Cookie Pusher, a government official, shows up
Lectern’s New and Used Books was abuzz with conversation when seven teenage girls herded in through the double-leaf front door. Startled, they paused and turned to stare in consternation at the front sitting room, filled to overflowing with middle-aged and elderly women, along with a handful of male contemporaries. Then, as one, the high-schoolers pivoted to turn their stares on the store’s proprietor standing behind the retired bar serving as checkout counter.
“That, my dear girls, is the Mystery Readers Club,” Lectern answered the unspoken question. “A telephone call not a half-hour ago informed me their usual meeting space was suddenly unavailable and asked if they could meet here instead. Quite extraordinary—and unprecedented.”
“Ain’t that gonna cut into yer business?” Applejack asked, concerned. “Ah mean, they ain’t as quiet as we try to be, or the usual folks who just sit an’ read or chat.” She looked over her shoulder at the crowd. “An’ there sure is a passel of ’em.”
Indeed, not only was every wing chair that normally populated the room occupied, but additional folding chairs filled every available cranny and beyond. Between the obstacles and the chatter, it would be difficult at best to ring up a customer.
“True. Why, they’re even more disruptive than a certain conversation I recall happening in that very room not long ago.” Lectern chuckled at the embarrassment on the young faces before him. “Relax, girls; Miss Flare told me she was clearing the air after the Friendship Games affair, and she did seem much less tense and stressed afterward. In answer to your question, Miss Applejack, they will pay the same rental fee as they arranged with their usual venue, and of course they likely will do some shopping after the meeting, so I think we’ll weather this unexpected storm.”
He smiled as expressions turned to relief. “You’re welcome to adjourn out to the back patio. What with the dragons guarding the cave mouth, interruptions are even less likely than usual, though the one fellow on shift right now is back there handling some chores.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “I suspect their presence is the reason he volunteered so willingly to be as far away as possible, especially since he’s the unfortunate soul who answered the phone before forwarding the call to me.”
Snickers were hastily muffled, and with nodded farewells to their host, the girls tiptoed past the club just beginning to come to order for their meeting.
Minutes later they were pulling together two of the wood outdoor tables on the tiled patio, still shaking their heads and laughing over the odd happenings in the store. A distant clatter and thump interrupted, making them start; footsteps and a trundling noise followed, heralding the approach of the staffer Lectern had mentioned. After a moment a fairly muscular young man appeared, rolling a handcart stacked with boxes before him, on the concrete walkway from the back gate on the far side of the small one-car garage.
With the ease of long practice he manhandled the truck around the walkway’s corner and headed toward the ramp leading to the elevated patio. He looked up and spared a moment, and a hand, to wave. “Afternoon,” he called amiably. The fellow was older than the high-school or university students Lectern normally employed, but not by much, and was painfully nondescript in coloration, with short hair, a white button-down shirt, and khaki slacks. “Gonna be here long?”
“Probably for a while—maybe the rest of the afternoon,” Twilight Sparkle replied for the group. “We have some studying to do.”
“Not to mention all the goss—ah, conversation to catch up on,” Rarity added.
“Well, have a good time,” was the last reply before the employee deftly scooted the truck through the bungalow’s back door and closed it behind him.
The girls settled into the chairs rearranged around their chosen tables and unpacked their books and other paraphernalia of study. By now they’d arrived at a routine for their group study sessions, and even Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash were relatively quiet as they began their work. Time enough for talk afterward, and it was the carrot to motivate their efforts.
After a bare quarter-hour they raised their heads and looked at each other, brows furrowed, when the back-yard gate thumped and rattled unexpectedly. The store clerk hadn’t passed through since leaving them to their studies, and they knew the gate was locked when not in use precisely to prevent such incursions. They turned to face the walkway where it appeared from behind the garage. Applejack, Dash, and Sunset Shimmer all stood, looking concerned.
The intruder swung into sight with a confident tread; thirtyish and lean, informally dressed in a polo shirt and chinos, with crisp dark hair over a stone-gray complexion. His eyes were hidden behind dark round glacier glasses, but from his upward glance toward the raised patio and its occupants, it was clear where his destination was. He looked harmless enough, but none of the girls took that at face value. Twilight and Fluttershy shrank behind the tables. Pinkie Pie and Rarity fidgeted, uncertain whether to follow their friends who’d stood or those who’d taken cover.
“That’s far enough, Mister,” AJ called. “Y’ain’t s’posed to come in through the back; Mister Lectern don’t like it.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that, Ms. Applejack, but I’m afraid I must. I came expressly to speak with you and your friends, after all.” His voice was a pleasant baritone, calm and poised. The fact he knew even one of their names when none of them had set eyes on him before was enough to send a spike of anxiety through the whole group. Rarity and Pinkie made up their minds and stood as well. Fluttershy and Twilight clutched hands. The rest fell into more guarded positions.
“Who are you?” Dash rasped in mingled menace and apprehension.
“My name is Cookie Pusher, but you can call me Cook.” After a beat, during which Cook began walking up the ramp, he added, “On second thought, please call me Cook.”
“Fine, Mister . . . Cook.” Applejack drummed her fingers on the table beside her. “But that don’t really answer Dash’s question, now does it?”
By now Cook faced them from a few feet away; the small emblem on his polo shirt resolved itself into a silver tray with a trio of oversized chocolate-chip cookies on it. He made no move to edge closer, but simply stood comfortably, feet slightly apart and hands clasped behind his back. “I am a foreign service officer—an FSO, if one is addicted to three-letter abbreviations.” He smiled slightly at the baffled looks exchanged among the girls and amended, “More commonly known as a diplomat.”
Applejack put one hand on her hip and tipped back her hat with the other. “Now why in the world is a diplomat comin’ to see us?”
“Not us, AJ.” Sunset’s voice was thin. “Me.”
Cook nodded. “I’m here to speak with all of you, but Ms. Shimmer is the reason I was sent, both personally and as a representative. I see you are every bit as perceptive as I was told.” He took a breath. “Please, all of you, be seated. None of you are in any trouble of any kind with anyone at any level, I assure you. That’s part of why a diplomat was sent, rather than someone from a military, law-enforcement, or intelligence organization, though I’m sure my contact report will circulate through all those agencies.”
“What about me?” Sunset asked, her voice quavering slightly despite her best efforts. Her fists clenched; the others stood their ground, wary and uncertain.
After a moment, Cook lowered his dark glasses. The pale eyes underneath gave her a direct look. “Technically you’re an illegal alien. You have no passport, no visa, and no diplomatic immunity. Arguably you have committed fraud and a number of other crimes in this country, both felonies and misdemeanors, not to mention a minor reign of terror among your fellow students at the school you currently attend. If I understand correctly, you may have committed treason in your own country.”
Sunset bit her lip hard, and her friends protested loudly. Cook held up both hands, sunglasses still dangling from one of them. “I did say technically. You will not be charged or deported. Those were considered, but only as part of the process to resolve the difficulties and irregularities of the situation, which includes our discussion here today. I can’t speak to the possible treason charge, though I’m given to understand your ruler—and mentor, I believe—almost certainly has no intention of laying that charge. Even if she did, hypothetically speaking, there’s no extradition treaty in place, so we would be free to refuse any request to return you.”
“How . . .” By now Sunset was reduced to a near-whisper, and her friends moved protectively closer.
“I don’t know how all the information was generated. One, I have no need to know; two, even if I did, the list probably goes on long enough to bore even Ms. Sparkle.” His smile this time was slightly broader as Twilight stared at him, obviously deciding whether she could get away with glaring. “What I can tell you is the resources available to piece together even tiny fragments are rather staggering, such as satellite photos of clouds gathering much too quickly to be natural and strangely shaped rainbows at night—weather and environmental satellites, by the way, not spy satellites if that’s what you’re thinking. The briefing material I received was, well, as complete as one can expect in this business.” From his tone, he long since had resigned himself to low expectations in that regard.
He sighed and gestured to the chairs. “Now, please, can we all sit down and discuss this as mature individuals? I know you’re capable of that—even you, Ms. Pie—when you put your minds to it.”
Slowly, reluctantly, they sat. Cook pulled a chair from one of the other tables and swung it around in front of him, then straddled it backward and laid his forearms across the seat back. “My job is to gather more information and, as much as I can, to push along the process of regularizing matters. As part of it, I interviewed Principal Celestia and Vice-Principal Luna earlier today. They told me everything about your backgrounds they were able to—yours too, Ms. Shimmer. They even allowed me to peruse your files.”
General indignation greeted this announcement, but Cook waved a hand again. “Hold yo—on there. I should add they did so as part of a passionate defense of your characters. They made very certain I understood how completely you’re turning your life around, Ms. Shimmer, and how all of you have stepped up to deal with threats not only to your school or this city but possibly this world, and even Ms. Shimmer’s world. They have on file their own testimonial letters and similar letters from two of the princesses in her homeland, which is how I can be fairly sure no charges will be filed there either.”
He gave Sunset a humorous look. “They even have transfer forms from your old school to your new one, backdated of course. I’m sure they only thought of it as going through the motions, but believe it or not, it actually helps. Paperwork always warms the cockles of a bureaucrat’s heart.”
Pinkie cocked her head. “But aren’t you a bureaucrat too?”
Without missing a beat, a deadpan Cook shot back, “Of course. That’s how I know.”
Despite themselves, all the girls burst out laughing. “Okay, Mister Cook,” Applejack allowed after her chortles had subsided. “I guess you’re all right. But I gotta ask: Y’all seem awfully cool about the notion of a magical portal to a world o’ talkin’ ponies, not to mention griffins and everythin’ else.” Her “y’all” and expansive gesture took in not just Cook but the masses of government functionaries throughout the country.
Cook shrugged. “You might be surprised. Government agencies, even at the highest level, conduct quite a few role-playing simulations—though they prefer to use the term ‘exercises’; it’s more dignified—about all kinds of possibilities. Most are fairly ordinary, or at least plausible, like the recent one exploring how to respond to a meteor strike offshore generating tsunamis and other natural disasters, with only a few hours’ warning. But there’ve been others based on wilder ideas, including a military scenario based on the notion of magic suddenly leaking into the world.”
There were gasps, to which he responded, “No, it had nothing to do with our current situation. It was years ago, well before Ms. Shimmer appeared on the scene. From my reading of it, they set up a bunch of different variations depending on how the magic was supposed to work and where it came from, but none of the variants looked like what we’re seeing now. Anyway, the idea behind the weirder concepts is to keep everyone mentally flexible and able to handle anything a crazy world throws at them. It doesn’t always work, but it’s the best method anyone’s come up with.”
His smile this time was warmer. “Besides, a lot of people read science fiction and fantasy these days, even in the government.” He spread his hands invitingly. “So then, Ms. Shimmer: Tell me a story that doesn’t belong in Lectern’s fantasy section.”
Cook proved an exemplary audience, listening closely without interrupting and scribbling shorthand notes on a small spiral-bound pad pulled from his shirt pocket, as Sunset spun out her history since emerging from the portal, sparing nothing, though her voice roughened as she struggled through the more difficult passages. The others chimed in with their own perspectives at various points, and eventually Twilight took up her part of the tale, her voice shaky at first. More than an hour passed before they all wound down and looked at him in silence.
Only then did he begin asking follow-up questions, incisive and probing, though his tone and wording were respectful and sympathetic. He matched his approach to the personalities before him—blunt and direct to Applejack and Dash, quiet and coaxing to Fluttershy and Twilight, polite and gallant to Rarity and Sunset, and astonishingly casual and teasing with Pinkie. By the end, he seemed satisfied he had a complete picture of events.
“And now it’s your turn,” he remarked encouragingly. “Obviously I can’t provide answers on classified matters, but I’d say you’ve earned your chance to gather your own intelligence. In fact, given your role as magical defenders, I’d say you need to gather intelligence.”
The girls looked surprised but gratified, and spent a few moments in thought. Predictably, Pinkie was first to stick up her hand and wave it energetically. Cook nodded to her.
“So you aren’t going to kidnap us and put us in a laboratory and dissect us or put radio trackers in our—”
“Pinkie!” the others cried out.
Cook cracked up, laughing uninhibitedly and doubling over. His polished, mature reserve dissolved for the first time, giving them a glimpse of the youth it had covered. When he could catch his breath, he straightened and answered, “S-somebody’s been watching too many bad B-movie thrillers. No, for heaven’s sake, nobody ever even mentioned that! Who do you think we are?” He paused. “Look, six of you are citizens of this nation, and the seventh is a foreign national and a subject of the crown, not to mention having personal ties to both the most senior and most junior royals in that nation. I’ll grant the government and its employees aren’t perfect, but most of us wouldn’t countenance treating any of our citizens that way—and doing so to a foreigner is a guaranteed diplomatic incident if not an act of war! No. Just . . . no. Next question.”
Sunset half-raised her hand and got a similar go-ahead; she asked simply, “The sirens?”
“Not my department, so I don’t know. My best guess is they’re getting their own case officer, who’ll get a support staff, but I couldn’t say which agency that’ll be from. Law enforcement or social services seem most likely, though. They need it, especially now that they probably are more helpless and powerless than they’ve ever been in their lives—at least, I’d bet they feel that way. I may be asked to send an inquiry through you about returning them, but I can’t say for sure. Without their magic, they may be better off here, especially since they might suffer pretty severe culture shock if they went back.” At the askance looks he got, he continued, “They seem to have adapted to modern technology just fine. I’m thinking more about the changes to the world they came from. It’s got to look radically different now from what they remember. Who’s next?”
Twilight brought up a hand just enough to wiggle the fingers. “I have to ask. What’s next? Will we be seeing more of you?”
“Next I go and write a very long report. And to think I fondly imagined, after graduating from university, I was done with homework.” He sighed. “After that, any number of things might happen, but most of them won’t involve you girls directly. Yes, I’ll be in touch, though we may not meet in person very often—more because we’re all very busy people than for any other reason. In fact . . .” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small metal clamshell case, from which he extracted a sheaf of very official-looking business cards that he handed out to all of them. “As for another possible meaning of your ambiguously worded question, you might hear from or meet some of my superiors, but only if something urgent or unusually important happens. I’m the case officer, so most of the time everything should go through me, both ways, to prevent confusion if nothing else. Anyone else?”
Applejack leaned forward, not bothering with niceties. “Mebbe y’all ain’t gonna haul us off or nothin’, but yer just gonna let things go? Yer not doin’ nothin’ else? I mean, we’re right grateful an’ all, but . . .” She trailed off and held her hands out to the sides in a shrug.
“What do you propose we do?” Cook asked rhetorically. “Announce the existence of the portal to the world?” Everyone winced, including him. “No. Keep it secret but close the school and the neighborhood around it, disrupting the city for no apparent reason?” Another wince. “No. In a lot of ways, our hands are tied. Besides, it’s the only contact you have—especially you, Ms. Shimmer—with her home. For that matter, it’s the only contact we have. What if something happens to you? Who else do we get in touch with but them in the event of a magical emergency? What if they need to get in touch with us for some reason? After all, the portal goes both ways, and I can think of all kinds of problems our world might generate for them, accidentally or, worse, on purpose.”
He shook his head. “For now, all we can do is go on as we have, with you girls acting as our first line of defense. Yes, it’s strange and awkward, and a lot of people are having sleepless nights over it for a lot of reasons, including worry over seven young women being in the line of fire as well as more practical considerations. But in the short term, at least, it’s the only workable solution. Next?”
Dash spoke up. “So what if we hadn’t beat Sunset and Sci-Twi here and made friends with them?”
Cook’s expression turned cool and grim. “Then all of you would be talking to someone else, probably several someone-elses, and it wouldn’t be a very pleasant conversation. The less said about that the better. Next.”
Rarity rubbed her chin with a fingertip. “Why you, Mister Cook?”
“Because I am a sophisticated and debonair man of the world, just the sort to charm a group of lovely young ladies,” he replied promptly with a straight face, but grinned when they responded with snickers and rude expressions. “I’m closer to your age than most career diplomats, I was available for the assignment, and I think the powers that be figured I have the right personality and, well, flexibility of mind for the job.”
He turned to Fluttershy and asked quietly, “Do you have a question, Ms. Fluttershy? You’re the only one who hasn’t asked yet.”
Fluttershy shook her head mutely, and he spared her a kind smile. “All right, then.” He sat back and held out his arms in another affable gesture. “The floor is open.”
The questions took up most of another hour.
At last a chime and a buzz sounded from Cook’s general vicinity. He slid a smartphone out of a pocket and glanced down at it, then up again. “I must be off; other business awaits—but I have two more things to say before I go.” He stood and swept them all with a sharp-eyed look. “Remember in the months and years ahead you have friends and champions in unlikely places. And last but not least, I hope someday I have a daughter who grows up to be as fine a young woman as all of you are—including you, Sunset Shimmer.”
Sunset’s eyes were misty and she raised a trembling hand to her mouth, unable to speak.
“And with that, I must bid you all adieu, adieu, fair maidens, adieu.” With grace and aplomb Cook clicked his heels and bowed, making the archaic obeisance look perfectly natural, then turned on his heel and strode back down the ramp.
Seven girls sat still and silent until they heard the rattle and thump of the back gate closing. Then, still without a word, they huddled for a mass embrace that broke up only when the well-muscled young man reappeared through the back door. “Oh gosh, I forgot to lock the back gate! I’ll go take care of that now. Excuse me.”
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8480204 Okay, thanks, Dave. I'll pop over there and check it out.
And ouch.
Does Cookie Pusher have colleagues named Pin Stripe and Striped Pants?
8480237
Foreign Nationals of Unusual Importance contains a partial answer to your question.
I can't help but think I read this before was this just recently edited and reposted?
8480643
In the process of splitting off the ”Fall Semester” set from this ”Summer Break” set, I inadvertently deleted an installment I hadn’t meant to, and had to restore it.
Neat! It's one of those things that makes sense that it'd happen, but I'd never considered. Kinda like those zombie apocalypse contingency plans.
8610277
Yes, exactly. I believe that actually was a military exercise, complete with unit members being declared zombie casualties, taken away for make-up, then sent back against the units being exercised. Apparently it was a horrific experience for everyone concerned, but it also was very educational.
I love it when people are accurately portrayed as rational about these sorts of things. Also, I picture Jim Caviezel as Cookie Pusher.
9776687
Thankee! It pleases me as well, both to write and to read of people who act professionally and reasonably—though of course there is storytelling value in characters acting irrationally when circumstances allow for it.
Cook is fairly short and slight, and looks more or less like Matthew Broderick as he appeared in Out on a Limb.
Lmao his name literally means "diplomat"