• Published 25th Jun 2012
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The Canterlot Embassy - Guesswork



An eccentric team of political operatives must race to prevent a war between technology and magic.

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Chapter 1: Damage Control

Prologue


Sun News Studio, Canterlot
8:40 AM


"Audio check, one two, one two." Twilight rapped her hoof on the tiny microphone pinned to her chest. "Is this thing on?"

"We can hear you just fine in the booth, Miss Sparkle."

"Thank you," said Twilight. "You can never tell with this off-world technology."

Five minutes left until air-time, and the television studio was a swarm of activity. Ponies ran here and there, plugging and unplugging equipment, handing papers off to each other, adjusting the bank of stage-lights hanging over the set. It was like being in the center of a tornado.

Twilight shuffled her forehooves nervously, baking in the heat of the lamps as she waited. Despite all her vast experience, Twilight's stomach was filled with butterflies. It wasn't so much the fact that she was about to speak live in front of millions of ponies-- Equestria had adopted television shortly after first contact, and she was almost used to the cameras by now. No, her nerves on edge because of just who would be interviewing her today. She had a plan of course-- Twilight always had a plan-- but she still found herself preoccupied with what a debacle this could become if things went sideways. How it could embarrass the throne...

"Miss Sparkle," came a voice from over her shoulder, startling her. The voice became a derisive chuckle when she jumped.

An orange pegasus stallion in a business suit took his seat behind the anchorpony's desk. He offered Twilight a hoof and a radiant TV smile. "I hope for your sake that's the only time I catch you off-guard today, Miss Royal Adviser."

"Deadline," said Twilight, shaking his hoof. "You look well-fed."

"I feel well-fed!" He sat back in the leather office-chair and patted his tummy. Twilight could see his iridescent cutie-mark catch the light. It was a quill pen with a drop of blood on the point. "You sure you're ready for this?" he asked.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"That's the spirit!" he said. "Still, you have to admit, it's not often that a pony from the Canterlot administration is ballsy enough to come on the show. We here at Equestria Sub Rosa aren't exactly Celestia's biggest fans, and we're not afraid to say so. With all the muck we've raked over the years, it's a wonder that Canterlot hasn't leveled us with the ban-hammer by now."

"Censorship is not something the Princesses take lightly," said Twilight. "We believe that a free press is the keystone of civil liberty."

"Well, that and free elections, Miss Sparkle. But shame on me for wishful thinking. We both know we're all destined be slaves to Celestia's iron rule until the day we die."

"You know, hyperbole like that is the reason real journalists don't take you seriously."

"Their loss," he said. "Come on, Miss Sparkle. Celestia has ruled for too long. She's been up on the mountain-top for so many centuries that she can't possibly remember what it's like to live as a commoner."

"I'm not sure how well you can speak for the 'commoner' in a five-thousand-bit suit, Deadline. But I understand your argument. And I agree that democracy is preferable to a malicious dictatorship."

"Exactly."

"But benevolent dictatorship is still preferable to democracy."

He laughed. "What an outdated sentiment! You should be wearing a bowler's hat and an old-timey mustache."

"You're the one professing philosophy from the time of the Three Tribes," she said. "The Sisters have proven their loyalty to the public time and time and time again. I guess some ponies will never be satisfied, though."

Deadline feigned realization. "Goodness, I forgot for a moment that you can't rightly speak out against family. Blood really is thicker than water, even if Celestia is only your surrogate mother."

A streak of anger shot through Twilight's heart, but she merely raised an eyebrow. "After all this time, you're still spouting the same, old, tired, revolutionary diatribe."

"Miss Sparkle," he replied, pointing a hoof at her, "I promise you that until Equestria adopts a truly representative government, my network and I will only get louder, and louder, and louder."

"Quiet on the set!" shouted the stage manager. "Cue intro sequence!"

The show's triumphant theme song started up-- all soaring horns and strings-- and the facing monitors displayed the animated sun-and-pen intro. An announcer's voice boomed over the credits. "It's the fourth of September, 1028, and this is Equestria Sub Rosa! Coming up: Royal Adviser Twilight Sparkle answers questions about the upcoming trade summit and the cross-portal immigration problem. Then we sit down with famed avant garde duo Scratch and Octavia to discuss their new album that is breaking records all across the kingdom..."

Twilight's thoughts turned inwards as the announcer droned on. She did not like what she was going to have to say on this show today-- what it was going to cost to get Deadline off her back. Sometimes she missed the days when she was just the Ponyville Librarian. Things had been simpler then.

But that was decades behind her now. Twilight was forty-seven years old, and despite being an alicorn, not immortal. She still felt good for her age, though-- strong, smart, and full of energy. She even felt attractive, despite the white streak in her mane that now played company to the purple and pink. And her magic had never been so powerful. She was Luna's equal at least.

So these days, Twilight had any number of reasons to feel content, happy, safe. All except for one nagging thing, of course.

"Humans," said Deadline, looking into the camera. "Good morning everypony, I'm Deadline for Equestria Sub Rosa. Thanks for joining us. As many of you know, today marks the second anniversary of the humans' arrival in Equestria. Two years ago, scientists from the human organizations CERN and NASA succeeded in opening a portal between our worlds. Today, we regard an Equestria that has been fundamentally changed by the presence of this strange, alien race. The question on everpony's mind is this: what do the humans really want? To help us with the answer, we have a very special guest: the Royal Adviser herself, Princess Twilight Sparkle. Thank you so much for being here, Miss Sparkle."

"Thanks for having me."

"Let's get right down to brass tacks. Humans: in your opinion, guardian angels, or cruel, rapacious invaders from another world?"

Twilight had to chuckle. "Neither, Deadline. The humans are a sapient species with every range of good and evil, very much like our own. That's why we've offered them the same diplomatic courtesies as we do to all sapients, encouraging peaceful exchange to build a stronger alliance."

"Straight from the brochure," said Deadline. "But Adviser, the humans are hardly 'all sapients.' They are far more unpredictable, and potentially dangerous, than anything we have had to face before. Their military capabilities top all other known races-- not even the changelings can hold a candle to them. And as for human science, well, they did find their own way here, didn't they? The old playbooks seem obsolete, now that we are facing such a possible and profound menace."

"First of all, Deadline," said Twilight, "Canterlot is well-aware of human military and scientific capabilities. Very well-aware. And I can assure you that our own military is more than sufficient to defend the kingdom from any threat. However, from the humans' first day in Equestria, they have reached out to us with an olive branch. 'We come in peace.' Those were their first words to us, and we must give them an opportunity to prove themselves trustworthy. Our two species can learn a great deal from each other."

"Like how to barbeque a steak?" asked Deadline, and a few of his camera crew laughed.

Twilight waved the joke off. "Please. There are plenty of species that eat meat and maintain a friendly posture with Equestria."

"Let's see here; dragons, griffins, ursas, diamond dogs," said Deadline. "That's a heck of a list. But I digress. Let's talk about the upcoming Tech-For-Magic Trade Summit."

"Sure."

"It begins later today, as a matter of fact, am I right? This afternoon?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Tech-For-Magic. Human technology for pony magic. Is this a good trade, Miss Sparkle?"

Not really, thought Twilight. But it was never my decision to make. "The Princess thinks it's a good trade," she said aloud.

"The Princess thinks it's a good trade," repeated Deadline. "I assume that means we will see the Tech-For-Magic Summit churn out deals friendly to the humans; relaxation of trade restrictions, for example, allowing a flood of human technology into Equestria."

"Don't even try to act anti-technology, Deadline," scoffed Twilight. "Here we are, after all, in a human-style news studio, using human cameras powered by a human-designed hydro-electric dam. There's a Black and Decker refrigerator in your green-room. Electric fans. Lights. Are you wearing a cell-phone right now? Who in this room isn't?"

"I never said all human technology is bad," replied Deadline. "Or even most of it. My problem is human interference in Equestrian political matters."

"That's not at all what's happening. Canterlot is in firm control of what goes on this side of the portal. And with the right attitude, we can hammer out a deal that will benefit both sides. Just try to have a little faith in our Foreign Ministry, please."

"It's not our diplomatic corps that I'm worried about," said Deadline. "The fact is that I have no faith in the humans. No faith at all. Who knows if they will even honor the deals they make with us? Once they have enough of their kind on this side of the portal to put up a fight, I daresay they will start dictating the rules to us."

"Oh, here we go again. The old Human Invasion theory."

"The Human Invasion is not an impossibility, Adviser. In fact, it is exactly their style. Humans are meat eaters--"

"Omnivores," corrected Twilight.

"Don't try to split hairs, Miss Sparkle. My audience is too smart for that. Humans are meat-eaters. And we all know what meat-eaters are like. They'll chomp down on your neck the moment you look away."

"Your statement reveals a remarkable prejudice," said Twilight. "That makes me sad."

"All due respect Adviser, yours suggests a profound naivete. That scares me." He smiled at her. "But shall we agree to disagree? I'd like to move this discussion along."

"If you insist."

Deadline turned directly to the camera. "At this point, I'd like to bring another voice into the debate. Appearing live by fiber-optic from our newly-completed Manehattan studio, founder and president of the political action group Equestria for Equines, I give you Pro Publica."

An older pony's face appeared on the monitors. He was a dark-green earth-pony, although the image cut off at the chest, so Twilight couldn't see his cutie mark. She figured he was split-screen with them in the actual newscast.

"Welcome to the show, Pro Publica," said Deadline.

"A pleasure as always." He spoke with a Trottingham accent.

"Pro, you've just been hearing what Royal Adviser Twilight Sparkle thinks of the human threat."

"I certainly have, Deadline, and to be perfectly honest, I think she's just another symptom of the crown's startling overconfidence and crumbling credibility. On the surface, such policy suggests a blind-leading-the-blind situation. But it's even worse than that."

"Worse, you say?"

"Yes, and the dear Adviser doesn't even know it. The Sisters and their administration, you see, exist in a world so detached from the rest of society that they discount the risks of engaging with the humans. After all, if it comes to war, who is going to be fighting and dying? Twilight Sparkle herself? Celestia and Luna themselves?"

"Actually, yes!" said Twilight.

"You've had your turn, Miss Sparkle," said Deadline. "Or are you afraid of hearing a differing opinion?"

Twilight put her hooves up, motioning for Pro to continue.

"I'll tell you who will be fighting, dying, paying the price," said Pro Publica, "it will be the working class. It will be the regular ponies, who don't have the benefit of a fancy Canterlot zip-code, a million-bit education, a life already bought and paid for. Ponies who are just trying to scrape by, that's who. What we have here is a corrupt and out-of-touch government making reckless deals with dangerous meat-eating primates. I can't think of a more perfect recipe for disaster, can you?"

"I hate to say it, but I can't," said Deadline. "Your response, Adviser Sparkle?"

"Look, look," she said. "Let's debate that, but I need to make a quick announcement first."

"Go ahead," said Deadline.

"The Princesses have approved the petroleum engine for use by Equestrian citizens."

A collective gasp arose from the production staff. Even Deadline missed a beat.

"Approved?" he said at last.

"We were going to wait for the press briefing," said Twilight, "but what the hay. You heard it here first."

Deadline's mouth worked silently for a few moments before he managed to recover. "Weren't you just a month ago telling the press that your own ponies at the Science Foundation needed another year to complete their research on air pollution?"

"The Princesses have decided that now is the time to move forward with the Equestrian motor."

"Cute. It's especially nice how there was no vote put up about this. No vote at all, just orders. That's all we can ever expect from this administration. Pro Publica, why don't you jump in on this?" He made an invitory gesture.

Pro Publica's eyes were far away. They solidified as he seemed to make up his mind. "Now, now wait a second Deadline," he said.

Deadline's eyebrows went up.

"Look," said Pro, "I don't like humans. Clearly. I wouldn't have devoted so much of my time and treasure to the cause if I didn't. Humans are primates, and any zoologist can tell you that primates are violent, foul, and territorial creatures. Cannibals in some cases. Nothing like our own noble ancestors.

"However, even our own pony race is divided by certain traits. My particular breed is graced by neither horns, nor wings, for example. We earth-ponies can not control the weather, teleport, raise the sun, or even save ourselves from falling down a flight of stairs. When it comes right down to it, we are second-class citizens by nature."

Deadline cleared his throat. "Come on, Pro. Earth-ponies have all the same rights and opportunities as both of the other breeds."

"The same rights, maybe, but not the same opportunities," said Pro Publica. "Already we're relegated to menial labor, agriculture, iron-work. And wages for earth-ponies are dropping as unicorn magitech supplants coal technology."

"The Flim-Flam Company," said Twilight Sparkle.

"Exactly," said Pro Publica. "And the FFC was just the beginning, as you know. Earth-ponies are getting pushed out. The petroleum engine could reverse the tide. We could build trucks, tractors, airplanes. Threshing machines and factories. For that matter, a whole petroleum industry, right here in Equestria. That way, we could minimize oil imports from the human world."

"You would despoil our beautiful country?" asked Deadline. "Seriously? We're talking smog, poisoned water, cancer and lung disease. Something the humans are dealing with called global warming that even they don't understand."

"Life is risk," said Pro Publica with a shrug. "If it means that the earth-ponies get a fairer shot, I'm for it. And if I may be so bold, my donors and board of directors will be for it too. Sorry, Deadline."

Suddenly, there was a flash in the monitors from the Manhehattan studio, and the camera rocked to the side.

"What was that?" said Pro Publica, looking around on the monitor. The lights were flickering, and something fell from the ceiling in the background.

"Pro," said Deadline. "Can you hear us?"

The screen went to static.

"Pro," said Deadline, putting his hoof up to his earpiece. "Pro, we lost the video feed. Are you still with us?" After another few moments of silence, Deadline chuckled and said, "Human technology, what are you gonna' do? Well, that's the end of the interview, anyway, so please stay tuned for our exclusive on Scratch and Octavia, after a word from our sponsor. Back in three minutes, I'm Deadline, and this is Equestria Sub Rosa!"

"And we're out!" shouted the stage manager.

"What happened?" said Deadline into his microphone, speaking to the ponies in the production booth. "What happened to the video feed from Manehattan?"

"It looked like an earthquake," put in Twilight. "I didn't feel anything, though."

"Nine out of ten times it's just equipment failure," said the production manager in their earpieces. "Nothing to worry about."

"Fine," said Deadline. His gaze turned again to Twilight.

For a few moments, the two stared at each other in silent challenge. Twilight wore the hint of a smile.

"Divide my base with a wedge issue?" said Deadline at last. "Make me lose control of my own show?" He put on a rogue's grin. "My kind of move, Adviser. I must say, I'm more than a little turned-on."

"I figured you'd appreciate an underhoofed move like that, Deadline. And for the record, I just threw up in my mouth a little. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a Summit to attend."

At that moment, Twilight's cell-phone began to buzz. She reached for it, then realized that there was buzzing emanating from Deadline's coat-pocket as well. Her ears picked up the quiet buzzing of phones from every corner of the studio. For some reason, they were all receiving calls at once.

"What in the world?" she breathed to herself as she dug around in her modest side-bag, located the phone and brought it up to her ear. "Twilight Sparkle," she said.

"Twilight," said a voice. "It's Spike. I'm at the castle. Are you near a television?"

"Funny you should ask; I'm at Sun News studios in Canterlot. Why?"

"There's been a bombing."

Someone in the production booth cued up a breaking news report from a competing station and put it on the monitors. The ponies in the Equestria Sub Rosa studio crowded around the screens, and at first, all they could see was the billowing smoke. Enormous clouds of it, black and volcanic. Then the flames, leaping into the morning sky. Then the wreckage. Everypony started talking at once.

"Quiet! Quiet!" shouted Deadline. "Bring the audio up!"

"-- reports of numerous injuries and possible fatalities are already flooding in," the newscaster pony was saying on the monitors. "First-responders are only just now arriving on-scene, so we will have to wait for the official numbers, but anypony can see the devastation here at the United Nations building in Manehattan is significant. First estimates of casualties are in the hundreds. This is a true diplomatic disaster for human-pony relations, especially in the midst of such delicate and unprecedented negotiations."

"Flashpoint scenario," said Twilight under her breath.

"What?" asked Spike.

"Flashpoint scenario," she repeated. Her heart was hammering. "Spike, is the Princess there?"

"Celestia's in a meeting with the military brass right now. Do you want me to give her a message for you?"

"Yes, please. Tell her that I'm calling ahead to the Canterlot Embassy to let them know she's on her way to see them."

"Wait a second, you want Celestia herself to go? Are you sure she's going to have time for that? Luna is rounding up the rest of the special-ops team right now-- we'll be ready for war within the hour, depending on where we're needed."

"Spike, this could spiral out of control at any minute. The humans are on their heels and their first instinct is going to be to fight. That means anyone or anypony in arm's reach, if things take a turn for the worse. Somepony needs to talk them down, and I think Celestia is the only one who can, at this point."

"Okay, Twi, I'll tell her. I know she'll trust you." There was a moment of silence. "Where are you going?"

"Manehattan," she said. "Celestia's going to need me there."

"Be safe, sis."

"You too," she said, knowing full-well that he was a soldier, the leader of Equestrian spec-ops in fact. He was the tip of the sword in the event that they discovered who had set the bomb. "Call me if you hear anything else."

"I will." He hung up.

* * *

The Canterlot Embassy

* * *

Chapter 1


August Lansing
United States Ambassador

Elapsed Days in Equestria: 548
Days Remaining in Rotation: 397



Every phone in the place was ringing as August walked through the last security checkpoint at the American Embassy, Canterlot. She swiped her ID in the scanner, waiting impatiently until it produced its familiar green light.

"Morning, Ambassador Lansing," said the US marine at the post. "Kobayashi has requested your presence in the Long Room."

"Thank you, corporal." She strode down the hallway towards the conference wing, meeting her assistant Lukas Walden as she passed her office.

"Took you long enough to get here," he said in his German-British accent. "You're the last one to arrive. The meeting starts in--" he checked his watch-- "six minutes, forty-seven seconds."

"Will you give me a break, Lukas? We were up all night with the Summit material, and I was in my pajamas when the news reports came in this morning."

"For some reason, I'm picturing them as footie-pajamas. They weren't footie-pajamas, were they?" He pushed a huge stack of papers into her arms. "Here, this is everything we've got so far on the incident."

"Not that I'll have time to read it, but thanks."

"Good thing the Manehattan embassy was still under construction right?" He was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "This is already a grade-A debacle as it is. I can't even begin to predict the fallout yet, but it's going to be crazy."

"Lukas, why are you smiling? Don't smile! Jeez, people are going to get the wrong idea."

"Right! Sorry about that. I'm not happy of course... I mean, this is a terrible tragedy. Just terrible." He leaned in. "But you have to admit, exciting."

"You're talking your way into a psych-evaluation, Luke."

He made a dismissive gesture. "Come on, the adrenalin rush is half the reason we do this, right? You should know; you were in Iran, Qatar, South Korea. You get the thrill too, when all the shite is hitting the fan."

"Too much 'shite,' Luke," she said, thumbing through the pages. "Too many fans." He had alphabetized and indexed everything for her. She stopped on the casualty list. There were a couple of grainy photos of the victims, bandaged in hospital beds. She'd seen too much of this sort of thing as well. All of a sudden her thirty-five years felt like seventy.

"Do you need me in the meeting with you?" asked Lukas.

"No reason we should both suffer," said August. "Why don't you start making calls to Washington; everyone we know at the Capitol in fact. Especially Speaker Lomax; I just know he's going to try to use this to get a military rider onto the appropriations bill. Before we know it, he'll have two tank battalions this side of the portal, and it's going to get about a thousand times harder to say 'don't shoot.'"

"Lomax's office is going to hang up on me," said Lukas. "But I'll try. Good luck in the meeting. Oh, I almost forgot." He darted into her office and returned with a large paper-cup full of coffee. A venti.

"Oh my God, thank you, I love you, oh, God, thank you." She struggled to hold the stack of folders under one arm, reaching out with the other as if for the Holy Grail

"I figured you wouldn't have time to get any on your way in," said Lukas, "seeing as how you had to first struggle out of those footie pajamas and all."

"What would I do without you?" she said, getting it all balanced.

"You would die, August. You would die."

"Maybe. Probably." She waved him off. "Go, go! Get on the phones before the lobbyists get their 'shite' together. We need to appeal to Congress's loyalty before the other guys appeal to Congress's wallet."

"Okay, see you later. And good luck in there with the Princess."

"With the who??" shouted August.

* * *

She was indeed the last one to arrive.

"Miss Lansing," said Princess Celestia with a nod.

August bowed and took her seat. She couldn't stop staring at the Princess; the pastel mane-- more like liquid energy than a solid substance; those massive violet eyes. The palpable sense of power that surrounded her, invisible-but-tangible, a low hum. More than a few scientists back on Earth had suggested that the alicorn Sisters were akin to living fusion-engines.

A middle-aged Asian man in a business suit was the first to begin. This was Harry Kobayashi-- Japanese American, veteran diplomat, world-class political operative, and head-of-mission in the American Embassy, Canterlot. He was also, of course, August's boss. Harry first addressed his own side of the table. "In light of recent events, Princess Celestia has been kind enough to grace us with her presence today, preceding the Summit. I won't waste any time in turning it over to her. Princess?"

"Thank you, Harry," said Celestia, radiant as ever. "I am here today to express my deepest condolences for the terrible crime committed at the UN building in Manehattan this morning. I will address the rest of the delegation at the Summit later, but I understand that the United States was the primary investor in the Manehattan site, and so it is thoroughly your government's loss, and your people who were injured."

"We appreciate your sympathy, Princess," said Harry.

Celestia nodded. "Clearly, there are elements in Equestria that do not want to see our nascent alliance continue. Security concerns must be addressed. Under the circumstances, however, I must impress upon you that my own Royal Guard will fulfill this role, in full cooperation with UN leadership. There is no reason to bring more human soldiers across the portal at this time. Such a move could only destabilize an already-delicate situation."

"I agree," said Harry. "But I don't know if our investors are going to see it that way. A number of powerful contractors lost a lot of money this morning, not to mention the blood spilled, and they are going to want reassurance that this is not just the first in a string of similar events."

"By all means, then, Ambassador," said Celestia, "reassure them. Talk them down. Unless you yourself believe my forces unequipped to handle the investigation?"

"Not at all, your highness," said Harry, putting up a placating hand. "We have the utmost faith in your forces. But as you said, it was our loss this morning. We ask only for the freedom to conduct our own investigation. Parallel, not superseding, of course. I think that with a little effort and cooperation, we can keep it to a police matter, rather than bring the military in on it."

"I'm not sure what kind of 'freedom' you're asking for, Ambassador," said Celestia. "But the idea of human police interrogating pony suspects gives me serious pause."

"We can keep this a joint-operation. Nothing will happen on your soil without pony oversight."

"Well, we will have to proceed with caution in any case." She paused for a moment, then took a breath. "This is a dangerous path we're on, Ambassador. I have studied a great deal of Earth's history. I know how these situations can escalate to war."

"We won't let this get out of hand," said Harry. "Or hoof."

"Let's hope not. Relations between our species have been remarkably smooth so far, but this is their first true test. Everything we've built could be ruined in a second with a classic mistake."

"Agreed," said Harry. "The US President is going on the air within the hour to denounce the bombings, but to discourage scapegoating your entire species. The Secretary-General of the UN will be making a similar entreaty later today. We would be grateful to see the same sentiment from Canterlot."

"Consider it done, Ambassador. Now unless you have anything further, I should prepare myself for the Summit. The show must go on, as they say. Please keep me informed as to your investigation, and I'll notify my ponies to cooperate with your teams. It will be impossible to tamp down speculation until then, but we must try."

They all stood and shook Celestia's hoof, then bowed as she left the room with her entourage of aides and security ponies.

Bill Wackenhut-- Harry's Chief of Staff-- waited for them to leave, then turned back to his people in consternation. With his bald pate flushed, the forty-something-year-old looked like a pissed-off egg with a goatee. "We are in deep shit," he said.

"We should be able to handle this," said August, "just as long as we figure out who's responsible. Even though it's far-side of the portal, we can't count out a human group. I could see sympathetic Greenpeace types, or even those anti-witchcraft activists trying something. That could be the real blow to relations."

"Probably just some nutjob," said Bill. "Real terrorist groups can't wait to take credit for something like this. They're usually lining up."

"Either way, it had better be a pony bomb," said August. "Equestrians are antsy enough already. I don't want to have to earn their trust all over again."

"Don't forget the extradition headache we're going to have if it's humans, too," said Bill. "But I guess that's still better than the perps winding up in horse-court. Celestia would probably just give them a slap on the wrist."

"Or deport them," said August, arching an eyebrow. "To the moon."

"Enough speculation," said Harry. "Bill, start rounding up a task force to coordinate our moves with the Equestrian Ministry of Justice. August, I want you to have lunch with Dex Davenport. See if we can get out in front of this thing."

"What am I going to say to Dex Davenport?" asked August. "The man's a four-star general!"

"And your father's a war-hero," said Bill.

"My father is President of the United States," said August. "A sitting Democratic President, and a pro-choice Buddhist for crying out loud."

"Make it work," said Harry. "Dismissed."

* * *

Hickory Grove Steakhouse, UN Complex, Canterlot
12:16 PM



General Dex Davenport was a thin, wiry man with a face that looked like it was chipped out of stone. He had dry, pursed lips, and he often talked with his teeth clenched, like he was doing now.

"So then," he growled, "we start taking fire from the ridge. Buncha' Taliban with Chinese hunting rifles and old Soviet machine-guns. Damn rounds were going straight through the adobe walls and we were getting chewed up pretty bad. There's only been a couple of times I thought-- I knew-- I wasn't gonna survive, but that was one of 'em."

"Crazy," said August, munching on her sandwich. It was turkey, and it had cost a fortune since all meat products had to be imported. Worth it, though. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! We were royally screwed!" shouted the General, stabbing at his steak with his knife and fork. He chewed and swallowed. "But that's when we heard it. At first we thought we were imagining things-- that it was just the gunfire echoing off the mountain or something. But then a shadow passed over our lines, and next thing we know, your dad comes screaming in overhead with his cargo-chopper. He and his copilot start dropping hand-grenades out the windows into the enemy positions. You know, your dad was shot in both legs, but he just kept bombarding them until the Apaches showed up and forced those Taliban rats back underground. Saved my whole goddamn squad!!"

"I had no idea," said August. "I mean, everyone knows the story, but you were there??"

"I try to keep a low profile," said General Davenport. "I'm a Republican, so the suits don't exactly like me singing President Lansing's praises. But yessiree, little lady. I may not always agree with your Dad's social politics, but as a military man, he's earned my respect. So what can I do for you today? I assume it has something to do with the bombing at the Manehattan embassy? What a nasty turn of events that is."

"You said it. And while it may seem counter-intuitive, the reason I'm here is to ask you to stand down. The State Department needs you tell the Pentagon and NATO to hold off any troop increases across the portal. We all think ramping up military presence right now may be exactly the wrong move; that it could tip us over into war."

The General put his fork down and wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. August's heart pounded as she braced for a fight. Finally, the General looked at her and said, "I agree."

"You what?"

"Is that not what you expected? You liberals always think the military just wants to shoot everyone and blow everything up, is that it?"

"What, I didn't--"

"I'm just yanking your chain, kid. I'll talk to Washington about holding off a surge until we get word from your department. But it won't be easy. Not everyone is going to want to sit on their hands and let the detectives do their work. My advice to State is: take your time as fast as you fucking can."

"We will," said August, exhaling with relief. "Look, I have to get back to the office. Can I contact you again if I need to?"

"Sure, kid, call me anytime State needs a link to the Department of Defense. And the next time you talk to your old man, let him know that the 34th Rattlesnakes will never forget."

"I've got a meeting penciled in with him sometime around Easter, I think," said August with a wry smile. "But I will deliver the message. Thanks again, General. My office will be in touch."

* * *