possible hope of a good night's sleep he would have for the next three days. Standing just outside the factory doors, blocking the human workers from getting in, was the entire working force of the Stoneclaw pack. And standing with them, young Jimmy, his arm still in a sling.

"Howell! What the hell is this!" Mackenzie shouted to the young steelworker. "You get those damn dogs out of the way and get back to the floor!"

The young man stood firm with his newfound diamond dogs companions, and he shouted back, "We represent the First United Steelworkers Union!"

Mackenzie trembled with a mixture of rage and shock. "Steelworkers Union?!"

"Yeah! And we are here to make sure that every person," he said with emphasis, looking to his diamond dog fellows with a grin, "gets what they deserve! No more dangerous work places!"

"Yeah!" the former Stoneclaw pack shouted, together their voices shaking the ground.

"Equal pay!"

"Yeah!"

"Health benefits!"

"Yeah!"

"Better hours! No more foremen acting like slave drivers! And most importantly, we want government recognition! And until we get all of this, The United Steelworkers of Lazarus are on strike!"

Author's Note:

Klondike smash, Klondike smash! Klondike sleepy.....

(Suns or Moons: The Equestrian version of heads or tails.)

Comments

[Detective Chmilewsky]

OOOhhh maaan, so goooood. Loving it so far, as I always have loved your stories. This one is no different.

[Iron Sides]

And here comes about the great steel strike of lazarus. I sense Rich is going to be very irritated that his steel for the locomotives is going to be a bit late. The funny thing is he would prolly help the ponies, and dog's causes just to get the steel XD

[La Vallett1]

What happened to Pilotte? Unless he was acting, it seemed as if either something erased his memory or he was being temporarily possessed.

[La Vallett1]

Oh, and the director of the steel company acted as though he wasn't expecting a Trade Union to form.

[PegasusKlondike]

2274567 Acting. Remember, he has to act like he is not involved in any way. Military assistance in a social matter? Smells like a fascism a-brewin'. That's pretty much a one way ticket to having your head on a pike if anyone finds out, especially if his side loses. He has to act like it never happened.

[La Vallett1]

2274585 People have to be very ignorant if they think military assistance in a social matter is fascism. People who understand politics should know that fascism is basically an extreme form of nationalism, which also causes racism to other cultures in an entire nation.

[PegasusKlondike]

2274632 Have to admit though, the idea about a massively shrunken Army for decades was one of those thing that not many people really think of.

[Ponynator]

I have been wondering:
There are "earth" humans now, who are stronger and have more stamina
and mages, who can use magic.
But what about, well, "air" humans?

[PegasusKlondike]

2275364 I have actually been considering whether to throw in winged humans or Angels. They'd be like pegasus ponies; light bones, typically skinny build, greater resilience to windburn, and cold resistance. But, they're up in the air for me (pun intended). They'd be a part of the sequel, if I choose to do them or not. I'm leaning towards 'not'.