>>177267He takes a seat in the room and invites Garv to sit down on a seat across a small table from him. “Come, sit.” Any insistence on standing is met with “No no. Sit.” He speaks
“Yes, auxiliary. I suppose that’s the term. I think you’re already familiar with our practice of recruiting Nova Griffonian mercenaries. Most of those are assigned to patrol the Changeling border. To hopefully cut off any trade of arms, or movement of rebels across the border, and to provide warm bodies to slow down any potential invasion, while the real defensive line is built back here, in the Port of Baltimare. Those griffins are paid well by Nova Griffonian standards, but very little, all things considered. They are recruited from among the vagabonds and the unemployed. You can imagine we’ve had to hang quite a few for smuggling arms themselves.” He taps his cigarette over the floor and lets the ask fall to the ground, then takes another draw
“But that isn’t why you’re here, as you’ve surely surmised. Let me give you the background. This is Baltimare. Baltimare is not a live, organic city. A live city - if any settlement so large as to be called ‘a city’ coulr ever be considered ‘live’. In any proper pony settlement, a pony is born, lives, and dies in more or less the same region, if not the same village. He has a connection to the land he lives in by birth and by blood. Its myths are his myths. Its history is his history. Its successes, failures, and suffering are his successes, failures and and suffering. It’s collective project is his collective project its its glory is his glory. He has a place, a purpose, and a destiny within a carefully crafted social scheme where he is connected to those around him by shared history, myths, blood, and destiny. That is harmony. That is where loyalty, generosity, kindness, laughter, honesty, and friendship flourish.
And that is not what Baltimare is. To be sure, at one time in recent memory, it was a simple fishing village, then a moderately important trading port, even if lacking a royal shipyard. But Baltimare’s curse is the have a natural harbor, not far by rail from the equestrian interior, the closest by barge to the resources of the south, and closest by sailing clipper to southern Griffonia or northern Zebrica, and even closer by steamship or ocean liner. Always a center of entrepôt, it is now a center of heavy industry. Not even half of the creatures residing here were born here. Its most obvious, to be sure, with the myriad non-pony creatures in Baltimare, a majority of whom flooded the east side in the last five years, but a great many have been here far longer than that. There are diamond dogs, griffins, zebras, deer, Kirin, and more than that, and most are not well assimilated, if a non-pony may ever be said to be fully assimilated into the land of ponies. But even among the ponies most are alien, and if they are not their parents are. Many come from oversees, many are severyanan emigres, from the natives of the south, or of the bat pony communities, and many are simply from the countryside or the interior, looking for work.
The result is that most are strangers living amongst strangers, whose only relationship with the city and its ponies is that they are employees under large industrial employers. They are alone, in need, and angry. Just as mold grows in cold, dark, environments, so too do dangerous lies take hold here.
They are told lie that harmony does not need a delicate ecosystem, but only a simple set of values that may be applied to an ever-growing circle. They are taught that friendship does not require commonality, but may encompass the whole universe. They are taught the lie that money is the only defined value, and that every other value is pure idiosyncrasy. Abd for this dangerous lies, a few are willing to kill and die. These are the anarchists, the harmonists, and the assortment of other leftists who make up a majority of the politically inclined members of the population. Baltimare was rebellious against the old princesses, trying to establish a state based on the abolition of most of what forms the foundation of civilization, as they did in Severyana. But unlike Severyana, the Princess was having none of it, and the rebellion was crushed.
But in the chaos, a few opportunists seized on the chance to present themselves as the harbingers of the brighter tomorrow, holding back the reactionaries, and in reality creating their own little fiefdom. You have them in Nova Griffonia, don’t you? Social Democrats. A socialist state by non-violent means, or something. They set up their own secret police force, gathering information on their political enemies, then hoofing it over to the Equestrians who then arrested their enemies. Perhaps the most efficient of these was Lavender Berry, who placed himself at the head of the police force, and allowed organized crime - and disorganized crime, for that matter - to flourish, so long as he and his friends stayed in power. After we came in, this arrangement was abolished by the previous military governor. A revolt ensued. It has been reinstated, but our trust in our collaborators must be forever verified. And likewise, Baltimare has long been a cauldron of racial tension, especially with the bat ponies, who have not gotten along well with the labor and leftist organizations of the city.”