The One Who Can't, And The One Who Won't
The Conversion Bureau: Can’t, Won’t
By Silvertie
The scrape of boot on stone echoed through the still, chill air, punctuated by the grunted exertions of a human as they hefted their burden, and kept going.
Wrapped up warm in a thick, black overcoat, a human clutched a large plastic chest between two gloved hands, and he puffed clouds of white mist into the air as he looked out over the horizon at the sunrise and what lay beyond.
The sunrise looked as if it was underwater from here, distorted by the Dome of Equestria, which even now, filled most of the skyline, a rippling pearl of light that marked the border between Earth and that land that was practically a little girl’s dream, Equestria. The line that separated Earth from a land untouched by war, a land of plenty. The line that advanced ever onwards as he watched, devouring the earth metres at a time and breaking it down into utopian grassland in the blink of an eye, its growth no longer being inhibited by the pony princesses.
The end of the world was... neigh.
The man chuckled, and eyed a suitable rock for what he wanted, approaching it and kicking the snow off it with his foot before dropping the chilly bin next to it, and sitting down, facing the sunrise and savoring it. The last sunrise the Earth would ever see, for today was P-day. Purification day. The dome would speed up, unfettered for the first time in two decades, and within the day, it would encapsulate the earth pole to pole. Nothing of the old Earth would remain, and perhaps that was for the best.
He opened the chilly bin, and with a scrunch of packed ice, pulled out a bottle of clear fluid, and a glass. He nudged the bin’s lid down with an elbow, and with care, poured himself a generous glass of the vodka, straight.
“Hi there!” a voice rang out, hailing him.
“If you’re here to talk me down,” the man said, “to try and change my mind? Forget it.”
A pony rose into view over the edge of the cliff, a scarf wrapped around his own neck, wings tucked in close to his sides, puffing warm air. His tan coat was cris-crossed with visible scars, and his sea-green mane was regrettably patchy in places, growth stopped by more scar tissue.
“I’m not here to try and sell you anything,” the stallion reassured.
“You ain’t fooling anyone,” the man muttered, taking a drink. “I know a bureaupony when I hear one.”
“Ah, I guess it’s true what they say,” the stallion muttered, walking closer and standing in the snow, next to the man and his chilly bin. “You can take the pony out of the bureau, but you can’t take the bureau out of the pony. I guess it comes from a lifetime of pushing paper. Mind if I have a seat?”
“It’s a free world,” the man shrugged, and the pony nodded, dusting off some stone with a wing before sitting down carefully. The pegasus sighed contentedly as he looked up.
“Well, that’s a view and a half.”
“If you’re not here for me,” the man said, “then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be on the other side of that dome, already?”
“Eh,” the pony shrugged. “I followed you because you were about the only thing moving about these parts that wasn’t some automated robot. Figured you had plans, a good place staked out, and I was right. It’s a hell of a sunrise, thanks for letting me share.”
“You’re not really answering the question,” the man pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah,” the stallion waved a hoof dismissively. “I’m not on the other side of that dome, because I can’t be on the other side of the dome. It’s as deadly to me as it is to you.”
“Oh?” The man swirled his drink amusedly. “Why so? Something go wrong with your ponification?”
“No, I’m a native,” the stallion shook his head. “Born and raised in Cloudsdale, even. Played secretary for a couple of years before coming earthside and handling bureau affairs. Never been back since.”
“So what’s stopping you, then?”
“These are,” the stallion said, bending a hoof and pointing it at his scar-crossed chest. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize prosthetic organs when you see them.”
The man hummed in mild agitation. “I was hoping I was wrong. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“I was sorry to get them, at first,” the stallion muttered. “Just another day at the office, filing paper for yet more immigrants to Equestria, when the HLF decide explosions are the best way to get what they wanted.”
“Was it?”
“Well,” the stallion shrugged. “If “killing sixteen humans and twelve ponies” was what they wanted, then yes -- they succeeded. Would have been thirteen ponies, if I hadn’t gotten super lucky. One of the nurses was dropping off more forms to me at the time, a unicorn. She got off lightly, just a bit of grazing and some bruises. I was missing most of my chest and my right leg.” The stallion flexed the limb in question, and the man noted a faint whine of servos. “She kept me alive until human paramedics got on the scene, but my guts were mush, beyond repair. And the kicker? Orichalcum-laced bomb. Largely magic-proof wounds. Simple magic healing wasn’t possible.”
“Ouch.”
“So, human science saved the day,” the pony went on. “New ticker, new lung, replacement cyberliver, and a fresh set of kidneys, all pro bono. Confused me at first, the free bit -- I’d always been given to understand humans didn’t really do altruism on that kind of scale, but... now I see why.”
“A stay of execution, really,” the man muttered, taking another sip.
“I could go home if I really wanted,” the pony said, “But it’d be me and my failing body, just... petering out. Slowly, over the span of a week. Not for me. I said my goodbyes a long time ago, and since then, I’ve just been drifting about the world, seeing what you humans did with it.”
“What’d you think?”
“Very fine, indeed,” the pony smiled. “A bit polluted, but then, you’ve all had to fight harder for what you’ve got, and all without magic. Industry’ll do that.”
“Glad you think so,” the man nodded. “I’m surprised you’re even talking to me, to be honest. Most natives that get gatted by a human tend to get a bit...”
“Xenophobic?”
“Yeah.”
“Way I see it,” the pony said, “I’ve got nothing for humanity but gratitude. Even the ones that blew me up a bit.”
“Why?” The man asked. “Forgiveness is one thing, but if it was me, I’d have a hard time forgiving people who killed me slowly.”
“That’s what I thought,” the pony said. “But really, the pony that I am today is the result of humans, through and through. If I’d never been blown up, I’d never have gotten the prosthetics. And if I never got those, I’d just have gone back home, recuperated, and gone right back to my old life, pushing paper. Stuck out here, I had to do something, and so I wound up seeing the world.” The pony sat back. “And to think I’ve been missing out on this my whole life... But it’s okay, because I’m seeing it now, and that’s enough for me.”
“And it’s all thanks to the bombers,” the man chuckled, finishing his glass of vodka. “What a world.”
“What about you?” the pony asked. “I told you my life story. Let’s hear yours.”
“Oh, I’m nobody important,” the man dismissed. “A life even less interesting than yours, really. Desk jockey right out of high school, never really left. Call for conversion rolled around, and, well... I didn’t answer.”
“Don’t trust ponies?” the stallion asked, grinning as he wiggled his forehooves. “Afraid we’ll wipe your brain and have you swear fealty to the God-Princesses of Ponykind?”
The man broke into laughter. “I’ve heard that line before,” he said, chuckling and wiping an eye. “Nutters, the lot of them. They’re probably standing in the middle of the arctic or something, thinking that’ll save ‘em. No, I just... wasn’t okay with being a pony. I’ve not really got a reason to convert.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, everyone does,” the stallion said, absent-mindedly before catching himself and looking apologetically at the mildly upset human. “Sorry, force of habit. Go on.”
“I mean,” the man said, gesturing at his clothes. “Do I look like I really want for anything? I had a nice job, time on my hands and everything I wanted. Never really been much of an outdoors person, and my family’s long gone.”
“Dead?”
“Does it really matter at this point?” the man asked, eyebrow raised.
The pony nodded, conceding the point, and the two just stared at the sun for a little longer, before the pony broke the silence.
“So, why sit here?”
“Well, like you said,” the man said, smiling. “It’s a nice view.”
The pony laughed. “I mean, why are you even here at all? If you don’t want to be a pony, why not investigate some far-fetched way of escaping the dome?”
“Like the moon arcologies and other space-arks?” the man asked. “No thanks. If I wanted to live in a can with other people and their farts, I’d be a submariner.” He sighed. “No, I figured it was just time to finally stop, sit down and just watch the world go ‘round, for once in my life.”
“I thought you said you always had time,” the pony pointed out.
“I had time,” the man said. “But it never lasted forever. There was always going to be something to do later. Even Equestria couldn’t change that. I’d have to get up and work at some point. I could never really relax.”
“True,” the pegasus admitted.
“But now?” The man took the bottle of vodka, and filled up his glass again. “I’ve got all the time left in the world, and really, I think I owe it to mother Earth to see as much of her go out as possible. A good old send-off.”
“Think you’re the last human on Earth, do you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the man snorted. “I’m not that special, I won’t hold any illusions. There’s dozens of people like me out there, I’m sure. All of us just waiting for our time to end.”
There was more silence, and the pair watched as a city on the horizon, tall and proud, rapidly dissolved and collapsed against the barrier, vanishing in mere seconds.
“Well, it’ll be some time before it gets here,” guessed the pony. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare glass in there?” he asked, hopeful.
“A fan of vodka, are we?” the man asked, smugly. “I didn’t know ponies drank.”
“Not really,” the pony admitted. “But when in Rome, yes?”
The man nodded, and held his glass out to the pony. “If you don’t mind a used glass, you can have it.”
The pony nodded, smiling as he took the glass in two hooves, with care. “Ew, icky human germs in my alcohol.” He took a deep drink, and coughed, clutching the glass so he didn’t drop it, sending vodka everywhere as he jerked and spasmed. He wheezed and coughed some more, and managed to cough out some words. “Ew, alcohol. How can... humans... hwee...”
The human laughed, and waiting for the pony to recover, topped up the glass. “Take it easy, eh?” he advised. “Little sips.”
“It looks like water.”
“It’s anything but.”
“I can feel that, now.”
The man smiled and put the bottle to his lips, taking a hefty drink himself. “Might be the best thing humans ever made, to be honest.”
The pony cleared his throat, and held his glass out. “To humans then, in all their strangely innovative glory.”
The man smiled, and held out the bottle. “Glorious bastards that we are.”
There was a clink, two gulps, and friendship at the end of the world.
