Bastian had heard of a rule that the location of a meeting determined who was in charge. In other words, if someone came to you, they came acknowledging that you held the power, but if they made you come to them, they were claiming an advantage. Bastian didn’t like to think in those terms. He happily went to the offices of vendors, customers, or anyone when the convenience of travel dictated. When his contact at the convention center asked him to come to her office, he didn’t see any reason not to go, nor did he have his guard up.

So he was blindsided when she began the appointment by saying, “I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel the reservation you have with us.”

“We have a contract. There’s no cancellation clause,” he said.

“No, but there are several termination clauses, one of which says that if you alter the purpose of your event, we can back out.”

“We haven’t altered our purpose.”

“You’ve added a panel that we both know is going to be a political rally.”

One of the side effects of Bastian’s unlimited energy was that it took far more than it once had to frustrate or annoy him. He calmly said, “It’s not political. It’s educational.”

“We don’t think it will be. At least, that’s our official reason for doing this.”

“What’s the unofficial reason?”

“You’re courting controversy,” the representative said. “Hell, you are controversy. The convention center doesn’t want its name dragged through the mud by association with anything that might happen to you. Or caused by you.”

Bastian looked the woman in the eyes, and she looked back. He guessed that she personally had no prejudice against enhanced bronies, though she might not speak for all involved.

“OK,” he said. “That’s the official unofficial reason. Now let’s talk about the unofficial unofficial reason. How much?”

“It’s not a matter or money.”

“Which means that it’s a matter of an awful lot of money.” After watching her struggle to find another way to deny it, Bastian smiled. “I honestly don’t mind being squeezed for more money, or rather, I mind the money, but not the idea. But my time and my sanity are precious, and I can’t keep them if you don’t get to the point. So I ask again, how much?”

She choked out, “Twice as much.”

He whistled. “Pretty steep. As is, we’re only using half the building. So we’d be paying for the whole thing. Can we have the full run of the center if we pay for it?”

“The other half has already been booked.”

“I’m sure it has. And whoever has it, they’re probably looking to get out of their contract because of us too. We’re just so popular, aren’t we?”

The representative fiddled with some pens on her desk. Bastian was still smiling at her. He was enjoying the psychological back-and-forth.

“If you paid for the whole center,” she said, “the other party would probably back out. But they might not. So we couldn’t put it in writing. But if the time comes and they’re not there, we won’t say anything if you have a little sprawl.”

“It sounds wonderful. Everything under the table with no protection. We should probably start filing the lawsuits now to save time afterward. So here’s where we stand. I’ll go back and look to see if we can afford to pay the bribe you’re asking. Oh, don’t be shocked at a word. We’re going to be good friends from now on. You see, I honestly don’t know if we can pay it. We have a treasurer who takes care of the budget. And if we can’t, then we can’t have our convention, which I don’t want, and you won’t get paid, which you don’t want. We’re working toward a common goal.”

He got up and walked out of the office.

The treasurer, Micah, was an Earth human like Bastian, though he still required sleep. He had a special insight for how to pinch pennies, an ability that was only heightened along with his strength and speed.

“Are you insane?” he said. “There’s no way we can pay that much. Why did you agree to it?”

“Because it was going to happen whether I agreed to it or not,” said Bastian. “And because it happened that way, we may be able to cheat. Assume we only have to pay, let’s say, ninety percent more. They probably won’t quibble over that much.”

“I would. But even if you’re right, I still don’t know how to do it.”

“Well, cut my salary in half for one.”

“In half? I wasn’t planning to pay you at all.”

Bastian laughed. “Then cut yours in half.”

“I don’t make enough for that to make a difference. Even if you include what I’m skimming off the top.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something to cut.”

“Bastian,” Micah said, “I’m good at what I do, and I know what’s possible and what’s not. There’s no way the convention makes money if you do this. And I’m not going to sign off on a con that’s a guaranteed failure. I won’t lie to the backers.”

“You’re right. We can’t do that. But we can’t give up either.”

“Then clear your schedule and get me some coffee. I’ll print out the budget and we can sweat our skulls until we figure out how to do the impossible.”

Two hours later, they had worked their way through every line item on the expense side, and were still coming up short. Bastian threw away his fourth cup of coffee.

“The shame of it is that we’re popular. People want to come to this con. We just need a way to turn human capital into actual capital,” he said.

“Ask some of the magical bronies on staff. They’re the ones who turn things into other things.”

“That’s it! You’re brilliant!”

“I know. You’re seriously going to try to use magic to raise money?”

“No, but Jack in the Registration department is. He’ll find a way to get everyone who’s coming to pony up some more money. I know he can do it. He’s every bit as nice as you aren’t.”

“Well, at least my first question is answered. You’re definitely insane.”

Jack had a printout of the e-mail that Bastian had sent him detailing the situation. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Bastian.

“So what’s your plan?”

“I was hoping you’d come up with something.”

“Well, we have basically one revenue stream, and that’s the price of admission. We can raise that, but the problem is everyone who’s already paid,” said Jack.

Bastian had brought his copy of the treasurer’s report. It was wrinkled and had a coffee ring at it. He stared at the paper, his enemy.

“Maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle,” he said. “We could be underestimating bronies. What if we simply asked for more?”

“Donations? That gets real complicated.”

“It probably will, but let’s try it anyway. Call the web site guys and have them put up an update asking. Let people know that there’s nothing in it for them except our gratitude. Let’s just see what happens.”

Bastian’s professional office was small and cluttered, and Micah had to move some folders off the chair before he could sit down.

“Well, what did you come up with?” he asked.

“We’re asking the convention-goers to voluntarily pay more.”

“That’s it? That’s your big plan? I’m not going to sign off on that.”

Bastian slid his chair over to the computer. “Don’t you even want to know how it’s turned out so far?”

“It’s only been three days. ‘So far’ is not that far at all.”

“Good phrase. I’ll have to steal it. Anyway, you can read the whole thing on the message board if you want.”

“Why don’t you give me the short version?” Micah asked.

“Everyone is complaining and moaning. Half of them are threatening to tear up their tickets. But no one has actually done so, and around five thousand dollars has come in.”

Micah’s glasses slipped off his face. Bastian laughed, not thinking that could really happen.

“Then you’ve done it! We’re going to be all right,” Micah said.

“Yes, I thought so as well. That was yesterday. Then I slept on it—metaphorically speaking—and made another post this morning. The gist of that one is that everyone who paid double can invite a friend for free.”

Micah recovered his glasses. “So you essentially reversed it. Now we’re still screwed. You are an utterly stupid man, Bastian. Forget it. You can dupe everyone else, but I’m not going to approve this and that means the con’s not happening.”

“You don’t have to approve it. But the con is going to happen.”

“You’re not willing to take people’s money, but you’re willing to lie to the owners?”

“I have never lied to the owners of FCE,” said Bastian, with a knowing smile.

“Not telling them is just as duplicitous.”

“They already know.”

Micah just stared.

“All right, I’ve had enough fun,” Bastian said. “Time to let you in on the joke. I bought out the old owners. Enough of them, anyway. A few are remaining as silent partners, treating it as a lottery ticket that could still make money. Which I hope to.”

“How on Earth can you afford that?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I can’t. I’m mortgaged to the hilt. I can’t even afford this office any more. I’ll probably have to move into the closet. You know what I realized last night? Money just sits there. It doesn’t do anything. Even the things you buy with it don’t move. And that means they don’t matter. Only experiences matter. And FimCon is going to be an experience to remember.”

The detective had only recently been promoted, and wore his slacks and sport jacket in the same way as he had worn his uniform. He had too much bulk for the suit, and was used to backing people down by the sheer power of his clothing.

Bastian had a smile for everyone, even for the detective as he laid out the reasons why they would not allow the convention to open.

“You’re attracting a lot of undue attention. We’ve had an awful lot of applications for gatherings, protests, marches, and whatever on the days that you’re operating. Some have been denied, but some haven’t. And some people are going to march even without a permit.

“It’s not like we haven’t seen this before. Political party conventions, the G-8 meetings, and whatever. And when that happens, we have procedures in place to keep order. But we have to specifically initiate those procedures, and as yet we haven’t been told to.”

Bastian just sat there with the same smile. The detective was starting to get annoyed.

“And of course, all those events were run by a bunch of bigwigs for important purposes. Your convention is about a television show.

“So, for your protection, as well as that of the city”—and my bosses’ rear ends, he added mentally—“we’re going to have to pull the plug.”

The detective had issued edicts many times on patrol, and he was used to reactions of anger or compliance. He looked at Bastian still sitting, smiling, and not reacting. He wondered if this was how things were done at this level or if Bastian was just an oddball. He had to break through the shell, and asking a direct question was the only way to do so.

“Is this really that important? It’s just some ponies.”

Bastian didn’t respond immediately, and the detective thought that he was going to stonewall until he ended the conversation. But he was just gathering his thoughts, as he said, “Yes, it is that important.

“I could tell you why. I could tell you that happiness is more important than money, politics, and all the things that make the newspapers. I could introduce you to people who would probably be dead by their own hands today if not for ‘just some ponies.’ I could also introduce you to married couples who met because of ‘just some ponies.’ And that was before the enhancements happened.

“I could tell you about a gathering of Earth humans who believe that, in another ten years, they can end world hunger. Or perhaps you’d like to meet the pegasus people who are forming a search-and-rescue team to patrol dangerous areas where people are camping or hiking or mountain-climbing. All volunteer, no one gets paid, and they’re completely at the disposal of any existing rescue team that asks for help. Magical bronies, I’m sorry to say, have no particularly grand plans. I could only give you anecdotal proof of what they’re doing. One stops a house fire here. Another conjures clothes for the poor there.

“This is that important because for all of us, we have to know we’re not alone. We have to know that we’re not going to be caged because of our differences.

“But none of that matters. Because the fact is that this event is going to happen, and it doesn’t matter whether you approve or not. You say that you’re concerned about our security, but you’re not willing to stop the protests and such that threaten it. As I see it, if you don’t have enough backbone to remove the people who are interfering with a peaceful gathering, you certainly don’t have enough to remove the people who are the peaceful gathering.

Now it was the detective’s turn to say nothing, though for a very different reason. He tried to read Bastian’s face for any hint that he was bluffing. He saw none.

Giving in was not in his nature. He said, “If that’s your position, if you go through with this, then people are going to get hurt. Your people, the people that you were talking about—“

Bastian interrupted. “I was talking about friends, but they are certainly not my people. People aren’t something to be possessed.”

“Whatever. Everyone’s going to know that they have no protection and they’re going to take advantage of it. And we’re going to be out there in the public eye, making sure it’s known that you were told to shut down, and you didn’t. Blood is going to be on your hands.”

Bastian burst out laughing. “In the first place, that’s a moot point, because we’re not going to let anyone get hurt. You don’t have confidence in people. I do. Most are good people, who want nothing more than to get along. And the snakes in the grass? They always have a rattle, an easy way to tell them apart.

“But even if there were to be a problem, and one person hurts others, how on Earth can you think that that’s anyone’s fault but the one person?”

The detective walked to the door. Refusing to let Bastian have the last word, he turned back and said, “You’ll regret this, you know. You think you’re the first group to defy authority? Plenty have, and they’ve all either come back into line or collapsed on themselves.” He left.

Alone, Bastian said to the air, “But they didn’t have the magic of friendship.”

Bastian wrote the next post for the web site himself.

Everypony:

When we first planned FimCon, we thought it would be an even exchange. We show all our guests a good time, and they in turn provide us with a few dollars. Then the enhancements happened, and we began to draw attention. Since then, we have had to come to you, cap in hand, and ask for money. You responded with more generosity than I could have hoped. Can we depend once more on you? This time we need something more difficult than money.

I’ve just gotten official notification that the government plans to offer us no protection at the convention. What this means is that if anyone from outside decides to cause a scene, we’re on our own. So the first thing we need is strength. We know that among you are some who are super-strong, super-fast, or impenetrable. There are others who have powers that can serve to protect us Can we count on you to help watch over those who have not been enhanced? It means having both the bravery of Rainbow Dash and the patience of Fluttershy. If we have enough volunteers, no one from outside can stop us.

But the second thing I have to ask is not voluntary. Everypony coming has to agree. You will need to police yourselves, and I don’t just mean each other. I’m counting on you, if there’s any sort of confrontation, to resolve it without any higher authority than our volunteers. What that means is that if you’re a vendor, you need to not cheat people, and if you’re a customer, don’t take advantage. If you have a short temper, don’t lose it. Not this weekend.

For two days, we need to be the people we were meant to be. We need to be as friendly as the ponies of Equestria. Only if we are will we pull off the miracle we need to.

When the detective had left the office and returned to his precinct, he wrote a brief account of the conversation in his notebook. A day later, he included the web site post and made it his report. His lieutenant called him in for a rundown on his open cases, where he went into further detail on Bastian’s reaction.

The lieutenant had an expense-account lunch with the Chief of Detectives over which he mentioned that FimCon would be bucking their authority. The Chief relayed it to a congressman over a round of golf. On the flight to Washington, the congressman told it as an anecdote to a senator from the same state. By the time the senator re-told it to President Steuben, the game of telephone led the president to understand that the bronies had an active policy of thumbing their nose at anyone in power.

Steuben was a cautious man, whose first recourse in any situation was to look for his second recourse. He called the attorney general and had a few marshals sent to New York strictly to observe. Then he met with one of his party bosses.

“I’ll tell you privately,” Steuben said, “that I don’t like this. This is the kind of thing that gets precedential. We’re either going to have problems at this even or we’re not. If we do, it gets in the paper and makes us look bad for not doing anything. If we don’t, they start to get swelled heads. At some point, we’re going to need to take a position on this whole magical-flying thing. I, for one, think the position should be, ‘Toe the mark, stop acting like the rules don’t apply to you. And if you don’t, we’ll make you stop.’”

With three days until FimCon, the first counterdemonstration arrived in New York. They consisted of the congregations of eight different sects, some of which had previously protested against one another. They filled some of the same hotels that the convention-goers would be staying at, and had plans to leave the rooms in some disarray when they left. Some dressed in expensive clothing, others in the traditional garb of their religion.

Their protests were not flashy affairs, being based largely around sermons preached by speakers who would raise their tone of voice just enough to bring the crowd near a frenzy, then pass the microphone to another who would start over again.

The main theme of the sermons was that whoever was running the world, he, she, or it was the only one who had the right to control nature, and that mankind’s proper role was to exercise humility in the face of that control. Any person who was so presumptuous as to manipulate the laws of nature had to be in league with the devil.

The nightly news spoke of a spiritual revival meeting, and emphasized the need for moral guidance in a confusing age. They mentioned nothing about bronies at all.

Bastian tried to arrange meetings with the leaders of the protests to ensure safety, but only one was willing. The preacher had the highest rated program in his Pennsylvania county, and he wore gold rings that had turned his fingers green.

“We’re not asking you to stop your protest,” Bastian said. “All we’re asking is that you tone down the rhetoric, remind the people that there’s no call for violence, and to give us the space we’re entitled to over the weekend.”

The preacher retreated in his chair a bit, as if afraid that Bastian would infect him. “It’s quite reasonable to ask all that, but you may overestimate my abilities here. I’m not in charge of these people. They’re just here because they’re passionate about something.”

“I can understand that. I’m in the same position as you. We’re both trying to help people pursue their passions.”

“Indeed. You should come on my show some time. We could use some of your abilities to show folks that they can be used for godly purposes.”

“With all respect, sir, I’m not a follower of your faith.”

“No, I guess you aren’t. Son, you really don’t understand what we’re doing here, do you?”

“I would like to,” said Bastian.

“All of us here, even the heathens, can function just fine when we’re all equal. But history tells us that it gets bad when one group is placed ahead of another. This is not just a march of protest. It’s a march of survival. So long as you exist as a group, we can’t.”

There were two days until FimCon. The streets that day were occupied by a mixed group of political protestors. Ramshackle booths were erected in the park and along the avenues, selling literature and paraphernalia. The people who sold at the booths wore ragged clothes and hair as a statement of solidarity and for marketing purposes. The people who bought wore ragged clothes and hair because they didn’t care how they looked.

There were fewer speeches given in these protests. They preferred to send their message via the one-sentence sign. Pieces of hastily painted cardboard were stapled to wooden beams, reading things like “Clip the wings of pegasus people,” “Earth humans have rocks for brains,” and “Public service is the real magic.”

One protestor who seemed to have Bastian’s gift of unlimited energy kept up an endless torrent of invective through a bullhorn.

“At one point, we were taught that everyone was made equal! Well, I’m looking across at people who think they’re better than everyone! If they were really the nice and pleasant people they say they are, they’d share their secret with the rest of us! I’ve watched the show they talk about! I didn’t grow wings, did I? So don’t try to feed that crap to me!

“Those who have powers also have a responsibility to the rest of humanity. We’ve heard about their charitable efforts. That’s not charity! That’s what they owe the rest of us for their privilege! It’s not giving when you’re just doing what you can. You’ve got to give until it hurts! But they never hurt.”

Bastian did not try to these protestors. He sat in the hotel’s banquet room and listened to the ranting. I never hurt? he thought. I hurt every time I read about one of you attacking another person because they’re different. I hurt when a lady saw me as nothing but something to extract money from. I hurt when a stuffed suit told me I wasn’t worth protecting. I hurt plenty. I just don’t cry about it.

Anyone passing by the room would have heard a faint singing. “Cause all I really need’s a smile, smile, smile. . . “

On the day before FimCon opened, the media finally noticed that something was going on. A wire service sent a cameraman and reporter to interview Bastian.

“How do you answer the charges of your critics that you’ve obtained your abilities through nefarious means?”

“I can’t answer the charges of critics when they won’t discuss things rationally. What nefarious means are they referring to? How did we discover these means and why can’t everybody do it? That’s what I can’t answer because the questions are ridiculous.”

“What about the accusations that you should be doing more for society?” the reporter asked.

“I think we’re doing an awful lot. But I wasn’t aware that we had any obligations to society beyond those that any regular person does.”

“We’ve heard that there’s going to be a big meeting during this convention that could determine the course of your people. What do you hope will come out of this meeting and how are you going to control the destiny of enhanced people?”

Bastian breathed in heavily. He was losing patience, but he knew that this was important. “I don’t control any of these people. They’re all free agents, and they’re all responsible for themselves.”

“Are you concerned about safety?”

“Of course I am. Not nearly as much from our attendees as from the outsiders. All we want to do is get together, have fun, and live our lives. Why is that such a problem?”

“OK, I think that’s good enough,” the reporter said, removing the professionalism from her tone. “Thanks for appearing on camera.”

“Not at all. I’m glad to get my side on the record. Can I have a copy of the tape?” asked Bastian.

“Well, we’ll send you one after it broadcasts. We can’t let you scoop us by uploading it on the internet or anything.”

Bastian chuckled. “All right.”

That night, Bastian and some of the staff were handing out the badges to the early arrivals. The director of registration had a tablet computer, and they watched the interview on the local news.

“How do you answer the charges of your critics that you’ve obtained your abilities through nefarious means?”

“I can’t answer the charges.”

“What about the accusations that you should be doing more for society?”

“I wasn’t aware that we had any obligations to society”

“Are you concerned about safety?”

“I don’t control any of these people. They’re all responsible for themselves.”

“What about potential violence?”

“Why is that such a problem?”

“She never even asked me that!” Bastian said.

There was a tense silence. Everyone, staff and con-goers, stared at Bastian.

“I—“

Bastian had a moment. The weight of all his meetings, all the money issues, all the drama, and all the politics hit him at once. They combined with the faces. He desperately wanted to put his head in his hands. For the first time in months, Bastian felt tired. Then the moment passed.

“Everypony. I’m not going to tell you that your journey here wasn’t difficult. Whatever happens over the next two days, it’s going to take everypony. But that includes me. I can’t tell you how many people have tried to make this convention not happen. In a couple of days, we’re going to get together at a panel and talk about our future. It’s going to seem very complicated, but it’s really very simple.

“People are going to try to stop us, no matter what we do. And all we have to do to beat them is to not stop. All of you, you need to keep flying, keep casting, keep growing.” He looked at his watch. “In about twelve hours, FimCon is going to open. It’s going to open because I’m not going to stop. I couldn’t do it without you, but I know that you’re going to be there. You’re not going to stop either. And I know that. . . because I need you.

“That’s what separates us in here from them out there. We can give help when we need it, and we can ask for it when we need it. I’m offering and I’m asking. So what about it? Are we ready?”

The crowd cheered. Bastian picked up the next badge and moved the line along.