May 23, 7:51 PM

Make Plans to Train the Pegasai 60%

Roberts was not, as it happened, “just overreacting.”

At least not in the sense that he might be expressing a few minutes of discomfort that quickly settled to something calmer when he had a chance to think.

She found someone waiting for her at her quarters when she got back: a griffin wearing a suit jacket and a red tie. Way took one glance down the hall, then pushed Hazel away from the entrance, back into the stairwell. “Hide, now.”

She looked pleading, but only for a second. Her wings buzzed, and she vanished back down the steps.

Way turned away from the entrance, slipping back into a simple rhythm, pretending she didn’t see the bird waiting there. As though it could’ve been anyone‘s room with a member of internal affairs waiting in person for her. Could be worse, don’t see anyone here to arrest me.

“Sir?” she slowed as she approached, settling her damp towel and toiletries down next to her leg. What a strange world, where she could feel comfortable while walking naked back from the showers. One clip in her mane was all she wore; they didn’t make support staff like her shave it short like the beat cops. “Is something wrong?”

“Wayfinder. You’re to come with me. You can set those things down in your quarters first if you like.” His voice shared the subtle differences of every bird she’d seen so far—higher than his enormous size might suggest. His claws clicked sharply on the tile with every step.

He said nothing else—not as they passed down the hall through the quarters of her staring coworkers. They passed Lance and Peter near the stairs. Peter waved weakly in her direction, but said nothing.

“Not the stairs.” Her escort stopped near the out-of-order elevator, and tapped a plastic card from his suit. Where he moved, she saw a heavy handgun strapped up against his waist. It vanished under the jacket another second later, right as the door opened. She followed nervously, tail swishing sharply back and forth behind her in the corner, smacking into the wall with each pass.

The bird had to rise all the way up onto his hind legs to scan the card inside, flaring out both wings to hold himself there and forcing her further into the corner. God help someone who pissed off a creature like that.

He landed another second later, as the door began to close. “You’re afraid. I smell it now.”

She nodded weakly. Her horn glowed, though she brought no spell. No magic could protect her from internal affairs. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair, what the disease does to us.”

“Not fair!” he laughed, with a whistle that turned as shrill as birdsong. “I should thank whoever did this! Makes my job so much easier. You with no hands out to feel pity for each other. Or the Senator—people like you. I feel amazing.”

Her fear cracked into a tiny smile. “Must be something about birds. My friend said something like that. He—enjoyed this more than I did.”

“Sounds like a man with taste,” he said. But then the door opened, and her new friend went rigid and silent again. He gestured into a dark hallway with his wing. “I’ll be waiting here, Officer. Door at the end of the hall. Command is inside. You aren’t concealing any weapons, are you?”

She blinked, bewildered. “Not unless you count the horn.” She reached up towards it, touching the side with the flat of her hoof. “I guess it’s a little sharp.”

He flicked his wing again, a little more insistent. “Cute. Now don’t keep the senator waiting.”

That’s who command is? She scampered out of the elevator, lighting her horn in a faint blue glow. There wasn’t much to see; a desk, a few computers, and one of those automated turrets she’d seen outside the city. A single lens reflected back at her, servos pivoting to track her motions.

Yet there was no operator that time, not even a pony. She hurried past it, slow and calm. A door waited at the end of a short hallway, metal and reinforced. She lingered in front of it, feeling moisture and heat against her skin from the other side. Not an unpleasant smell though, more like—mildew?

The door clicked, then swung inward, spilling brilliant blue light into the hall. “Come inside,” sang a voice, distorted by artificial microphone. Definitely sang, despite only a few words. “I’ve been watching you.”

She stepped inside, and found—an aquarium? Bigger than anything she’d seen outside of a zoo, with a thick acrylic plate to separate her from the water on the other side.

She shuffled into a relatively luxurious space, her hooves dragging over fine carpets and between pieces of polished wooden furniture. A low fridge filled with tiny bottles of alcohol sat next to the table, along with a single computer and an advanced camera/speaker system.

The aquarium hardly resembled anything she’d seen at a zoo: the interior continued perhaps twenty feet back, with a single bend in the metal space beyond. A few matching pieces of furniture looked attached to the floor on that side. They all looked the worse for wear, wood warped and fabric sagging, with patches of algae growing on it. She couldn’t see the speaker.

“Hello?” She made it inside, tail tucking nervously behind her. The metal door swung closed, then clicked. “I don’t see anyone—”

“Yet you must’ve guessed,” the song continued. High and melodic, with such a distinct tune that she had trouble not joining in. “You know so much about so many.”

Wayfinder scanned the room for anything else that might be useful. She found it next to the computer, scattered along with dozens of stuffed vanilla envelopes. She lifted one, and turned it over in her magic. “Office of Senator Ronald Gardner.”

That griffin said something about a senator. If her voice was any guide, this ‘Ronald’ had at least one more thing in common with her.

She settled it down, just as the shape came into view around the metal corner, and zipped over to the front of the glass with a few quick strokes of her fins.

Thanks to the book and its vibrant sketches, she already knew what to call it. Not a seahorse, though the creature had plenty of resemblance to one. Rounded muzzle and ears like hers, huge eyes and stubby little horn. Yet it had only two legs: a long tail ending in a frilly silver fin took their place. She had more fins: one transparent where a mane should’ve been, another down her back. Despite her office, she’d given up on modesty as much as everyone else here, wearing only an underwater mic clipped to her face.

“I guess you’re… command? The one in charge of our Isolation Zone?” she said, holding out one foreleg to shake. It smacked into the glass.

The seapony looked at it, and giggled. How old was she, anyway? If she was a senator, she should be older than dirt. She didn’t act like it, swimming in a loop in the aquarium. “Is that what you call me up there?” Her voice remained high and melodic, like she was at a choir audition that never ended. “Technically true, I suppose. Likely not for much longer. Our nation crumbles. The collapse spread here already. Those loyal flee their appointments.”

The seapony stopped directly in front of her, albeit hanging upside-down in the water. “Were you born on this planet, Wayfinder? Or do you have a name like that because you’re from the other one?”

She stared back without flinching. “This side. Was born about an hour from here, in a little town you’d never have heard of. I’d give you my parents’ number and they could vouch for me, except—they won’t recognize their son anymore. I’ve got my old wallet in my quarters upstairs, but I don’t think that matters. I could’ve stolen it.” Way tilted her head sideways. “Wait. You know about that?”

“As do you, yet you insist you’re from this world. Perhaps I could bribe you to be more honest with me? You know we still have a Taco Bell upstairs. I could order something for you.”

Her reaction was sharp and immediate: Wayfinder covered her mouth with a hoof, miming a gag. “There’s a long list of things I haven’t thought about since the world ended, Senator.”

She plopped onto her haunches directly in front of the tank, face turning sour. “But if you were trying to bribe me for some kind of information, you’d have better luck offering the carpet.”

The seapony laughed, twirling in front of her in the water. She was surprisingly graceful for a fish trapped in a small tank. At a glance, she looked about the same size as any other mare, so slightly smaller than Way. “But you already did. And no, we don’t have a Taco Bell.” She rested one hoof briefly on the tank between them, meeting her eyes. “Complain about food all you want, you’re not eating it soaking wet. Your life could be much worse than it is now. And whether you intended to or not, now we both know you were telling the truth.

“I’ve lost an important member of my staff today, Wayfinder. You changed so much so quickly, demonstrated such clear knowledge of topics that you should not. You know about the elsewhere from whence this infection came. I have seen your lessons, and the marked uptick in performance among those who take them. Where did this knowledge come from?”

She looked away, retreating a short distance from the tank. “I could tell you. But if you took it away, it would only put Denver at a greater disadvantage. I need every possible tool right now.”

“Roberts told me he spoke to you. That you were—” She swam away, circling wide in the tank. “Warned you of the impending collapse. He should not have done this. Sharing such secrets does nothing to protect and much to endanger. It could cause the outcome he fears, even if we were in no danger at all. Have you spread that information to anyone?”

“My sister was there,” she said. “And my friends assisting with the farm lessons. I don’t think they would share what they heard.”

Gardner hummed a few tentative notes. “If things were different, I would arrest you, Wayfinder. I would have your room searched, I would have you interrogated. I would perhaps have sent you down to the base, for our best people to analyze and examine. But the days for all of that are over. Frankly, I’m not sure I even give a damn if Washington could use you or not. I read Roberts’ reports. And I’ve seen how few shipments are still coming in. Add those facts together and we have only one possible conclusion.”

She zipped forward to the edge of the glass, so fast that Wayfinder jumped back. Water sloshed in the bleak aquarium, but that was all. “We need a miracle, Wayfinder. Can you give it to me or not?”

Wayfinder took a long, deep breath. “I’m completely unqualified. I’ve never had any meaningful leadership position. I’ve never held elected office. Spent most of my years in the job market in food service.”

The fish shrugged, pressing up against the glass. “You wouldn’t be doing it alone. I would grant you the same access Roberts had. The Isolation Zone Governing Committee would all be part of your staff. But if anyone hated what you were doing, I would hear about it. I’m sure I will regardless. Don’t mention you worked at Taco Bell, please.”

She smiled as she sang it—and somehow, Wayfinder found herself smiling too. The weight of it was completely unbelievable. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what she would do yet. “Suppose I accept. What would happen then?”

“Roberts was the closest thing to a mayor we had. Though with the number of infected we’ve got in our borders, governor was more accurate. Real power behind the throne situation, since it wasn’t a position anyone out there in the city knew. I’m… not necessarily interested in perpetuating any specific way of doing things. Frankly, this is what we’re looking at here: we have maybe a month of food left in the city, and probably won’t get more. Everything that can be running out is. The only thing holding this camp together is the good nature of the American people. Those people, up through the ceiling—think that by being here, they’re keeping their families and friends safe. They’re calm because they think it’s the only choice.

“The reality is otherwise. Their families and friends are probably infected too. We have perhaps a tenth of the troops it would take to keep order if they realized that.”

“And you’ve locked away plenty of people who don’t deserve it for petty crimes,” she said, frustrated. “Would I be able to change that too?”

The seapony shrugged. “Of course you could, Wayfinder. Yet it will cost you political capital with the same people whom you must use to enforce your authority. How much are you willing to spend? That’s why we’re having this conversation. I am not the one making these decisions. Look at what the infection did to me? I look like I could be my granddaughter. Authority was delegated to me, yet I am helpless. When the power on my filters and air pumps fail, I will die. I must rely on others to save the lives of the millions over our head. Tell me what you will do first, and I’ll make the phone calls. But if you fail—it will be your head rolling in the square. Why do you think Roberts wanted to leave?”

No one wants to captain a sinking ship.

“I get my own advisors,” she began. “No questions about who I bring on. My staff, my decision.”

“Of course. But what will you do?”

That was the harder question. She already planned to recruit for pegasi classes. But if she could make decisions for the entire police force—and the whole isolation zone by extension, there was something even more important. She had one top priority, and it would be:

1. Organize a meeting of leaders in every relevant area, as well as prominent community members to create something more democratic than marshal law. Nothing meaningful can happen unless your authority is ratified by the population of the Isolation Zone, regardless of what this senator says.

2. Government structure is less important than results. They can call you princess for all you care, so long as things get done. You’ll take their advice, but not have arguments over authority. It’s time for the people of the Isolation Zone to be able to do more that sit around and wait for rescue. Instead of lessons for police alone, things are going citywide.