Of the three officers that stood before the President's desk in the Oval Office, two were career military men from military families. The third had never even considered a military career and had always held the armed forces in a vague contempt as tools of last resort, if she thought of them at all. But, thanks to the President's orders under the Hostile Artificial Intelligence Emergency Powers Act, she now was under direct military command as part of the command structure and, more importantly, subject to military control and, if necessary, military justice.

Captain Gwendolyn Sundstrom resisted the urge to tug at the tight collar of her uniform for the tenth time since she had entered the President's office. "Mr. President, Greg is naïve and inexperienced but he is very far from stupid. General Whitson's plan is only—"

"I think," General Whitson interrupted her. "that, as someone who let him escape twice, your estimation of his—"

"I've predicted what he's done more accurately than the gang of psychiatrists and behavioral experts from—"

"Stop!" the President snapped. They fell silent. "Captain Sundstrom, your approach to the problem is... creative, I'll give you that. But it's too uncertain and, frankly, too bizarre for me to feel confident of its success. You will return to your command and continue to train your troops." There was just the hint of a snort of derision from Whitson at the use of the word "troops" and the President rebuked him with a glance. "I will hold them in reserve in case other methods fail."

Gwen simply said, "Yes sir." She knew that showing any hint of anger or further argument would only give Whitson and Greenwaldt pleasure.

"General Greenwaldt," the President said, "Has your unit come up with any further information which would be helpful?"

"We have finally gotten data on the physical structure of active Equestrian creatures and it's clear now why they are so difficult to kill." He placed a diagram on the President's desk. "On the right is the structure of a common protein that is present in most animals: A simple chain of carbon atoms with a few other atoms attached. On the left—"

"It looks like something engineered." the President said in surprise. "Like a building girder or something."

"'Engineered' is a good word for it." Greenwaldt agreed. "That interlocking structure of carbon molecules is what Equestrians use for proteins. They're very similar to the super-strong carbon nanotubes that scientists have been trying to manufacture in quantity for some time... only stronger and more flexible. Those cartoon ponies are made of the stuff."

"Will this affect General Whitson's plan?"

"No sir. Their bodies would have to be a lot stronger to make any difference to the plan. This may just give us a leg up on designing weapons to mop up afterward."

"Good," the President nodded. "General Whitson, how soon can you put your plan into action?"

"The weapon is already on its way. We can deliver it in five days time," Whitson replied. "At least, that's what the boys at JPL tell me."

The springs of clean water and burgeoning crops that appeared in blighted inner cities were too intertwined with homes to be eradicated from the air, and the people living in the suddenly bountiful areas, formed barricades to keep officials from doing so on the ground. Rather than risk a series of violent confrontations, the government decided to hold back and allow the poor neighborhoods to become test subjects. The test subjects became healthier and better-fed.

After several more transformations that had been nothing but helpful, the media had lightened up a bit and the US government had taken a much more neutral tone... in private communications, at least. But Greg knew that all he had to do was make one little slip-up at the wrong time and that would be the end of him, no matter how many supporters he had managed to acquire.

Greg also was able to complete a basic ponification process. He solved the problem of adding magic into the mix by the same add-on approach he had used to create the Sombra helmets. The additional self regulating code expressed physically as horns, wings, and (for earth ponies) exceptionally thick, sturdy hooves. Transformed humans would still need to learn to control the powers granted to them by the add-ons, but it would be no worse than learning to ride a bicycle.

Or so Greg assumed. He hadn't been able to write a transformative matrix for any creature other than the three basic kinds of ponies, and that worried him a bit. He wanted to include griffons, and maybe even diamond dogs into the selection. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to be a diamond dog, but he had received several requests.

The other thing that stopped him from doing a live test was the consequence for failure. That concern might have seemed hypocritical coming from someone who had deliberately murdered hundreds of people, but it was a line that Greg clung to with a desperate intensity.

He also didn't want anything to interfere with the slow improvement of his public image. As happy as the ponification crowd would be with their new bodies, the backlash from less open-minded friends and relatives (to say nothing of the media) would be disastrous. The Pony People would have to wait.

Several pundits had even made suggestions as to what Greg should do next... in a backwards sort of way. "If he were really intending to help the American people," they'd say, "he would..." and they'd insert whatever hoop they wanted him to jump through. Some were ridiculous, some were impossible, but some were feasible and Greg put a couple of them into execution.

Away from a thin strip along the interstate highway, central Oregon was a patchwork of clear-cut scrub and replanted saplings, ugly land that wouldn't be usable or profitable for decades to come. "Since he seems to like trees so much," one particularly snide TV personality had said, "why doesn't he reforest all the empty land in the Northwest? That would create jobs!" And, since the pundit had a lot of connections and investments in the timber industry, it would also put a lot of money in his bank account... but he didn't say anything about that on the air.

Greg though it was a good idea. "It's on land far away from people... nobody would get nervous about the change... hell, they might not even notice for a while." He moved the project to the top of his list.

As usual, he sent a squad of his helmeted ponies to thoroughly check the area first. As Luna had to personally attend each transformation, a planted "request" leading them into a trap would have been an obvious move. So far he had only backed away from two planned operations due to suspicious circumstances.

He often toyed with the idea of programming the terrain-changing capability into a few other ponies in order to take some of the workload off of Luna but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. It was too big a responsibility to hand over to just anyone and Luna seemed to be able to intuit exactly what he wanted... always putting just the right nuances into the changes. And, most importantly, he trusted her. No, the transformations would have to proceed one by one. It would be slow going but it would be done right.

The day after the Oregon job, the tone of the media was grudgingly positive. Some people openly said that Greg should be pardoned and given a chance to restore other blighted areas of the country without having to sneak around in the dead of night to do it.

Some desperately poor third-world nations even offered him sanctuary and citizenship if he would agree to work for their governments.

Greg happily watched the good news flood in. But he was still wary. "I think we may be rounding a corner," he said to Luna, "but I don't want to let my guard down. It will still take a while for them to forget—"

"Sir?" Sugarberry interrupted.

“Yes?”

She pointed to a small screen with her hoof. "There’s a request coming in from the White House Chief of Staff."

That wasn't all that unusual. Greg had been trying to negotiate a less hostile relationship with the US government for a long time and they had responded to his communications before... but only with demands of surrender. This time it was different.

"He says the President of the United States would like to speak to you directly at 9:45pm Central Time tonight. He says that the President intends to offer you complete clemency and would like to discuss the details."

Greg was stunned. "Well... yes! Tell him yes!" He turned to Luna and flung his arms around her in a joyous hug. "Did you hear that? Of course you did! What a stupid question! I never thought we'd make a breakthrough so soon!"

There had been a breakthrough but not the sort that Greg had in mind. Through a combination of intense satellite scrutiny, analysis of known Equestrian movements, and a bit of luck, Army Intelligence had discovered the location of Greg's base. And they had just arranged for him to be there at the exact time when they would use their new weapon.

It wasn't a nuke, of course. Greg's own detection systems and secretive demolitions squads made building new atomic weapons impossible. There wasn't anywhere on Earth where a weapon powerful enough to destroy his base could be obtained. So General Whitson and the spacecraft specialists at the Jet-Propulsion Laboratory had gone elsewhere.

As Greg and Luna toasted the illusion of a new, hopeful future, remotely controlled rocket motors were boosting a two thousand ton near-Earth asteroid into its final trajectory.

The atmosphere in the Situation Room was tense. It was seven minutes to impact.

Gwen was present but she guessed she had been invited only so that Greenwaldt and Whitson would have an opportunity to gloat. She spoke to one of the scientists present in order to take her mind off the situation. "So, you're sure it will penetrate deep enough to take out the entire base? I'm betting Greg will have dug in very deep even though he's sure there aren't any nukes left. He's always cautious... damn near paranoid, really."

"Oh yes, Captain," the scientist reassured her. "At the speed the asteroid is traveling, it will have a significant impact. The shock will collapse any voids... uh, rooms that is, in the rock for hundreds of meters down. And the EMP will also—"

"Wait a minute," Gwen interrupted him, "EMP? This is just a big chunk of rock isn't it?"

"Oh yes! But any large explosion, even non-nuclear, will generate an electromagnetic pulse. The majority of it will be caused by ionization of the atmosphere when the meteorite passes through." He gestured to the rows of monitors displaying satellite image feeds. "We should get some very valuable data from the event."

"Time to make the call," Whitson said.

The Chief of Staff touched a button on the desk in front of him while glancing at the clock. Less than one minute to impact.

The main screen blanked for a moment and then cleared to reveal Greg's face and upper body with Luna standing behind his right shoulder. "Good evening," he said pleasantly.

30 seconds to impact.

Gwen felt a strange sense of regret when she saw him. He was a dangerous enemy even though he had just been playing at over-grown renovation projects for the last two years. He had the power to wreak unimaginable havoc and had to be neutralized. No, Gwen corrected herself, killed. He has to be killed. But it seemed a shame. She had assumed he would have been smarter.

Impact.

The main screen went white for an instant and then black. The side screens dedicated to distant observation cameras showed a gigantic ball of fire rising from the Arizona desert... along with large chunks of the Arizona desert.

Everyone in the room, except for the scientists who were excitedly watching the readouts of several computers, breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Good work gentlemen," the President said. "Let's get the ground troops in there as soon as possible for cleanup."

"We will be air-dropping troops and armor as soon as the fireball dissipates and the dust cloud clears a bit, sir," General Whitson assured him.

"I think my unit may be of some help, Mr. President," Gwen put in.

"Playtime's over, Captain Sundstrom," Greenwaldt said, "Whatever few of his ponies haven't been blasted or cooked, we can deal with. Eventually, we will get them all." He put a particular emphasis on the word that Gwen knew was meant as a message for her.

It's not paranoia if everyone really is out to get me, Greg had told himself an hour earlier as he prepared for the call from the President. "I just can't help thinking that it's too good to be true," he said to Luna as he screwed the little microwave transceiver onto its tripod. "It won't do any harm to take a few precautions." He squinted into the aligning scope to the other transceiver on the opposite side of the canyon above the base.

"There," he said as the contact light lit up on the transceiver, "That'll give us a little safety margin if the President has any nasty surprises in store for us. If they've found out our location and are planning an assault, we won't be bottled up in there. I've also got several squads of earth ponies on patrol for ground infiltrations and a flight of griffons watching for aircraft or missiles." He looked up at Luna and saw that she was troubled. "What is it? Am I being too suspicious about this?"

Luna shook her head. "No, I think your precautions are wise."

"Then what's wrong? I know something's bothering you."

"If there is a truce... if you begin to cooperate with the government... what will happen to us?"

"You and I? We will be together," Greg said emphatically. "That's non-negotiable. I'll never..." He paused and watched her carefully. "That's not what you meant is it? By 'us' you meant all the Equestrians... right?"

"Yes," she said softly. "You've been making things better for people. They like the new, verdant land you've been making... for them. But where will we ponies fit into the new world you'll help make?"

"You think I haven't considered that?" Greg asked.

"I know you have," Luna said, raising her gaze to focus intently on his face. "We're aliens. We’re dangerous when challenged. We use magic that frightens people. Where do such creatures fit into your vision for a peaceful world?"

"I don't intend to force anyone into my version of Utopia," he said, placing a hand on Luna’s shoulder. "I just want to make sure that people can live without fear, hunger, or ignorance ruining their lives. What they make of—"

Luna shrugged Greg's hand off her shoulder. "People. You're talking about people again. I want to know—"

"You are people!" Greg nearly yelled at her, "Sugarberry. The griffons up there." He waved at the dark hills dotted with dwarf junipers. "Even those dim-witted diamond dogs... they're all people to me! The world will be for them, too, or the President can take his offer and... oh shit, the President! What time is it?"

He looked at his watch and saw that he had only a minute before the time scheduled for his talk with the President. He quickly connected the little camera to the transceiver and stood back, waiting.

Luna stood behind him and whispered, "I hope this doesn't take long because I'm feeling the distinct need to drag you off into the trees and make you scream... for all the right reasons, of course."

Greg didn't reply but the hint of a smug grin spread across his face. The camera's tally light went on and the small screen next to it lit up, showing the President and several men, half of them in uniform, around him.

"Good evening," Greg said and waited for someone to respond to him. Then he recognized General Greenwaldt and his smile began to fade. And behind him, almost out of sight... Could that really be Gwen? he wondered. What is she...

The asteroid passed through the atmosphere so quickly that it seemed as if the gigantic glowing streak of its passage had appeared all in one instant. Greg had no chance to think before the impact... and after the impact he wasn't able to think.

If someone had doused him in gasoline and set it alight, it wouldn't have been nearly as painful. He felt as if he was burning simultaneously inside and out... as if his very bones had caught fire. The agony was overwhelming and all that went through his mind was a desperate, animal desire to escape the pain.

Nowhere near soon enough, darkness swallowed him.

Author's Notes:

Thanks again to my stupendous prereaders and editors WrittenWord333, Jordanis, and Fana Farouche.