Reception
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for the warm welcome.” The shortish man in his late forties stood at one of the linen-draped dining tables, his polished ease reinforced by a bespoke three-piece suit, and expounded over the fading applause from the attentive audience filling the festively decorated canteen. “Just in case you missed it, my name is Cookie Pusher, and I am pleased and honored to serve as the new administrator of what I’m told most folks here just call ‘the Campus’—which certainly is shorter than ‘the Everfree Satellite Campus of the Foreign Service Institute’.” Scattered chuckles rose here and there, briefly bringing a crooked smile to the speaker’s stone-gray face.
“Ms. Dove here has done a heroic job over the last several years of getting this facility up and running smoothly.” He nodded to the equally well-dressed middle-aged woman sitting beside him and received a polite nod in return. “But as some of you may not know, there’s a limit to how long an active foreign service officer can remain in a domestic position before losing eligibility for foreign postings. As it is, the exigencies of the service already have resulted in one waiver; the law does not permit a second. So, back she goes into the pool!” He raised a hand with a humorous flick, like a fisherman tossing a fish into the water, as a rumble of surprised laughter punctuated his speech. “I for one hope her next assignment is at least as rewarding as this one no doubt has been.”
Cries of “hear, hear!” followed, and even Ms. Dove herself colored slightly, though she did not seem displeased.
“At any rate, I’ve bored you all enough now. I’m sure everyone is much more interested in the fine breakfast awaiting us than any speeches. I know I am, at least!” Another round of laughter and applause endorsed this sentiment as the new administrator resumed his seat, and the staff behind the canteen’s cafeteria-style serving bar busied themselves with a few last-minute preparations before the rush.
More than a brunch, not quite a party, the reception filled a slightly awkward middle ground—a seemingly odd position for an event put on by and largely for foreign-service professionals. On the other hand, those with any experience rose smoothly to the occasion, accustomed as they were to far more difficult circumstances. It was the other guests who sometimes weren’t sure how to split the difference between sitting at table and circulating to pay respects.
“I think they did it on purpose,” hypothesized Doctor Twilight Sparkle as she pushed her stylish half-frame eyeglasses up her petite nose with the tip of a forefinger. “I seem to remember someone talking about making every social event a learning experience. Who was that again, Sunny?” She cocked her head and eyed her companion sidelong.
Ms. Sunset Shimmer, Senior Consul for the Principality of Equestria, rubbed her chin and cast her gaze toward the ceiling in manifest thought. “Hmm. Kind of hard to remember that far back, Twi, but I think it was a diplomat, wasn’t it?”
The guest of honor spread his arms and sat back on his brushed-metal ten-oh-six chair, one of scores populating the dining hall. “Now, now. Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with this?” His tone brimmed with earnest innocence.
“I wouldn’t put it past you for a second, Cook,” the fiery-haired woman shot back. “You’ve always had an absolutely terrible sense of humor.”
The couple in their mid-thirties stood side by side across the table from the new administrator. A graceful indigo sheath dress flattered Twilight’s slender build and her violet hair was drawn up in an elaborate bun. Sunset looked smart in a pastel topaz business suit with tapered slacks tailored to her somewhat curvier figure, though her halo of shoulder-length red-and-gold hair remained as unruly as ever. Each wore a flat round crystal the size of a large coin, matched by color—and, to the knowledgeable eye, bas-relief symbol—to its bearer; Twilight’s depended from a fine gold chain, while Sunset’s was set in the clasp of a bolo tie.
The smattering of other senior guests currently seated at the table looked on, variously amused or bemused by the byplay, but only one spoke up. “This is the first chance I’ve had to meet Mister Cook in person.” Her Excellency Ambassador Ember’s eyes were alight with interest as she turned to him. “Terrible sense of humor or not, I know Grandmother Pin always has thought well of you, sir. It wasn’t until I was read into the Eloptic Machine compartment a few months ago, before this assignment, I understood why, though.”
Cook nodded with a more sober air. “Contacting and monitoring Sunset and her crowd was my very first assignment, Ms. Ember, while they were still in high school—good heavens, was it really seventeen years ago?” He ran a hand through his short crisp dark hair, only lightly salted with gray, as if expecting to find it somehow had vanished while he wasn’t looking. “It still feels strange, after all this time, that Eloptic Machine’s been reduced to confidential, but I suppose when they decided to build this place they really couldn’t do anything else.”
Sunset shook her head wryly. “Yeah, but I gotta say I don’t think they’re fooling much of anybody. Only half of it has anything to do with the Institute. The other half is my consulate and your embassy and customs and entry.”
“It really is Old Home Week.” The interruption floated past her and Twilight, and both of them turned. Cook stood as well, his smile expanding to an unabashed grin.
The figure literally marching up to the table was a bit startling to the unprepared. Still imposingly tall and sinewy even in her early sixties, Colonel Rose Brass wore an immaculate undress army service uniform with consummate panache; its dark brownish-green tunic contrasted sharply against her weathered brass complexion and age-silvered buzz-cut hair.
Cook reached across the table to shake the colonel’s hand, the only part of her sleek industrial-looking prosthetic right arm currently visible. “Colonel Brass! It’s good to see you again. Keeping the diplomats in line?”
The network of scars around the older woman’s left eye and on the cheek below it, far less prominent now than they once were, did nothing to dampen the answering grin. “Doing what I can. Good to see you too, Mister Cook, and congratulations.”
“Thank you, Colonel, and may I say you are looking better than ever.” Whimsical as his tone was, the comment seemed entirely serious.
“For a woman nearing retirement, you mean,” she teased. “But yes. Cosmetic repairs are getting better all the time these days, and I’ve been through a couple of treatments to reduce the scarring.” She pointed her other forefinger toward her mismatched left eye, a smooth cabochon of deep ruby red. “To be honest, though, I care about this a lot more. All it gives me is what amounts to peripheral vision across the whole field, but it’s sufficient to restore binocular vision, which is miracle enough.” She tipped her head toward Twilight. “Partly thanks to her. Some of the patents have her name on them.”
Everyone around the table suddenly focused on the scientist and engineer with admiration; she in turn blushed and looked down, then glanced beseechingly through her eyelashes at her sweetheart, who laughed and put an arm around her shoulder in a sideways hug, following up with a peck on the cheek. “You really do need to learn how to take a compliment, Twi.” The only verbal reply was an inaudible mutter, which everyone charitably ignored.
“Sunset, Applejack says the van is at the front gate,” a voice suddenly piped with the androgyny of childhood into the conversational pause. “She thinks they’ll be here shortly.”
“Thanks, Dawn,” Sunset replied easily. “Please give AJ directions to the S1 auditorium and let her know we’ll be there to help with set-up.” A brief guitar riff in response apparently concluded the conversation.
Most of the onlookers took the phantom presence in stride, but Cook’s brows rose and he commented dryly, “Somehow I can’t imagine the Campus already is haunted by the ghost of a child.”
“That’s my digital assistant,” Sunset informed him. “Another of Twi’s amazing inventions. Hers is named Dusk. They’re twins, sort of, though they’re developing different personalities.”
“Are they—?” Cook’s brows now were furrowed.
“We . . . aren’t sure.” Twilight bit her lip. “Machine learning and AI have come a long way, and the twins are state of the art, but whether they’re up to, say, Spike’s level or even ours, or just faking it, we can’t tell. They don’t seem to know either, or at least they aren’t saying.”
“What we are sure of is, they may be the most advanced in the world.” Sunset shrugged. “They’re hand-built, one—well, two of a kind, and they do still have their share of bugs, if that’s what you can call it. But they’re very helpful and they’re getting fairly good with social cues.”
Cook and Rose exchanged glances. Briefing papers likely not available to the younger women indicated there was a bushel of similar projects around the world, many of them dead secret, that might contest Sunset’s claim. On the other hand, Twilight definitely was a real prodigy, so it was even money.
“Anyway, we’ve gotta jet if we’re gonna help out with set-up like we promised,” Sunset added hurriedly. “Just one last thing: Raven sends her regards, and she’ll see you later, Cook—but office hours, y’know, one’r the other of us has to be around to hold the fort.”
“I understand, and I’m sure I’ll have a chance to meet up with Ms. Inkwell soon enough. Now scoot!”
The two Rainbooms said their farewells before trotting away to rendezvous with the rest of the band in the auditorium at the other end of the building. Those who remained behind saw them off before turning back.
Rose shook her head. “Those two really do need to tie the knot.”
“What’s stopping them?” Cook asked with a trace of concern.
Ember leaned her chin on an aquamarine hand. “Nothing, as far as I can tell. I think they just haven’t gotten around to it. They’ve settled down; all they’re missing is a marriage license to hang on the wall—or stash in a drawer, knowing them.”
“What she said,” Rose seconded. “And no, I haven’t dropped any grandmotherly hints, thank you very much. They’re grown women; they can handle their own affairs, and any nagging can come from Twilight’s family. Anyway, speaking of tying the knot—”
“Wide Angle is doing fine,” Cook assured her. “He’s already planning all sorts of expeditions to take pictures of the city, the mountains, the ocean, and just about everything else. He loves the place, and he’s sure he can make a fortune from photos of it.” A fond smile lit his face. “But then he’s loved everywhere we’ve gone. I’m tremendously lucky; an awful lot of spouses get tired of following the flag. He always sees it as a new opportunity.”
“And the kiddo?” Rose quirked another smile.
“Our little hellion—I mean precious angel—is doing fine too. Looking forward to exploring the city and meeting new friends at school.” A little sigh accompanied this. “That’s more of a cause for concern, at least in my mind. An unsettled childhood can make things tough for someone later in life. One reason I applied for this position was to provide some stability for a few years at a critical stage.”
“Not to mention a chance to see some old friends?” Rose asked gently.
“Yeah, that too.” Cook sat down again. “How about you? Heard anything from your favorite ex-clients recently?”
“Oh, come on,” the former youth social worker chided him. “It’s not like the Dazzlings are an obscure garage band, now is it?”
“Hellion certainly listens to them enough.” The observation was delivered in a rueful tone. “At least they’ve managed to conquer the music world—part of it, anyway.”
Both women burst out laughing. “Good point,” Rose conceded. “They’re doing fine, irascible as ever.”
“Ooh, big words.” Cook grinned at the finger-wagging he received before turning to Ember. “You haven’t said much.”
“One of Grandma Pin’s favorite pieces of advice is ‘two ears and one mouth means you should listen twice as much as you talk’,” Ember commented. “Works pretty well for an FSO.”
“I was sorry to miss her retirement ceremony,” Cook said with evident sincerity. “Pin Stripes shepherded my career right from the start, and I probably wouldn’t be where I am today without her guidance.”
“Following in her footsteps got to be pretty important to me.” It was Ember’s turn to flash an urchin-like grin. “My dad wasn’t as happy about it, but in the end he came around.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” Cook closed his eyes and put his fingertips to his head in a mock-psychic pose. “Lots of shouting. First disapproval, then when you stuck it out and commissioned, it was all his idea in the first place.”
“You’ve met him!” Ember looked startled.
“Well—not exactly. Rose and I met the other Ember and her father while I was chief of mission to Equestria, during the reception after Princess Twilight’s accession to the throne. That certainly was a memorable occasion, I can tell you.”
The ambassador sat back with a huff. “The first time I went through the portal . . .”
Rose took up the thread. “I went with her, of course. There’s a reason I’ve been the embassy’s senior military attaché all these years. I still think Princess Twilight knew, or at least suspected, what was going to happen.”
“A dragon,” Ember stated with emphasis. “A real live fire-breathing dragon. With wings. I nearly burned down the main hall by accident. I’ve met Spike—both Spikes. I thought I was going to be a pony.” What sounded like rambling made perfect sense to her audience, all of whom had their own experience of the portal and its idiosyncracies.
Cook and Rose both shrugged. “Nobody really understands the portal, or why the worlds look the way they do,” Cook pointed out. “Not even Starswirl, I think, and he built the blasted thing. As for Spike, well, Sci-Twi’s dog was the closest correspondence. It’s the only thing any of us could come up with.”
Ember’s brow crinkled. “Doesn’t it . . . bother you that we’re depending on a magical portal nobody, or nopony, understands? After all, at any given time there are hundreds of people from each world in the other.”
“A little, maybe,” the army officer and professional worrier confessed. “But it’s never shown any sign of problems, and it seems rock-steady. The best wizards in Equestria, and the equivalents in some of the other nations, all gave it a clean bill of health.”
“We don’t understand gravity all that well either,” Cook added. “But that doesn’t stop us from using it to our advantage.”
“If that’s so, why hasn’t Princess Twilight visited since she took the throne? For that matter, even here nobody of ministerial rank or higher is allowed to use the portal.”
“Because even if everyone is sure the risk is small, it still can’t be quantified.” Rose put her hands behind her back, standing at ease from a lifetime’s military habit. “There’s no pressing need for anyone at that level to travel through, so the principle of ‘better safe than sorry’ applies.”
“State visits?” Ember parried.
“Are appreciated but not vital,” Cook riposted. “I know Princess Twilight misses being able to visit, but more because she’d like to see her personal friends here, in their own home, than for any reasons of state. And I’ll be honest, some of our older and wiser heads seem to have at least a little trouble taking Equestria and its world seriously.”
“If they could just see—” For the first time a bit of heat entered the ambassador’s tone.
Cook held up a hand. “Preaching to the choir. You know their world is every bit as complex and rounded as ours, Rose knows it, I know it. But to anyone who hasn’t been there, it sounds like something out of a storybook, right?”
A sigh rushed out of the younger diplomat. “I can’t argue with that, but it rankles.”
“Are we suffering a bit of clientitis, Your Excellency?” Cook’s question was a bit delicate.
Ember bridled, then slumped. “I was going to say no, but I can’t swear to it. What I can say is, if the Foreign Service isn’t taking this seriously, maybe it means they don’t think my assignment is very important, which means they may not think I’m very important. I wouldn’t admit that to just anyone, but I trust you two.”
“Our lips are sealed,” Rose promised. “Look at it this way: if they think this is a ‘dunsel’ assignment, they might see it as a way to throw a promising officer into a weird, but low-stakes, environment for a bit of leavening before moving her on to bigger and tougher things.”
Cook shot her a curious look. “I distinctly remember you saying you didn’t know as much about naval affairs, back when we were stuck running around the countryside during the Storm King’s little party.”
“That was before I ended up senior officer over a Marine Security Guard detachment.” Rose gave him a gimlet eye. “And I wouldn’t have expected a diplomat to make that connection, either.”
The answering shrug was eloquent. “I’ve dealt with my share of navy and marine officers too.”
“And you watch a lot of old television.”
Cook got no farther than opening his mouth for a reply when Ember put in, “The files didn’t have a lot on the Storm King and what you three did while you were there, but I’ve wondered if that’s why you hold the Order of the Golden Sun, Rose.” She nodded toward the ribbon rack on Rose’s tunic, where an ivory-white bar with a tiny golden curly-rayed sun nestled among more familiar patterns, then turned back to Cook and indicated the moon-decorated medallion hanging from a midnight-blue ribbon over his shoulders. “And I recognize that, too—the Order of the Silver Moon.”
“Guilty as charged,” Cook admitted.
“It’s a long story,” Rose said at almost the same time. “Tell you what: now we’re all here, maybe some evening after hours we can spin you a good yarn. Mister Cook?”
“Sure.” The accompanying nod was amiable. “We’ll have to see if Sunset’s up for it too, of course. It’s as much her tale to tell as it is ours.”
After a few more minutes of small talk, the circulating continued. Rose wandered off; others wandered up. New conversations meandered along. At length a voice came over the PA announcing the imminent opening of seating for the Rainbooms’ mini-concert that would cap off the occasion. No stampede followed, of course—this was a community that prided itself on cool, considered deeds and actions. Instead a gradual social osmosis drew individuals from one end of the building to the other or out the doors to resume their day’s duties, starting with the youngest or least patient and ending with those who’d drawn out their discussions until the last minute.
Even so, the auditorium was nearly full when the house lights went down, the numbers made up by other staffers taking advantage of their lunch hour to catch the performance. The stage lights went up, picking out seven handsomely dressed women and their instruments, and on a four-count the hall was filled with upbeat pop music.
Somewhere’s a book
With chapters still blank
Inside—
Cook leaned back on his seat and smiled up at the band. This tour of duty held a world of promise.
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Huh, an interesting start. Still unclear as to whether the greater populace is aware of First Contact yet.
10097869
They are not. Eloptic Machine is still classified confidential, after all, and that means no general release of information about the portal.
Hrm. Mm-hmm. I see.
I look forward to the rest!
"army officer and professional worrier" Is a perfect title for any senior military officer who takes their job seriously.
Wonderful to see the Campus up and running after all the pre-planning. Looking forward to seeing what you do with the place.
10100965
I did struggle to define and refine the Campus itself, because it did need the attention, but I realized after running over the initial installment and the information post I should add a caveat that stories don’t have to take place there—the real basis of the setting is the time period and the course of characters’ lives.