Ordo ab Chao

by Integral Archer

Chapter VII: Ante Bellum

“During Times of Crisis and upon Vote from Congress, which shall be no less than two thirds of the Seats, the President is granted his Powers of War and holds supreme and unobstructed Power over the Military and its Laws.”

—Article XIV, Section IX of the Constitution of Meeting Tribes of Immediate Siblings

Underneath the Presidential Mansion, sixty feet down and fortified with cement, is the war room of the Union military. It is locked under a multitude of powerful magical algorithms, specially developed by the Department of Magic and Defense for this very purpose. Unless the president, along with the vice president, and at least one general are present, the spell keeps the door sealed at all times. The magical aura surrounds those who are outside of the door and will detect if any of the officials requesting entry are under duress—and if that’s the case, the door will refuse to open, and a warning will be sent to the current occupants of the room. From the war room, the president of the Union, on the advice of the generals of the Union Army and the Union Air Force, can issue precise commands across the country, through a hidden transmitter on the roof of the Mansion, and can order his military to pillage a civilization or to defend against a foreign invasion.

In front of this solemn room stood Princess Luna. Next to her stood General Wildflower Sherbert of the Union Army, who carried a blue poster-sized paper under one of her forelegs.

The green earth-pony, known as General Sherbert, had her gray mane done up in a bun. Not a crease could be seen in any place on her royal blue uniform, and the military decorations that could be seen weighing down its fabric were barely hanging on by their weak clips—but this weight was not reflected in her body, which she kept upright and alert. Her uniform was of the female cut, so its short torso exposed her cutie mark: It was a medal for an award; and, surprisingly, it was not a military award. It was the medal for the title of Colleague of the Union—an award only bestowed by the president of the Union and which any citizen could earn. She stared unwaveringly at the door, a somber expression on her face.

There, too, was General Jovial Hoop of the Union Air Force: He was a tall, muscular, and yellow pegasus pony with enormous wings, which were twitching nervously at this moment. His large veins running up the side of his thick neck pulsated every time he looked at his watch. He paced back and forth in front of the door, his teeth clenched tightly together and his gaze fixed on the ground. When the tails of his uniform flapped up in the air, caused by the twitching of his wings and the rapid movements he was making, one could see his cutie mark: a gray funnel cloud about to make contact with the earth.

Keeping his distance from the nervous general was the director of the Department of Magic and Defense, Brilliant Star: a slender, short, gray unicorn, who was nervously rubbing the rims of his glasses with a forehoof. His cyan bow tie hung lazily around his shirt’s collar—which was a plain white long-sleeved dress shirt and which conflicted oddly with his cutie mark: a strangely black symbol for an electrical resistor.

Enforcer was there, too: he had poorly affected placid look on his face and could not hide the fact that he was dreadfully anxious.

An hour ago, the first meeting of the military was scheduled to commence; and, on the eve of conflict, these five ponies stood impatiently in front of the war room for the president to arrive to allow them entrance. The secretary of state, the secretary of defense, and the war recorder had left ten minutes ago; after hearing no news of the president, they had excused themselves with the pretense of believing that the meeting had been postponed, but, in reality, were enraged with the president’s antics up until this point. No attempt had been made by the remaining five ponies to stop them; there was nothing they could blame them for.

“Is there honestly no other way into this room?” Princess Luna asked for the fifth time since they had gotten there.

“Again, Ms. Vice President,” said General Hoop through his teeth, “we cannot enter without the presence and the authorization of the president. Those paper-pushers over at the Department spent an entire year making the spell that seals this door. With their obsessive and strange antics, nopony is getting through.” He grunted in frustration while gesturing toward Director Star.

Director Star, obviously perturbed by this cheap insult, stood up straight, pushed up his glasses and looked straight up at the large pegasus pony, who was nearly three times his height. “Well, actually,” he said, “there’s is a secret backdoor that only I and the vice director know, but it’s only supposed to be used in emergencies.”

“What!” bellowed General Hoop, and he grabbed the director’s shoulders with his powerful wings and suspended him off the ground. “You could get in all this time and you never told us! Why not?”

“Because it’s only supposed to be used in emergencies—”

“This is an emergency! Don’t you realize what’s going on?”

Director Star looked nervously over at Princess Luna and General Sherbert as he was being held by General Hoop, his hooves swinging freely from the floor.

Princess Luna glanced at General Sherbert.

“Director,” General Sherbert said, in a much more reassuring and less intimidating tone than that of her colleague, “the general is right. It crucially important we get in, so we can stop the insurrection before it gets too large. If you don’t mind . . .”

“Of . . . of course—no problem.” The director glanced at General Hoop, who still grasping him firmly. “General,” he said, gesturing his horn toward the door, “if you would permit me?”

General Hoop grunted and set the skinny unicorn down.

Director Star adjusted his glasses and looked at the door for about a minute in silence, while the other ponies exchanged nervous glances. “I haven’t done this before,” he said. “So I can’t make any promises. I shouldn’t even be doing this; it’s such a breach of our security policies.”

He closed his eyes, and his horn began to glow. It slowly increased in intensity, eventually becoming so bright that the other ponies were forced to look away. Then, there was a radiant flash, and Princess Luna thought she was going to go blind from its intensity, despite the fact that her eyes were firmly closed.

Then, it began to die down, and the bystanders blinked furiously, trying to regain familiarity with their surroundings. The bright light still burned into their retinas.

“Sorry about that,” Director Star said, meekly. “I confused the algorithm at the beginning with something else, but it should be open—now.”

There was a heavy metallic clunk the second he said this last word, as the ponies heard pieces of the metal begin to fall away. The door creaked indecisively; but, finally, the heavy piece of metal began to move.

At that moment, every observer’s heart sank for what seemed to be an inexplicable reason, as if somehow they had failed at some task. Deep down, every single one of them had clung to the foalish hope that, maybe, if the war room could not be opened, then a conflict could not ensue. It was as if the clang of the metal door was the sound of Death itself awakening from its grave to greedily claim the lives of thousands of young ponies—and they were responsible for unleashing it.

When the doors finally opened, they filed through the door in an order that felt natural under the circumstances: Princess Luna went in first; the two generals walked abreast behind her; the director staggered behind them, still slightly dazed by the complex spell he had just performed. Enforcer dawdled well behind the rest, looking around himself in wonder.

They walked until they came into full view of the room—upon which, they stopped dead in their tracks, completely bewildered: There, sitting at the circular table, with his body directly facing them, was the president. He was reading a small blue book.

When they halted in confusion, he looked up at them and did his best to look surprised. “You’re an hour late!” he said, in a halfhearted tone. “We’re going to be having a lot of these meetings, and your tardiness is probably not the best way to start them. But you’re here, so I guess that’s what matters. Where’s the rest of you?”

The four ponies stood there with their mouths gaping.

“Is something wrong?” he continued. “Please don’t tell me that my best officials have been stricken with a serious mental illness at this crucial hour.”

Princess Luna was the first to speak. “Sir!” she gasped. “Where . . . where were you?”

The president looked at her as if she was making a joke. “I’ve been here for the past hour. Quite frankly, given the circumstances, I don’t think you’re in a position to be asking such questions,” he said, with a playful grin.

“Sir . . . if I may . . .” stammered Director Star. “How . . . how did you crack the door? We designed it to be impervious to invaders!”

“I say!” the president replied, with facetious incredulity, “I am the president of the Union. I hardly think I’m what you would call an ‘invader’; and, quite frankly, I’m deeply offended by your comment, my good sir.”

“But . . . but . . . but we spent a year engineering it! I supervised it myself! There were no holes or flaws in it! On my word!”

“Well, obviously,” the president said, while waving his paw dismissively at the incredulous unicorn, “you didn’t do a very good job. Come on, seriously? A textbook magical loop spell? That’s something I expected from magic kindergarteners. Took me no effort on my part to crack, and I’d assumed that if it was so easy for me to get in, the director of the Department, with the help of the best soldiers in the military, should have no problem at all. Remind me: what’s the Department’s budget?”

The president’s four subordinates stared at him, both in awe of his ability and fear of what he might do to them if he was provoked further.

“Enforcer,” said the president, “please take a note to remind me to order that the aptitude tests be updated and mandatorily run again on all the departments. Also, as of now, you’re the war recorder. Consider it a promotion of such—that is, a promotion that has many more responsibilities and no additional benefits or compensation. You’re welcome.” The president looked at Enforcer, while still retaining his condescending smile. At this, Enforcer removed a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket, slipped the feather into his mouth, and started scribbling furiously.

“Sir, I . . . I was not aware that you had any training or ability in magic,” said Princess Luna.

“Here’s a word for you: autodidacticism. In my free time, I’ve been teaching myself the mystical arts. You’d be amazed what you could learn if you just picked up a book once in a while,” replied the president. He turned up his nose and tried to mimic the patronizing sigh of a haughty intellectual. “That’s a concept that I think is completely unknown to the folks over at the Department, ” the president continued.

At this, Director Star blushed and stared at the ground, while he twirled a forehoof absentmindedly into the carpet.

“But enough out of me,” said the president. “Where’s everypony else? Don’t they realize we have a national crisis?”

“Sir,” said General Hoop, breathing heavily through his nostrils and scowling at the president, “the secretaries and the recorder left, as they took your absence as your indication that the meeting had been postponed.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” said the president, while scratching his short, white goatee. “This is a bad omen of things to come. Can the meeting still happen without them?”

“Sir,” said General Sherbert who, up until that moment, had been silent, “we are fortunate; for, in this meeting, we are to simply monitor a plan put into action after it’s been granted your approval. The army had spent the previous evening devising their initial battle strategy, and we simply needed this meeting to acquire your authorization and to transmit the order.”

“Oh, that is fortunate! Well, then, come! Quickly! Sit down. The insurrectionists won’t kill themselves.” He gestured toward the nine open seats that surrounded the table.

It took a while for the ponies to get past their shock of this last morbid comment. When they saw the president clearly getting impatient, his eyes beginning to glow with rage and decisiveness, the ponies feared standing in their places any longer more than they did sitting next to this strange creature, and they quickly took their places at the table. Directly on the president’s right, sat General Sherbert; to her right, sat General Hoop. On the president’s left, sat Princess Luna—and across the table, as if he were deliberately avoiding close proximity to the president, sat Director Star.

“General Sherbert,” the president said, while looking back at his book. “What’s this meeting about?”

“Sir, I remind you again,” she said, rolling her eyes, desperately trying to keep her composure, “we came here today to run the preliminary war measures—”

“General,” the president interrupted, “I must insist that you refrain from using such inaccurate terms.” He was still reading his book and did not even look up at her.

“Sir?”

“War measures? Who said anything about a war? A war implies two or more belligerents. There are no belligerents here. All I see is the insurrection and us. We are simply the police, and we have a duty to protect the lives of our citizens from criminal actions.”

General Sherbert furrowed her brow, squinted, and turned toward General Hoop. General Hoop returned the expression; and, as Sherbert turned back to the president, Hoop, under his breath, mumbled: “Bureaucrats.”

“Mr. President, we came here today to run the preliminary police measures and to gain your approval of the first battle plan.” The general looked at the president to see if he had indeed heard it. He was still engrossed in his book.

She continued: “Hostile presence has been seen in both Los Pegasus and Ponyville. We have concluded that since Ponyville is the closest city to Canterlot and because it sits right on our exposed southern flank, it’s paramount that threats there are neutralized and our military presence there is fortified at once. As such, the army has spent the last few days devising the battle strategy, that I think—”

“Here’s something interesting,” interjected the president, still not looking up as he read from the book. “‘Old philosophers have worshiped their Law of Causality, regarding it as fundamentally and self-evidently true, but our very nature relies on that being not the case.’”

General Sherbert shot a worrying glance over to Princess Luna who responded with a melancholy shrug of her shoulders.

“Sir, here I have the battle plans that I ask you to peruse before giving us permission to carry out,” said General Sherbert, as she unveiled the twenty-four by thirty-six inch poster and set it down on the table such that it was oriented facing the president.

Princess Luna’s heart sank when she saw what it was: it was an aerial view of Ponyville, with various symbols running down the side of the sheet which meant nothing to her; and on certain prominent buildings, there were large translucent circles with bright red centers, whose color faded into a dark maroon around the circumferences.

“Sir, here is a map of the battle area. There’s Ponyville City Hall and there’s the library,” said General Sherbert as she pointed to the respective buildings on the map. “These circles are—”

“‘For Causality is a simple model,’” the president mumbled, “‘used by the neanderthal ponies, who crawled the earth looking for scraps, with no understanding of their nature. Even the average citizen may find themselves using this archaic thought process and becoming addicted to it, as a crutch.’”

This time, General Sherbert just glanced at him hopelessly and continued as if she had never been interrupted. “These circles have been meticulously calculated by our intelligence officers. We believe that artillery bombardments on these locations should maximize damage to the infrastructure, render any location where artillery units may be placed useless—which I need not tell the president that such units would be in firing range of Canterlot—and minimize civilian casualties . . . ”

Princess Luna put her hoof to her mouth in an effort to hide her terror. Such cold, calculating destruction and death was abominable and unthinkable—but the creatures that came up with such a cruel algorithm were no doubt working toward the same goal that she was. How could any cause be labeled as good, when such evil was required to achieve it?

Nopony, save Enforcer, noticed the princess; Director Star and General Hoop were entranced by the authoritative and unwavering voice of General Sherbert. The president appeared not to care for either.

“Over here, on the northern flank, the Twentieth Canterlot, the Ninety-Eighth, and Ninety-Ninth Manehattan Volunteer Infantry Regiments stand by for orders. On the south south-western flank, the Twenty-Third and Thirty-Eighth Manehattan, the Third Baltimare, and the Second Canterlot Volunteer Infantry Regiments also stand by for orders. After the bombardment, which will last twenty minutes, they will clear the buildings here, here, and here,” said General Sherbert, as she pointed to places on the map. “We expect the bombardment to have cleared out most of the opposition, but we also expect—”

“‘But in fact, Causality can be shown to be erroneously deducted, as its entire foundation forms a post hoc ergo propter hoc; moreover, with the natural art of magic, this becomes self-evident.’” the president interrupted, yet again.

At this, General Hoop slammed his hoof down on the table, sending an ominous sound echoing through the room and causing the director to reflexively recoil. Princess Luna’s heart skipped a beat.

The president looked up at him with a coy smile.

“Mr. President! I must protest!” snapped General Hoop. He stared at the president as if expecting a response, but he received none. “General Sherbert is a brave soldier and a noble officer. I served with her in the Changeling War and she has never let any of us down. Her strategies have proved to be the most effective in the history of warfare in this country. In short, she is the only pony in Equestria with the tact and the experience to fight the enemy; and if you want to preserve the Union, Mr. President, then you will give her your full and undivided attention!”

Enforcer sat in his seat, staring at the ebullient general, and opened his mouth; and the assistant’s quill, which had not left the notepad this entire time, fell to the floor as a result.

Princess Luna glanced at the president with a look expressing nothing but incredulity. Director Star shifted nervously in his chair, rubbed his glasses, and slouched down as if trying to avoid being seen.

As for the president, he stared at General Hoop for a good twenty seconds. Even as the general’s broad shoulders rose and fell rapidly in tune with his shallow breaths, that same tranquil smile never left the president’s face.

“I appreciate your input,” the president finally said, in the sweetest, non-intimidating voice he could make. “You may sit down now.”

“But, sir!”

“I’ve heard what you’ve said, and it’s been noted. You may sit down now, General.”

General Hoop glanced at Princess Luna, as if he was looking at her for sympathy and approval. When he received none, he gave a loud exhale of exasperation and slowly sat back down, while a somber, sorrowful cloud passed in front of his brow. He averted his eyes from the president, terrified of what he might see; but his curiosity got the better of him, and he stole a glance at him. At the sight of the president’s blood-red pupils, staring directly at him, he quickly looked away, his heart pumping with fear.

The president turned to General Sherbert. “All we need is your approval, Mr. President,” the latter said, “and the bombardments can commence within minutes.”

“I see . . . I see,” said the president, stroking his goatee with the fingers of his paw. The talons of his claw drummed loudly on the table, while he looked thoughtfully at the poster.

“Does the president care for me to repeat the plans?”

“No, no, I think I understand them.”

General Sherbert looked uneasily behind her at General Hoop, who responded with a look of marked destitution and despair.

She looked back at the president, who was now using his talons to scratch the large tooth that stuck out of his mouth. “All the president has to do is to give his consent,” said General Sherbert, looking eagerly at the president.

At this, the president looked back at General Sherbert and smiled; oddly enough, the smile was a smile that the president never gave—it was full of earnestness and trust.

“General,” he said, “you’re a brilliant officer, a military genius, and the Union Army is proud and fortunate to have you in its ranks.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, while nodding and smiling modestly.

“However,” continued the president, looking up apprehensively at the ceiling, “your plan—despite it being extremely expeditious, pragmatic, and conventional—doesn’t really . . . I guess what I’m saying is that your plan doesn’t incorporate all the knowledge and intelligence we have on the enemy.”

“Sir, what do you mean?”

“General, we aren’t fighting foreign invaders; we’re fighting our own citizens. Therefore, we know their desires, their fears, their routines, their hobbies. And your plan . . . well, it doesn’t incorporate our knowledge of these things, when they would, no doubt, come to our advantage.”

“Sir, I don’t understand . . .”

The president leaned uncomfortably closed to her and looked straight into her eyes. General Sherbert cleared her throat, out of anxiety.

“General,” he said softly, “what do you fear the most?”

“Sir, I—”

“Come on, think about it. You know the answer; you’re just afraid to say it.”

She stared at him blankly, and a bead of sweat ran down her temple.

“General, what if one day you got out of bed, only to find that up was down? You then try to look out your window, except your window had turned into a tree, and the sun’s rays gave your face frostbite. You’re not even sure you’re in your own house anymore, since everything is not what you remembered it to be. In fact, you’re not even sure if you’re in reality or in a terrible nightmare.”

“I must admit, sir, that would be quite odd.”

“Quite odd!” the president roared, leaning back in his chair, and General Sherbert gave a sigh of relief. “You’re a tough soldier, aren’t you? Well, I think most ponies would find that terrifying to the point where they would just want to hide away forever—don’t you agree?”

The ponies exchanged nervous glances with one another, and the president gave an unsettling smile.

“Mares and gentlecolts,” said the president, addressing the entire group, “what I propose against Ponyville is so simple, yet, more effective than any bomb or rocket: make the world one they’ve never seen. Make every action they undertake have no relation to what they expected or what has always happened. Make houses rise with no lift, right out of their foundations. Make animals dance gleefully in the street while common ponyfolk chew at the grass and filth in their animals’ stead. Make every action, every thought, and every concept to have no context or relation to one another. Make the world one of complete unpredictability.

“In other words,” continued the president, leaning forward on the table and setting his eyes in such a position that it seemed to everypony at the table that he was looking directly at them, “Chaos.”

There was a silence, caused by half of the ponies listening being in a state of utter confusion, the other half in such an awe that something so diabolical, so unthinkable, could come out of the president’s mouth.

Director Star broke the silence. “Sir, although that plan is quite . . . interesting . . . and although I do not doubt its effectiveness if it were implemented, it’s just that what you’re saying . . . I don’t know if what you’re saying is possible or, if it is, if the Department has the power to do it.”

“Of course it is!” bellowed the president; and, at that, he slid the blue book that had such monopolized his attention across the table. It hit the director right in the chest, which caused the slender unicorn to flinch with pain. The president threw his forward extremities in the air, expressing disbelief. “I was trying to tell everypony this, but nopony listened to me. Honestly, my dear director, you really need to read a book sometime.”

Director Star adjusted his glasses, picked up the book, and squinted at its cover. “‘Philosophy and Magic, by Starswirl the Bearded,’” he read. At this, he smirked condescendingly and said: “Mr. President, I studied this book during my undergraduate years at the University of Canterlot. It’s a great stepping stool for novice wizards, but it’s hardly anything as advanced as what you suggest . . . ”

“Were you not listening to me earlier?” the president said in a harsh tone, which immediately ended the snickers coming from Director Star. “Obviously, your professors are know-nothing hacks and, clearly, you didn’t read the book properly. If you did, you’d know that the Law of Causality is a myth. Magic, by its definition, abrogates all of reality, so what I’m suggesting is not that unheard of.”

“Sir, I believe what Starswirl the Bearded meant is that the wizards of his time weren’t utilizing magic to its full potential.”

“Exactly. Do you want to know where you, your professors, and the Department failed? You failed to think. You were too busy ogling over how impressive they sounded, how impressive you sounded when you talked about them, while you condescendingly dismissed them and relegated them to undergraduate students. While you were squabbling among each other, you did not see the actual meaning and implication in this text. You missed the potential for magic, all right; you missed its potential for abridging reality. You missed its potential for circumventing every single law of logic. You missed its potential for unadulterated chaos.” The president stared at Director Star, looking at him as if he expected an applause or a compliment; he received neither.

Slightly disgruntled, the president continued: “Now, it is my decree that the Department of Magic and Defense implements, to the letter, what I have just said here. The Union Army will stay well outside of Ponyville and watch as its residents descend into abject madness until they die, in a world that nothing alive is fit to live in, or surrender.”

“But . . . but it can’t be done! It can’t be!” whined Director Star.

The president glared at him, and Director Star froze with fear and stared directly into the president’s eyes. “Now,” the president said, “are you going to disobey a presidential order? Because if so, tell me now, so I can do it myself. And don’t doubt me for a second that I won’t or that I’m unable—I will do it myself if you and the Department are too incompetent.”

Director Star shook in his chair and let out a little whimper.

“Well?” said the president.

“Yes . . . of course, sir! Absolutely . . . sir!”

“Then it’s settled!” said the president, leaping out of his chair in jubilation. “I hereby dismiss the members of this meeting!” And, giving the traditional military salute, he added, in an enthusiastic and patriotic voice: “The Union forever!”

The ponies attending the meeting stood up and gave the same salute, but with less vigor and conviction. “The Union forever,” they murmured.

As quickly as they could, the ponies gathered their things and started toward the door.

“Except you, General Hoop—I need to speak to you privately,” said the president.

General Hoop turned around and stared at the president, and the other ponies could see that his knees were shaking. They tried to look at him in sympathy, but they could not for long, terrified as they were at the prospect of what may happen to him—and, at the same time, not wanting him to see that they were incredibly relieved that it had not been themselves.

After exchanging a few wistful glances with General Hoop—General Sherbert even touched him on the shoulder with her hoof as she walked by, as if to say “Good luck”—they hurried toward the metal doors, which Director Star wasted no time in opening and who was the first one to leave the room. The director, upon seeing that the survivors had safely exited the room, slammed the door shut, leaving General Hoop encased in his metal execution chamber.

General Hoop turned back to look at the president. Upon seeing the president’s face and eyes, he cried out in fear.

Comments

[Oddend]

Discord done gone and snapped...his plan into what it was all along...

[NormalBipedalHuman]

Before this chapter I had completly forgoten they could do magic.
Did Discord always wanted to reach this point, or it was just after he became president?