“It’s a test.” Twilight said. “Princess Celestia is always testing me. I just have to figure out what I’m supposed to do.”

“Are you bringing only books, Twilight?” Spike asked.

“Is this really about seeing if I can manage the NGDP Targeting Festival?” Twilight began to pace. “But Princess Celestia already knows how good I am at managing things. Maybe the real test is to improve the level of economic literacy in Ponyville. Those rubes probably don’t even know what NGDP is.”

“Are you bringing a toothbrush? How about a comb for your mane?”

“She can’t really have meant it when she said I should make friends.” Twilight stopped. “No, it can’t be. I’m probably supposed to derive and gather data for the economic theory of friendship. Yes, that must be it."

“I’ll pack a second toothbrush.”

There was one train—not One Train, merely one train—running through all the towns and cities of Equestria. It was built and maintained by Princess Celestia’s own funds, which were themselves donations from every adult equine. Princess Celestia collected no taxes. It just so happened that the ponies of Equestria were wise and thoughtful enough to see that Canterlot needed a certain amount of funds to provide for the defense and support of Equestria. Any pony was free not to pay.

Nevertheless, Princess Celestia worried that the ponies who chose not to donate were unaware of the good things she could do for Equestria, and so she invariably paid them a visit in order to advertise the quality of her product.

Ponies are very proud of their immaculately well-tended gardens, so Princess Celestia would strengthen and focus the sun’s rays on the grass and flowers, making the plants grow taller than the houses. Then she would summon clouds as fluffy as bunnies and heavy as flying boulders. With a burst of light from her horn a monsoon the exact size and shape of the garden would crash down. When it was over, the garden bloomed like Eden on the morning of creation. Finally, Princess Celestia called actual flying boulders bigger than herself from nearby, which sometimes meant from miles away. She used them to add her own touch of feng shui to the garden.

Ponies are kinder to free riders than primates are, but they tolerate them far less.

What Princess Celestia would do after that no one knew, for the pony in question would by that point always open the door in a trembling sort of way and politely ask the Princess what the reason was for her visit. When Princess Celestia explained that she simply wanted to advertise the spells she used to defend Equestria with her limited voluntarily donated funds, the pony would always smack their forehead and exclaim that they had forgotten to send their own donation this year.

In a short time their oversight was happily corrected. Princess Celestia left with the money she needed to defend the land of Equestria, and the pony left with their bladder control intact.

Such mutually beneficial exchanges provided Princess Celestia all the money she needed to build public works like the train tracks, which wrapped three times around the mountains that marked the east- and west-most points of Equestria. Why they needed to wrap around the mountains three times no pony remembered. That was simply how they had been built.

Twilight Sparkle and Spike relaxed in the first-class cabin near the front of the train. Twilight nibbled on sugar cubes while she made notes in her heavily marked copy of The Economic Approach to Pony Behavior. Spike flipped through a book about tourist attractions in Ponyville. They spoke little. They were friends, and the difference between true friends and people you hang around with to ward off a creeping sense of nihilism is that you can enjoy the company of the former in complete, utter silence.

“Oh boy! Oh boy oh boy oh boy!”

The pink puff of pony hopped—literally hopped—around the entire room, waving her hoofs in the air like she did not care that Twilight was there.

“Okaaaay.” Twilight’s magical glow surrounded a pen poised on top of a checklist clipped to a clipboard. Twilight liked lists, and she liked to check things off of them. “You are Pinkie Pie, the pony supplying the festivities?”

“You mean the party?”

The creature from the pink lagoon skidded to a halt and lifted her chin proudly. “Yup! I’ve got all the games and music and balloons and streamers and pins and tails for pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey which always seemed like such a cruel game to me but it’s really popular so who am I to judge HUUUUHHH and popcorn and candy and more games and even bigger balloons and—“

“Okay!” Twilight scratched a check onto the list. “I believe you. Now I’ll need to inspect everything.”

“How come?” Somehow even a question sounded like an exclamation coming from Pinkie Pie.

“You do know who I am, don’t you? You were jumping around shouting ‘oh boy!’”

“Oh that’s just because I had never seen you before and if I had never seen you before that means we weren’t friends yet and if we aren’t friends yet then that means we get to become friends and I love becoming friends with people it’s so much fun HUUUUHHH my favorite part is when we share secrets and have sleepovers and bake silly things together and now that I think about it that’s more than one part but maybe we could combine them like a secret bakeover—“

“I am in charge of overseeing the NGDP Targeting Festival here in Ponyville,” Twilight said firmly. She used the same voice she normally reserved for when Spike was being as much of a baby as his current stage of maturation implied. “That means I need to inspect everything and ensure the festival goes well. My name is—“

“No!”

Pinkie Pie stuck out a hoof. She looked alarmed. Twilight raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t tell me your name! I want to guess!”

Twilight winced. She had never encountered such a concentrated barrage of exclamation marks. It was wearing down her mental defenses.

“Okay. Fine, guess.”

“Oooh, let me think.”  

Pinkie Pie set her chin on her hoof and stared off, frowning. Seconds ticked by. Just as Twilight was about to interrupt, Pinkie Pie shot up.

“Sunshine Sweetie!”

“No.”

“Lollipop Lucky!”

“No.”

“Radish Racer!”

“What? No. Do they all have to be alliterative? I’ll give you a hint.” Twilight motioned to her mane. “See the dark colors? My name starts with ‘Twi.’”

“Oooh….” Pinkie Pie concentrated. “Tweezers!”

“That isn’t logical,” Twilight said, “but I’m guessing you don’t care—"

“Twixie!”

“MY NAME IS TWILIGHT SPARKLE!” Twilight shouted.

She coughed. “Sorry, excuse me. Where were we? You were going to show me your preparations?”

Pinkie Pie narrowed her eyes. “I am going to throw you a party.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Nope! Come on, I’ll show you all the fun things I’ve got!”

An hour later Twilight emerged from Pinkie Pie’s seemingly endless storage of party games, party toys, party accessories, party soundtracks, party, party, party, it made Twilight want to scream. She could feel the exclamation marks digging into her skull.

Twilight made a big, jagged check and flipped the page. “I do not know how that pony got put in charge of anything.”

“Ponyville’s largest corporation, Sugarcube Corner, is run by a pony named Pinkie Pie,” Spike said. “There’s supposedly one on every corner. I wonder if it’s the same pony?”

Twilight looked down the street. A large glass cube, transparent, sleek and shiny sat on the corner like a potted plant in the sun. “Sugarcube Corner!” ran across the front in bright colors. People milled about inside, inspecting large, vibrant cakes, all watched by the very same Pinkie Pie’s large smiling head that adorned the side like the encouraging eyes of Big Sister. “Let’s have dessert at the Sugarcube Corner!” the glittery speech bubble by her face read.

Twilight looked up the street. At the other corner was an identical glass cube except for the speech bubble, which read, “Let’s start the day the Sugarcube way!”

“I’m scared, Twilight,” Spike whispered.

“Let’s just keep moving,” Twilight said. “Next we need to check on the food.”

Applejack was an orange pony with a blonde mane, a cowgirl hat, and a hoofshake that nearly ripped Twilight’s leg off.  

“How can I help you, Miss Twilight Sparkle?” There was a twang to her voice like her throat contained a miniature banjo and was practicing for the county fair.

Twilight set her hoof on the ground in such as way as she didn’t have to actually put any weight on it. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you. We just need to check on the catering.”

“Right this way, Miss Twilight.”

Applejack turned and motioned for them to follow. “We here at the Apple family farm are pleased as apples to be providing all the food for this year’s NGDP Targeting Festival.”

“That’s great,” Twilight said. “Do you mind showing me a little bit about your operation? I’m very interested in agricultural economics.”

Applejack led them to the crest of a hill. “That’s just what I was fixing to do. Take a gander at Sweet Apple Acres.”

Twilight did. She had read that the Apple family owned the biggest share of land in all of Ponyville, but the number of square acres had meant so much less as a figure in a report than did the sight of the golden farmland stretching on across the grassy hills for as far as she could see.

The trees were thick with bright red apples. Even from a distance they looked juicy and plump. Twilight could almost feel her teeth sinking into one. She could hear the bright crunch, taste the sweet juice on her tongue. The apples were delicious, absolutely delicious, and she wanted nothing more than to spent her life down in those fields doing whatever it took to get another bite of that sweet fruit—

“Twilight?” Spike tugged on her tail. “You’re drooling.”

“Huh?” Twilight clamped her mouth shut. There was a puddle on the ground underneath her chin that hadn’t been there before.

“That’s a normal reaction for a first-timer,” Applejack said. “We make durn good apples here. Come inside and try some.”

The Apple family table was long enough to seat about fifty ponies. The kitchen itself looked large enough for a dozen ponies to sleep comfortably. Pictures of who Twilight could only assume were members of the extensive Apple family clustered on every available space, giving the room the feel of belonging to a grandmother or perhaps a serial killer. Everything smelled of apples, even the wood.

“Of course it does,” Applejack said. “It’s cut from our very own apple trees. Apple Bloom! We got guests!”

An impossibly cute yellow filly with big eyes and an even bigger pink bow in her hair trotted into the room. “The Apple Sampler?”

Applejack nodded. “The Apple Sampler.”

The Apple Sampler turned out to be a fifty-course “bite-sized” meal featuring “the sort of regular food we Apples eat, not like the fancy stuff you city folks are used to, but it sticks to your sides and slides out real easy too.” It included applesauce, apple pies, apple fritters, apple butter, poached apples, dried apples, apple cake, apple chutney, apple pancakes, apple granitas…the plates ran on. “Bite-sized” apparently meant “portions the size of your head.” Twilight and Spike were groaning and patting their bulging bellies after the second course.

“We take big bites,” Applejack said. “Granny-slapping good, ain’t it? Don't tell her I said that.”

“And it’s all apples?” Twilight asked. “You don’t eat any grass or hay or oats?”

“Just apples,” Applejack said. “Makes us big and strong.”

“Well, what little we were able to eat was delicious,” Twilight said. Spike nodded. “I can see there will be no problems with the quantity or quality of food for the festival.”

“I’m pleased you liked it,” Applejack said. “They’re secret recipes. You can read about all of them in a cookbook we sell.”

“A cookbook?” Twilight exclaimed. “But that’s no secret at all! You should patent these amazing recipes so no one can steal them.”

Applejack stopped piling apple fricassee onto a plate. The spoon banged on the counter. She fixed Twilight in her gaze.

“You reckon we ought to patent our recipes? Listen here, Miss City Slicker, I don’t know what kind of food you’re used to eating but there ain’t nobody, and I mean ain’t nobody who can make apple anything as good as we at Sweet Apple Acres.”

“I only meant that—"

“Any fool can read out of a cookbook,” Applejack said. “And I suppose you reckon that’s all there is to cooking? Get your nose out of the air before you drown in a rainstorm. Reading’s cheap. The experience, the real know-how can only be learned in one place, and that’s right here. We don’t need no patents. There ain’t no pony who can imitate us who ain’t us already.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. Even Apple Bloom was glaring at her. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It was only a suggestion.”

Applejack sniffed. “And suppose I allowed as since your economic hypothewhatevers are so neat, perhaps you ought to patent them?”

“Well,” Twilight said, “of course we don’t patent economic theories. Economics is a collaborative and global search for understanding—"

“Don’t try to feed me none of them hush puppies,” Applejack said. “If you saw an advantage to doing so, you’d do so lickety-split. Granny Smith always says as to look after a customer’s advantage to comprehend his angle. That’s a city word that means ‘figger out.’”

Twilight tried to smile. “We economists always try to explain people’s behavior in terms of self-interest.”

“Then what was you piddling about with all that collaborative jibber-jabber?”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. “I’m new here and I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sure that the Apple family can’t be matched by anyone when it comes to apples and apple-related foodstuffs.”

“I ain’t riled up,” Applejack said. “And it’s nice to have an economist here for the festival. Frankly I never understood any of that nominal gross derogatory influx hoodilly.”

“I’d be delighted to explain at the festival,” Twilight said. She hastily and somewhat bitterly adjusted her prior regarding the domain-specific intelligence of the Ponyville inhabitants.

A thought occurred to her. “Are you friends with Pinkie Pie?”

“Pinkie Pie? Of course I’m friends with her. She’s friends with most every pony in Ponyville and quite a few as ain’t. Usually doesn’t go so well for ponies who resist. She throws ‘em parties.” She noticed Twilight’s expression and laughed. “Don’t worry! She ain’t never hurt no pony.” Applejack frowned. “At least not that I ever heard.”

Twilight pushed herself away from the table. “Thanks for the meal. It was delicious. We’ll be going now. Spike and I have a lot of work left.”

“That you do, Miss Twilight Sparkle,” Applejack said. “That you do.”

A Unicorn by the name of Rarity was in charge of decorations. Twilight and Spike plodded on full stomachs toward her salon and dress store, the Carousel Boutique.

A bell rang when they walked in. A stunningly white pony with an immaculately coiffed purple mane greeted them at the top of a crystal staircase.

“Ta, darlings,” the flawless apparition said. It struck a pose. “I am Rarity. How can I help you become even more beautiful today?”

“Uh, we’re just here to check on the decorations for the NGDP Targeting Festival,” Twilight said. “We’re not interested in fashion.”

“Not interested in fashion?”

The pale pony trotted down the stairs, looking alarmed. “Darling, you sound positively depressed! What do you mean you aren’t interested in fashion?” Rarity spoke like Princess Celestia did when she was imitating Princess Celestia, putting on the sort of regal-sounding tones visitors expected.

“I’m a manager,” Twilight said. “The whole point of my job is to not be seen.”

“Nonsense!” Rarity trilled. Twilight hadn’t known that anypony actually did that. “You are the manager. You simply must be seen and stunningly so!”

Twilight had learned her lesson from Pinkie Pie and Applejack. The Ponyville ponies were smarted than they looked and not to be trifled with. She meekly submitted as Rarity dragged her upstairs and into the boutique.

“Most ponies will be attending the festival au naturel,” Rarity said, “so I assume you won’t be needing a dress for the occasion?”

“No dress,” Twilight said. “Just—yes—natural. I mean, naturel.” It was a little hard wrapping her mind around Rarity and Applejack living within a short distance of each other.

Rarity sat her down in a cushy chair facing a mirror. Twilight frowned at her reflection, but Rarity spun her around.

“How do you usually wear it?” Rarity asked. “When you’re trying, I mean. Do you wear it up? Do you curl it? How do you feel about bangs?”

“Uh…normal?” Twilight guessed. “Au naturel?”

“What sort of product do you use in it?”

“Shampoo?”

“Oh la la. What kind of shampoo?”

Spike did most of the shopping, Twilight didn’t want to admit. She just used whatever he had and didn’t notice the label.

“Shampoo Brand Shampoo. It’s all the rage back in Canterlot.”

“‘Tough Scales’ Shampoo For Big Boy Dragons,” Spike said. Twilight threw thought-daggers at his stupid face.

“I’ll give you a complementary starter set,” Rarity assured her. “And I suppose if I were to ask about makeup…?”

“Your current expectations would be confirmed,” Twilight said.

“Very well.” Rarity spun her around again so that Twilight was looking into her reflection. “Now what I’m going to do is bathe your entire hair and face in a potent chemical cocktail of dubious legality.”

“Isn’t this store licensed?” Twilight winced as Rarity dragged a comb through her hair.

“Licensed? Of course!” Rarity opened a bottle that smelled like anise. “I invite the inspectors over every year for tea and cake. They’re wonderful people, don’t bother me at all.”

Twilight sat paralyzed, torn between her reflection and the impending chemical warfare Rarity was about to wage on her head. Which, Twilight belatedly realized, was where her brain lived.

“Enough!” Twilight shouted, pushing Rarity away. “This is shallow!”

Rarity closed the cap and set the bottle down carefully.

“Shallow?” Suddenly her Unicorn horn seem pointed. “There is nothing shallow about beauty, mon cher économiste.”

“Yes there is!” Twilight jumped out of the chair and smoothed back her strangely untangled hair. “Caring about beauty is practically the definition of shallow!”

“You have a way of putting your hoof in your mouth,” Rarity said. “Take a look at me. Am I not beautiful?”

She tossed her hair.

Twilight had tossed her own hair before when it got in her face. It seemed to get in her face a lot when she was around stallions, but Twilight had never tossed her hair like Rarity did. Rarity tossed her hair in the same way that a hurricane blows, which is to say, it is technically correct as a description but totally fails to capture the experience.

When Rarity tossed her hair, it sparkled. It shouldn’t have sparkled. There was no logical reason for it to sparkle, but it sparkled when and only when she tossed her hair. Her eyebrows poised at an elegant arch, her hips cocked at a frightening angle, and the look in her eyes was one of a bored queen idly considering dangling one of her many highly replaceable subjects over a bear pit.

Spike was giving Rarity a look like she was the unique and stable equilibrating price vector for his initial allocation. “You are beautiful.”

“I know,” Rarity sighed. Her sigh was the breeze caused by the flap of an angel’s wing. “But normally I look like this.”

A blue glow surrounded Rarity’s horn. Her hair unwound from its elegant coif, losing its shine, luster and bounce. It landed on her back in a dry clump. Paint peeled from her face, revealing blemishes and tired eyes. She looked ill compared to her made-up self.

“This is my natural appearance,” Rarity said. “But is it really me? Or is Rarity really a stunningly beautiful, precious gem in the midst of dull pebbles?”

She lifted her head. “I still carry myself like a Queen.”

Twilight was lost for words. This was beyond anything she had expected.

Rarity’s horn glowed again as she restored her old look. “All my customers come here looking for the same thing. Magic. They want me to find them the perfect dress and hairdo to make them avoir du cheval, funny, confident, charming and beautiful to win the heart of a handsome stallion.

“Of course clothes and hair product can’t do that. Underneath the illusion they are still the same pony. What I really do is draw out the best pony they already are through the illusions ponies wear all the time so they never have to see themselves. I can’t fix the game, but I can give them the best odds.

“It’s business, Twilight. Aren’t you an economist? Suppose I turn a plain pony into a, well, me. She has a wonderful time at the dance and agrees to a date with a dashing young stallion. But will she wear my clothes and my styles for as long as she lives? The illusion must come down, as it always does, and the pony will come running to me with tears in her eyes and vengeance in her heart, knowing, just knowing that I lied to her, tricked her, exploited her vulnerability and yearning to make a sale. Now she wants her money back.”

Rarity looked pained. “Return money? It’s unthinkable!

“So what do I do for this pitiable creature? I use my admittedly formidable talents to bring out the inner pony, the her who isn’t a face she puts on for her friends or the kind of pony she wishes she could be but the beautiful pony who has never come out because even she didn’t know it was waiting there all along. My customers think I make them beautiful. But I don’t. I make them them, the best them they can be. It’s sad that they don’t recognize themselves in the mirror when I’m through.

“Shallow? No. What is shallow is wearing dry, tangled hair because it fits your image of the academic pony unconcerned with looks. What is shallow is judging a pony’s livelihood according to some cliche. So tell me, Twilight Sparkle, economist extraordinaire, just who among us is shallow?”

Twilight’s mouth hung open. Her jaw creaked when she shut it. “I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned the integrity of your business. I think I was just upset and confused. It’s been a long day, I’m new here and—“

“Of course!” Rarity said. “You’re from the capital, and adjusting to Ponyville life must be incredibly taxing. Have you met Pinkie Pie? …Oh dear. …She’s like that with everyone, you must understand.”

“I think I just need to check on the decorations,” Twilight said weakly.

“Follow me. And take one—no, two of the starter sets. All complementary. Never let it be said that Rarity is not generous!”

Twilight’s head spun as she exited the Carousel Boutique. Rarity had talked for ages about color theory, color wheels, different shades of color—Twilight couldn’t tell the difference between bright green and chartreuse, but Rarity insisted there was—where colors came from and how they were made, the going market rates for different pigments and how Rarity got the best deals, and then she started on the fabrics. Twilight followed her in a numb haze, the automated semi-conscious managerial aspect of herself handling the checklist while the rest of her wanted to scream, “I DON’T CARE!” but Rarity was sweet and kind even if her interests were baffling, so Twilight nodded and stretched her lips in a gruesome approximation of a smile while she prayed for the sweet embrace of death.

Finally the ordeal ended. Spike, enamored by Rarity’s glamor, had to be levitated out of the Carousel Boutique with Twilight’s magic. Rarity bid them adieu.

Spike sighed. “She’s gorgeous.”

“You’re a dragon. You’re a baby. Nothing about her should—well, you know—“

“Beauty is universal, Twilight.”

Twilight frowned. “No it isn’t.”

There were still two ponies Twilight needed to check on. One of them was a Pegasus called Rainbow Dash who had agreed to lend the big screen in Ponyville’s stock exchange to display the numbers as Celestia brought the monetary base in line with the market's forecast of its own needs to achieve the predetermined NGDP growth rate. Twilight decided she needed a pick-me-up after the exhausting tour of Rarity’s fashion and trotted to the stock exchange with Spike.

She knocked on the door. “Come in!” someone shouted.

Unlike the stock exchange in Canterlot, Ponyville’s Make Friends With Everyone Stock Exchangeaganza was compressed, run-down and badly maintained. Like the stock exchange in Canterlot, Ponyville’s Make Friends With Everyone Stock Exchangeaganza was noisy, busy, and packed to the brim with panicking ponies.

“Sell everything!” one screamed into a phone. “Everything! Sugarcube Corner, Sweet Apple Acres, everything!”

“Buy everything!” another pony shouted into the next phone. “Everything! Sugarcube Corner, Sweet Apple Acres, everything!”

The stock exchange was pandemonium, which is to say, everything was normal. Ponies raced back and forth, some laughing, others weeping, all shouting. It was the eighth-loudest thing Twilight had ever heard. The first seven had been at the Canterlot stock exchange, which was bigger, after all. But what the Ponyville stock exchange lacked in size it more than made up for in sheer insanity.

One Pegasus in particular caught Twilight’s eye. She was zooming around the ceiling so fast she left rainbow trails in her wake. Twilight had personally measured the speed of rainbow at one point seven eight times the speed of clouds clearing during a song about giving it your best shot no matter the odds. There was no way a pony could be flying that fast.

“Ten thousand bits!” the rainbow pony whooped. “Guess who just made ten thousand bits!”

“You lost twenty thousand this morning,” another pony said to general laughter.

The rainbow pony swooped down before him. “Yeah, and I’ll make thirty thousand more before I go home today.”

“Excuse me,” Twilight said. “I’m looking for a pony named Rainbow Daaah!”

The rainbow pony was in front of her before Twilight could finish her sentence. “I’m Rainbow Dash! Nice to meet you!” Twilight felt a brief pressure on her hoof. She looked down. Had she just been given a hoofshake in an instant…?

Rainbow Dash smiled. "What can I do for you?"

“I’m Twilight Sparkle,” Twilight said. “I’m the economist who was sent here to oversee the NGDP Targeting Festival.”

“Uh huh.” Rainbow Dash looked bright, eager, and really, really helpful.

“So…you have a screen you can donate for when Celestia adjusts the monetary base?”

“So I don’t owe you any money?” Rainbow Dash wiped her forehead. “For once I get a visitor about something other than debts or inspections or insider...uh, yeah, sure, I’ll lend my screen.”

She pointed a hoof at the wall where a large monitor displayed stocks and prices, interest rates, growth rates, and a dozen other variables, all scrolling down the screen so fast Twilight could barely read it all. “Bought it to celebrate when I made fifty thousand in one day. Lost one hundred thousand the next, but hey, that’s life.”

“Uh…I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of risk aversion? Or…or hedging your bets?”

“Nope!”

“But don’t you lose a lot of money?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash flew up the screen and squinted at a series of numbers. Twilight blinked, and she was at a phone, barking orders to someone. “Buy FlimFlam Fracking Funtime. Yeah. Ten thousand shares. I’ve got a good feeling about them.”

New numbers flashed on the screen. Ponies gasped.

“What’s happening?” Twilight peered at the screen, trying to understand.

“FlimFlam Industries just tanked!” Rainbow moaned. “I’m ruined! Again! Oh well, time to refinance.”

The other ponies got on with their work. Apparently Rainbow Dash losing more money than Twilight had thought existed in Ponyville was just another Tuesday.

Rainbow Dash was already at work flipping through a thick stack of papers. Twilight approached her. “Thank you for agreeing to lend your screen for the festival. But I feel that as an economist, it is my duty to give you some important financial advice.”

Rainbow Dash snapped up. “Got any hot tips?”

“That’s exactly it,” Twilight said. “You see, Rainbow, if anyone actually did have any private information about how a stock was likely to perform, they wouldn’t tell you. They would buy or sell the stocks themselves. Imagine if you knew something no one else did about a company. Would you tell someone else so that they could make money? Or would you go into the exchange and make a killing?”

Rainbow Dash had the look of a physicist being handed the keyboard to the computer that programmed the universe and waking up to realize she still had to go into work today. “You…you mean, all those hot tips I paid so much for were just a…a lie?”

Twilight nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so. You can’t beat the market. At the very least, no one is going to go out of their way to help you beat the market.”

“That does it!” Rainbow Dash started flipping through the papers so fast Twilight almost thought for a moment that Rainbow could read even faster than she could, which was simply ridiculous. “I’ll show them all!”

“By quitting the stock exchange and getting a real job?” Twilight asked hopefully.

“By making so much money they’ll be lining up to sell me their advice, and I’ll reject every! Single! One! I'll show them! I'll become friends with everyone in Equestria!"

“Okay then. Spike, I think we’re going. Good luck, Rainbow Dash.”

“Yup!” Rainbow Dash was already on the phone, barking orders at some hapless pony on the other end. “Thanks for the advice!”

“Sure thing!” Twilight slammed the door of the stock exchange shut behind her. She breathed a sigh of relief. Something about all the gambling that went on inside her rubbed her economist self the wrong way.

The sun was dipping below the horizon as Twilight and Spike made their last stop at an animal sanctuary on the outskirts of Ponyville. A petting zoo was supposed to be one of the attractions for the festival.

The sounds of chattering birds and the occasional ear-shattering fart from what Twilight hoped was a cow guided them to the edge of a wooden fence. Beyond the fence was the oddest assortment of animals Twilight had ever seen, and she had toured the zoo at Canterlot more than once looking for similarities between pony and animal behavior.

Small woodland critters like squirrels, beavers and raccoons gamboled in the grass not five feet away from lizards, snakes, and hawks, all of which hunted each other. Cows—thank goodness—stepped gingerly around slow-moving turtles on their way to the tallest grass where a goat grazed next to a seal and a bright pink flamingo. There was a wasp—Twilight couldn’t think of why anyone would want to preserve a wasp or how they would keep it within the fence, but there it was—and a white bunny that stood on its hind legs and seemed to be watching the other animals like an overseer.

A yellow pony with a pink mane greeted them at the gate. Or rather, she took one look at them, let out an “Eep!” flew over the fence and tried to act like just another one of the animals in the sanctuary.

“Excuse me?” Twilight said.

The yellow Pegasus pretended not to hear. She ducked behind a cow and grazed at the grass.

“Moo!” the yellow Pegasus said. She took a bite of the grass. “Moo—yuck!” She spat it out, shaking her head. “Grass tastes terrible! No offense, Mr. Cow.”

“None taken,” the cow said around a mouthful of the stuff.

Twilight raised her voice. “Excuse me, but I can tell that you’re a Pegasus, not a…what are you pretending to be?”

“A…a bovine,” the Pegasus whispered. Her voice was like satin if satin could be afraid of its own shadow.

Twilight adopted the baby voice again. “And are you a bovine?” The Pegasus might have whispered something, but it was too quiet. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

“Not a bovine,” the Pegasus muttered. She hung her head.

“What are you?” Twilight prompted.

“Pegasus.”

“Name?”

“Fluttershy.”

“Perfect!” Twilight said. “My name is Twilight Sparkle. I’m the economist from Canterlot. And this is Spike, a baby—"

“A baby dragon!”

Fluttershy soared over the fence and nearly knocked Twilight over as she made a beeline for Spike. “How old are you? Can you talk?”

“I think so,” Spike said. “I’m, uh—" He cut off. Fluttershy was inspecting his scales with a critical look in her eye.

“The scales are wearing at the edges,” she said. She glared at Twilight. “What kind of shampoo do you buy him?”

“Uh, Big Dragon Scales?” Twilight stammered. Fluttershy was giving her the evil eye.

“Tough Scales’ Shampoo For Big Boy Dragons?” she screeched. “FlimFlam Hair Care? That brand is terrible! All their products are made with harmful chemicals!”

Twilight backed off, horn at the ready to shield herself. “I didn’t know, I—"

“We’ll get you a nice natural remedy,” Fluttershy cooed to Spike. She stuck her hoofs in his mouth and pulled his lips apart. “You need to floss.”

“I boe,” Spike said.

Fluttershy started to lift Spike’s tail. Twilight had to step in. She coughed.

“Fluttershy, Spike is my assistant, and we are here to inspect the petting zoo for tomorrow.”

“Petting zoo?” Fluttershy frowned. “There’s no petting zoo here.”

Twilight gestured. “All the animals…?"

“Oh! You mean the Pony-Critter Interspecies Sharing Event,” Fluttershy said. “You’ll be providing the ponies?”

“I—uh—yes?”

“Wonderful.” Fluttershy beamed at Spike. “I’ll see you later, Mister Baby Dragon.”

Twilight held out a hoof helplessly as Fluttershy began to walk away. “I need to inspect the animals. To make sure everything is acceptable, you understand?”

Fluttershy stopped. Twilight sighed. Here we go again.

“That seems reasonable,” Fluttershy said. “Can I inspect your ponies?”

Twilight laughed. "So can we—"

“What’s funny?”

Twilight blinked. Fluttershy’s face was as innocent as a baby reaching out to take hold of her father’s finger for the very first time and as dangerous as a baby with a really strong grip. It still wasn't very threatening, but the intent was there.

“You laughed,” Fluttershy said. “Is something funny?”

“Well,” Twilight waved a hoof as if to dismiss the whole thing, “I asked if I could inspect your animals, and you asked if you could inspect my ponies as if they’re the same….” Twilight trailed off.

Her stomach sank. From her side she heard the distinct sound of Spike facehoo—facepalming.

Fluttershy frowned. “Ponies aren’t the same as other animals?”

“Of course they are!” Twilight said. “It’s just that, um, well, uh….” She noticed all the animals in the fence watching her. Not glaring, not muttering to each other, just…watching. “They’re not, uh, with regards to the NGDP Targeting Festival perhaps in exactly the same position. Um. I’m not a speciesist.”

“I never said you were.” Fluttershy paused. “Are you leaving now?”

“I still need to, uh…inspect.”

“Of course. We wouldn’t want to upset any ponies no matter the inconvenience to the equal animals, would we?”

“‘Animals’ is speciesist,” the cow said around a mouthful of cud. “We prefer ’naturally evolved organisms,’ or NEOs.”

“New earth order,” the other animals said in unison so rapidly Twilight wasn’t sure if she had made the whole thing up in her head.

“I’m terribly sorry!” Fluttershy sounded truly pained. “I’ll say ‘naturally evolved organisms’ from now on.”

Twilight realized she was fighting a lost battle, but Princess Celestia herself had tasked Twilight with this job. For better or worse, she would see it through. “You run this sanctuary by yourself?”

“I do,” Fluttershy said. “Which means I’m very busy all the time. Interruptions can make my life so difficult.”

Twilight ignored the passive aggressiveness radiating from Fluttershy like a mother-in-law. “How do you fund it?”

“I saved for years,” Fluttershy sniffed. “Smart, careful investing. Mostly I just bet on the opposite of whatever Rainbow Dash was doing. Now I mostly depend on donations.”

“You know,” Twilight said, “as the Chief Vice Executive Economist of the Bank of Equestria, I have a number of important contacts in the non-profit sector. I’m sure I might be able to get some money sent your way….”

The bait was set, but Fluttershy wasn’t biting. If anything, she looked even colder. “Let me guess. Save the Animals? Missing Animals? Animal Trafficking Watch?”

Fluttershy sneered. “They don’t care about helping animals. They just like showing off to their rich friends how much money they have to waste on showing off to their rich friends.”

“They’re very kind people,” Twilight protested.

“Kindness isn’t a label you can slap on an organization and consider your work done!” Fluttershy began to tremble. “Kindness takes real work, care, and dedication! It isn’t a game!” Her voice had been steadily rising in pitch and now rose so high the last sentence came out as more of an incoherent squeak than anything.

“So no,” Fluttershy said, “you can’t ‘inspect’ the NEOs. They have every right to eat their dinner without being bothered by stuck-up economists and their oh-so-kind rich friends.”

Twilight knew when enough was enough. Fluttershy was an insurmountable wall when it came to her animals, but they were clearly in the best of care. She could consider this inspected. “Fine, we’re leaving. Sorry to have bothered you. Come on, Spike.”

“Bye!” Spike said.

“Bye, Mr. Baby Dragon!” Fluttershy called. “I can’t wait to see you at the festival. Remember to floss. And stop using that shampoo!”

Spike jogged to catch up with Twilight. “That went really badly, even for you. And she’s not even a stallion!”

“Not in the mood, Spike.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t more upset.”

Twilight sighed. “It’s been a long day. I just want to go home, take a bath, read a book and not think about missing the festival in Canterlot with Princess Celestia. Besides, in its own way this day has been meaningful to me.”

“What do you mean, Twilight?”

“I met five very different ponies today.” Twilight thought of Pinkie Pie and shuddered. “Very different. And Princess Celestia always taught me that the first rule of economics is that ponies are diverse. The second rule is that you’re underestimating how diverse they truly are.”

“Diverse?”

“Every pony has different wants, goals, and needs. They have different resources, abilities, constraints, knowledge and beliefs. Ponies look the same from afar, but when you get up close you realize just how different neighbors can be. That was demonstrated perhaps too clearly for me today.” She chuckled weakly. “There’s not one economy, Spike, there’s millions.”

“And you just have to accept the individual ponies for who they are?”

“Every time I asked a question like that, Princess Celestia would say that I didn’t have to do anything. But to answer what you’re trying to ask, no, you don’t. Change the world if you want. But the most important thing to remember is that the diversity of ponies is a fact. It won’t go away if you ignore it. It won’t go away even if other ponies are wrong to be the way they are. Princess Celestia always said that relative to its importance, diversity is the most under-appreciated constraint there is.”

“You care a lot about what Princess Celestia says, huh?”

“She’s the best economist in the world, Spike.”

“You’re not bad either.”

“Aww.” Twilight threw a hoof around Spike’s shoulders. “Let’s get the baby into bed. Tomorrow I’ll buy us new shampoo, one for dragons and one for Unicorns.”

“I still want one for big boy dragons.”

“I can’t believe you think I would buy you any other kind.” Next Chapter: General Gluts Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 57 Minutes