President Smith finished off his morning coffee and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head and a faint smile of satisfaction along his mouth. He sighed out quietly, enjoying the view the windows behind his desk allowed him. Outside the oval office, the sun was bright and just peaking above the horizon.

                

Yesterday had been hell. The day before that much the same. Most would say the last year and a half since winning the second Presidential election had been hellish as well, and Smith would be hard pressed to disagree. But this morning he had something to look forward to.

                

Time to himself.

                

A whole fifteen minutes of it. To stare. To ponder. To question the many questions life had to offer.

                

Smith turned back to his desk and scooped up his day planner. A list of the day’s objectives sat with tiny empty boxes to their sides.

                

6:30 – 7:00—Wake up. Morning exercises. One glass of juice.

                

7:00 – 7:45—Shower. Breakfast (toast with egg whites). Debriefing with Chief of Staff.

                

7:45 – 8:00—Free time.

                

President Smith smirked and thought about how he’d want to spend his fifteen minutes. That was before his free time vanished from his book and was replaced by a rather odd message.

                

7:45 – 8:00—Meeting with Princess Celestia to discuss acceptable terms of surrender.

                

8:00 – 8:15—Break for tea.

                

8:15 – 8:45—Willingly accept terms of surrender and instate the Princess of the Sun as new leader of Earth. (The Princess of the Sun being Princess Celestia, who will be entering your office in 3… 2… 1… )

                

Smith barely had time to look up before the door to his right was flung open hard enough to embed the knob into the wall. What stepped through the doorway was a six foot tall white horse with wings and a horn, her mane and tail hovering beside her in an unseen current.

                

“Good morning, President Smith,” she greeted warmly, “I saw in your day planner you had a few minutes to spare, so I thought now would be a good time to discuss the immediate surrender of Earth.”

                

Smith opened the drawer to his desk to retrieve his gun only to find it empty. He’d completely forgotten when him and the Director of the Secret Service went out and shot beer bottles on the lawn the night before.

                

Smith crossed his arms over his chest. “And just what makes you think I’d ever give over the United States of America to a talking horse?”

                

Celestia stood in front of his desk. She chuckled. “Firstly, it’s pony. Secondly, you will soon find you have very little option otherwise. Right now, as we speak, dozens of inter-dimensional portals are opening up at all ends of the globe—thousands of us all at once, without warning. You will soon find your barbaric weapons can do very little to our kind. Pony’s have very few weaknesses.”

                

Smith grunted his disapproval to the facts.

                

“Also,” Celestia continued, “since my sister and I have already solved most of the problems in our home world, we have decided to try the same here, although it shall prove an uphill struggle.” She smiled and set a lengthy scroll atop his desk, already tumbling down the side. “Here is what I would call a satisfactory agreement of surrender. Take as long as you’d like to read through it. And then I’m sure—”

                

With no gun and no agent in the room, Smith found his only defense left to be his hands. Instinctively, he curled them both into fists, before slowly splaying them out again. An odd idea had just occurred to him.

                

Before she could back away, Smith stood and reached out a hand, daintily rubbing the sides of one of Celestia’s ears above her crown. She took a half-step back and then stopped, a small blush on her cheeks.

                

“What are you doing? Stop that. You have no permission to—”

                

Smith lowered his hand to scratch at the side of her chin, cutting her sentence in half. Her jaw dropped open a bit while her eyes took on a glossy look.

                

“Oh… oh wow…” she mumbled. “That feels really good… I can’t…” She adamantly shook her head and tried to blink away the hand’s effects. “Wait! I’m supposed to be accepting your immediate surrender! Stop or I’ll—”

                

Smith took the cue and hooked his fingers under her chin, scratching without pause. This time the effects were instantaneous, as her eyes rolled up and her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth.

                

“Oh me, that’s nice…” she whispered, taking a step forward to get closer to his hand.

                

The door to Smith’s left burst open and Johnson—the Director of the Secret Service—stepped through, gun held close to his chest and pointed towards the ceiling.

                

“Sir! What’s happening?” he barked out, hastily checking the room’s blind spots. “There’s tiny horses all over the White House. They say they’re here to invade, but have yet to try anything. What should we—”

                

Johnson finally caught sight of President Smith and Princess Celestia. During the time Johnson spoke, Celestia had fallen to the floor where Smith began rubbing at her belly, all four of the pony’s legs held up and scraping at the air.

                

Celestia closed her eyes to the rubs, giggling softly.

                

Smith stared at Johnson with a hard-edged expression, a drop of sweat falling from his forehead. “The Earth’s being attacked, Johnson. By ponies. I knew those boys in the science department told me it could happen at any time, but I just never believed them.” He continued to circle his hand around Celestia’s round belly. “And because of my naivety, the whole world might pay. I can’t let that happen.”

                

“So what should we do, Mr. President? We’ve tried nothing so far and it ain’t working!”

                

Smith tightened his jaw until it hurt. Then he said the most important words that would ever tumble from his mouth—words that would be etched into bronze plaques and quoted from history books for hundreds of years to come.

                

Smith told him bluntly, “We’re gonna pet us some ponies.”

 

As Smith was trying to communicate with Johnson, a small purple mare entered through the open doorway. Like the bigger one on the floor, this one also had wings and a horn. Her eyes went wide as she watched Celestia’s current state of belly rub euphoria.

                

She crossed into the room, wings out and body tense. “Princess? What’s happened? Are you hurt?” A faint aura of color suddenly surrounded her horn.

                

Smith indicated to the purple mare with his head. He told Johnson, “Quick! Aim for the head!”

                

Johnson pointed his service revolver at her.

                

“No!” Smith shouted. He held out a hand and wiggled his fingers.

                

Johnson got the message and put his gun back in the holster. Then, while the purple mare had her back to him, he tiptoed behind her and hurriedly ran a hand down her tri-colored mane.

                

The mare’s eyes went half-lidded and her body relaxed. “But… we need to start… showing them the error of their ways…”

                

The smaller mare collapsed to her side and Johnson caught her, placing her in his lap to scratch at her head.

                

President Smith let out a sigh of relief. The ponies had to be subdued quickly, or else they would attack. It seemed those with a horn had some magical ability of some kind. More than anything, Smith didn’t want to see the full extent of their magical powers.

                

“Now what?” Johnson whispered, careful not to stir the mare in his lap.

                

Smith thought for a moment. “First, get someone to take over for me. Make sure they understand what they’re doing.” He took a second to watch Celestia again, still giggling, legs playfully kicking at the air. “Remember: wide circles around the belly, followed by a few brief scratches underneath the chin. Repeat this motion indefinitely. If we let up for just one second, then they’ll remember their purpose here. And then all hope will be lost.”

                

The purple mare started snoring in Johnson’s lap. “It’s like disarming a bomb, isn’t it?”

                

Smith nodded. “The cutest, fluffiest bomb I’ve ever disarmed.”

 

***

 

Once word spread around the White House—and after President Smith gave direct instructions to two secret service men about the correct way to subdue Celestia by meticulous belly rubs—he was finally able to leave his office and venture out into the rest of the house.

                

Every hallway was crammed with office personnel, secretaries, guards, and even a few cooks that might’ve been caught in the action on their way back from a smoke break. In each hand was a pony, some with wings, some with a horn, and some with neither of them. Near the end of the hall, a half-dozen white and gray stallions had collapsed to the carpets together; the members of that morning’s White House tour making short work of them. Around the stallions’ heads and over their backs they wore sets of matching armor. Even with that on, it still left their necks and bellies unprotected to swift petting.

                

All the way down the hall, tails flicked lazily from side to side, ponies softly moaning in contentment. Most had already shut their eyes and nuzzled closer to the ones stroking their manes.

                

“Mr. President? Mr. President, do you have a moment?”

                

Three quarters of the way up the hall, Smith turned to the Secretary of State, seated on a bench against the wall. On each knee was a tiny pegasus, one with a yellow coat and pink mane and one with a light blue coat and multi-colored mane. As she ran her hands down their backs, both mares buried their heads into the nape of her neck, nuzzling her.

                

“Madame Secretary,” Smith greeted bluntly.

                

The Secretary of State appeared fearful, her eyes never quite meeting the President’s. “As glad as I am that we’ve found a solution, Mr. President, I just… I just don’t know how much longer I can keep this up! I think one of my wrists is already cramping!”

                

The hand running down the light blue pegasus stopped for a moment. The mare then pried herself from her neck and tried to blink away her drowsiness. “What happened? Did we win? Wait… this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

                

Before she could say anymore, Smith forcefully placed the Secretary of State’s hand back on the mare’s head. With eyes of ice, he glared at her. “Madame Secretary, if you care at all about the continuing freedom of the United States of America, you will keep petting that pony until a permanent solution has been found. Is that understood?”

                

The Secretary of State nodded and said no more. Soon the light blue pegasus found herself curled into her side again, the thoughts of global takeover once more pushed aside so gentle pets could be received.

                

Smith made his way to the White House entrance, sidestepping ponies and petters alike. Just as he was about to meet with another member of staff, the front doors were kicked inward and a white stallion with a horn and tri-colored blue mane trotted in.

                

The stallion straightened out his back, before proudly declaring, “Prepare yourselves humans! Equestria has come to—”

                

Three large secret service members tackled him to the ground without a moment’s hesitation. Right away, six deft hands began petting the poor stallion without mercy, as he laughed and giggled and beat his tiny hooves against the carpeted floors. Soon, tears of joy spilled down his cheeks.

                

“Wait! Stop! I can’t… it’s too much!” he cried, unaware of how well trained all members of staff were, and how little his feeble demands meant to them close to the brink of war.

                

Smith almost felt bad for the pony. Three against one. Not fair in the slightest.

                

Less than a minute later, the three guards moved away from him, leaving the defeated stallion unconscious on the ground. A thin trail of drool seeped from his mouth and his eyes had rolled up into his eyelids. His muzzle was locked in a big goofy grin; one of his hooves absently twitched by his side.

                

We may just win this, Smith thought, as he tracked down his Secretary of Defense.

 

***

 

Smith’s Secretary of Defense set down the phone and turned to him, using a nearby napkin to wipe at his sweat soaked brow.

                

“All of our major allies have been informed,” he choked out. “Now they know as much as we do.”

                

Smith nodded, scanning the dozens of computer monitors and TV screens adhered to the walls, showcasing the information brought to them from thousands of satellites in orbit. Tiny green dots from all over the world indicated the influx of ponies passing through the portals. Dozens of portals had already been found, and more could be on their way.

                

Smith said, “Should’ve gotten on the wire sooner, told them how to bring those colorful ponies down.”

                

The Secretary of Defense put a hand on his shoulder. “You did what you could, Mr. President. If not for your quick thinking—and hands—we might’ve already been bowing down to some giant white pony.”

                

Smith nodded again, contemplating. “You informed Canada, as well?”

                

He shook his head. “Didn’t need to. They’d already figured it out. Canada’s defense strategy against foreign invaders has always been to hug them first and then take it from there.”

                

Smith slammed his fist against the desk. “Damn it! Why is Canada always one step ahead of us?”

                

Smith put both palms to his temples and strolled to the monitors. He watched as thousands of ponies streamed out through a portal in Russia, seemingly without end.

                

The Secretary of Defense wiped at his brow again. “Mr. President?”

                

“What it is?”

                

The Secretary of Defense hesitated before speaking. “What happens… what happens if they don’t stop coming over? What’s happens if there’s more of them than we think there are?”

                

Smith turned to him. “Then we do what we’ve been doing. Subduing them with pets.”

                

His secretary swallowed dryly. “But what happens if there ends up being more ponies than hands available?”

                

Smith faced the monitors again. Hundreds of thousands of green dots flooded across every screen, more coming through every second. On a TV to his right, another portal sprung into existence at the very center of the UK.

                

Smith whispered to himself, “Then may God have mercy on us all.”