Providential Divergence

"When is that next piece coming off?!"

Neirin sighed at the inquiry, and depressed the safety lever on his machine, silencing it and tucking the cutting laser firmly behind a titanium safety shield, "Five minutes!"  He pulled the lever once more, and pressed 'Activate' on the cutter's touchscreen.

"Assuming you stop frikin interrupting me," he muttered under his breath as he guided the laser carefully across the holographic pattern overlaid onto the sheet-metal at the machine's base.

When the laser finally made the last incision, the scrap fell away, and was instantly whisked to the recycling vat by a magnetic conveyor.  Neirin secured the machine, and plucked the finished part out of the housing.

While AI-operated devices could 'route' objects far more quickly, and with more precision, manual CNC work was still needed for two reasons.  First; because it increased production, however slightly.  Second, and more importantly; because the word 'handmade' could turn even a mediocre brand into a top-credit run of merchandise for a corporation.

In an age where machines could do almost everything, Neirin found it supremely ironic that the most expensive commodities were priced so highly precisely because they had minimal AI involvement in their creation.  And people were drawn to that.

Neirin winced as he tossed the completed part into the appropriate chute with a loud 'CLANG.'  A pang of stabbing sensations wracked his brain, and he fumbled for his anti-concussion meds.  He popped the cap, swallowed a pill dry, then held his head down for several seconds as a wave of dizziness overtook him.

He was yanked abruptly from his attempted recovery by the sound of a car horn.  Neirin yelped, and juked sideways as a large sedan swooped past on its silent electric motor.  He stood, gasping for breath, in a state of total stock.

The factory floor was gone.  In its place was Piccadilly Circus.  He had been standing in the crosswalk of the main thoroughfare.

He blinked, and gaped.  Before him, surrounded by shops and corporate mega-skyscrapers, was the London Conversion Bureau.

Neirin stood for several seconds before he had the presence of mind to dig in his pockets for the Gryphonization flyer.  All he discovered was lint, and his wallet.

Neirin stared up at the gleaming ninety story plexiglass swoop that was the Bureau, and ran a hand through his hair.  He began to breathe more heavily, and had to squint and concentrate to avoid going into hyperventilation.

As his faculties slowly returned, he briefly considered going in to work, and trying to cook up some sort of excuse for being late.  He dismissed the idea almost instantly; realizing that doing so would make no leeway in explaining what was happening to him.  He needed answers; things were getting worse, not better.

He stared up at the Conversion Bureau, his mind and heart torn.  On the one hand, going inside would feel like an admission that his beliefs were a lie.  On the other; Philos was the only point of contact he had who might be able to get him actual help for whatever condition was afflicting him.

Neirin had always been pragmatic, and ultimately pragmatism won the day.  He inhaled a deep shuddering lungful of London air, and started out up the steps to the Bureau.

The entrance was a vast facade of curved plexiglass arches supported by gleaming titanium buttresses, and lit by a bevy of soft blue LED lightstrips.

Neirin paused at the threshold of the automatic doors, once again torn by fear.  He feared stepping into the Bureau more than almost anything.  Almost.  In the end he feared losing his mind more.

He winced, and stepped across the threshold.  The lobby was cool and airy; marble floors with carpeted edges offered a striking contrast to the multi-story atrium's glass and steel walls.

Neirin suddenly realized, with a physical jolt, that he had no idea how to find Philos in the massive warren of offices, apartments, conference rooms, and conversion chambers.  He made his way sheepishly to the front desk, gritting his teeth as he noted that it was staffed by a Pony.

He bit his lip, but ultimately screwed up the courage to speak to the teal colored male receptionist, "Ahhh... Excuse me.  I'm looking for a Gryphon named Philos... He works with the JRSF unit based here."

The Pony smiled, and tapped at a holographic interface; the controls were enlarged and reshaped to accommodate hooves.  He shook his head slowly as data scrolled across his terminal, "I'm sorry; I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly where he might be... I can leave him a message though if you'd like Mr...?"

Neirin sighed and waved the receptionist off as he turned to go, "Nevermind.  Thanks anyways,"  He winced once more as he headed for the entrance at a fast clip, mumbling under his breath, "I shouldn't have even come in here..."

"Neirin?"

He glanced up and froze at the mention of his name.  Philos was standing in the entrance, his beak fixed in a bemused expression, his ears perked forward in a sign of curiosity, "What are you doing here at this time of day?"

Neirin struggled to find words, his voice cracking with stress induced sorrow, "I... I don't know!  I'm having these headaches!  And they're getting WORSE! And I'm LOSING TIME!  I can't handle it!  I don't know... I just..."

Philos placed a comforting claw in Neirin's shoulder, "Come with me.  We'll get you sorted.  I promise."

"Simon Joerthsin?"

Simon tilted his head, and glared at the man, "Yes...?  Who's asking?"

The man shifted, casually placing his hands in his pockets.  Behind him, his female cohort leaned on the walkway railing.  Both were clad in casual garb; middle class and well kempt, but not overly expensive.

"My sister and I represent a... Well a technological conglomerate you might say.  We study the effects of Thaumatic radiation, among other things.  Particularly its effects on people.  According to our information, someone lives here by the name of Neirin Ellis, with his roommate Simon Joerthsin."

Simon crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, "Your point?  I have work to do, and---"

The man calmly, smoothly interrupted, "Your... 'friend' was in the middle of a serious terror attack yesterday.  We believe he was dosed with a significant amount of Thaumatic radiation.  We're interested in getting in touch with him to discuss mutually beneficial opportunities wherein we might study its effect on him, and you two might benefit... monetarily."

Neirin stared at the Unicorn with an emotionless interest, as she manipulated a giant cylinder of holographic data.  Behind her, the scanning biobed he had been asked to lie on for nearly five minutes, was at last silent.

Philos was pacing slowly between him and the hologram, seemingly lost in thought.

After several uncomfortable minutes of quiet, the Unicorn motioned the Gryphon over, and began carrying out an animated discussion in tones too low for Neirin to make out their exact words.

He shifted uncomfortably; he had no desire to be inside a Bureau medical room, let alone one in which two non-humans were talking about him behind his back.

Neirin finally gave in to his urges and coughed behind one hand.  Philos nodded to the Unicorn, and ambled over, "Let's... Let's go to my office and talk shall we?"

The pair exited the medical ward in silence, and made their way to a lift.  As Philos thumbed the control panel with one gleaming talon, Neirin sighed.  The Gryphon raised an eyebrow, "You're not a big fan of Conversion.  Are you."  It came out more as a morose statement than any sort of question.

Neirin nodded and stared down at the carpet.  It was a pleasing shade of teal with blue patterning.

Philos stood in silence, shifting from claw to claw to paw, before speaking again, "Someone in your family put you off it?  Most people who are *this* uncomfortable in a Bureau got burned in some way that relates to family..."

Neirin bit his lip, and then forced himself to nod again.  Philos hummed thoughtfully, "PER victimize a member of your family or..."  As Neirin winced, Philos' eyes widened, "Oh.  So one of your family *is* a radical.  How long?"

"Years.  Since I was a fair bit younger.  My mother."  Neirin glanced up at the ceiling, then out the hallway's bank of windows.  Anything to avoid staring into Philos' molten gold eyes.

The lift arrived, and the unlikely companions stepped aboard.  The ride was brief, and silent, and when they arrived on the desired upper floor, Philos escorted Neirin to his office.

The space obviously belonged to a Gryphon; a suit of gray digital camouflage armor hung on a Gryphon shaped rack by the door, a crossbow-like weapon hung on one wall beside the room's largest holoscreen, and there were several gryphon-sized cushions in one corner beside a small glass-topped table.  The space also held subtle implications that Philos was indeed a convert; a model jet was perched on the desk beside its embedded keyboard, and there was a picture of two humans, smiling together over a small child.

Neirin pointed at the image, "Your family?"

Philos smiled fondly, "Mom and Dad, yes."

"Still... living?"  Neirin winced as he realized how awkward and inappropriate the question was.  Philos however seemed nonplussed.

The Gryphon took a seat on the specially shaped stool behind his desk, and nodded smiling, "Yes infact.  They converted when I did; but they went on to Equestria.  I volunteered to stay here and be part of the JRSF for a little while."

Neirin sighed in relief, but winced again as the Gryphon twisted the flow of conversation back to him, "What about your family?  Still living?"

The man nodded slowly, "Dad, Mom, and a sister.  Yes."

The Gryphon gave him a smile that seemed to contain more empathetic sadness than actual joy, "And.. your mother is the one who hurt you?  Forgive me for saying so; but the way your inflection changed... Lets just say that while our ears don't hold a candle to Ponies or Diamond Dogs, they are many thousands of times better than yours."

Neirin blinked in surprise, then collapsed into the guest chair opposite Philos, and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, "Why... am I even telling you this?"

Philos raised an eyebrow, "Well I don't know the intentions of your heart and soul... I'm not you.  But I'd wager a solid guess that you don't get out much, and you don't exactly have many... if any... friends.  I offered to be your friend.  I meant that in honesty; and I hope you're taking me up on that offer."

The Gryphon shrugged, "That... and its easy for my kind to read yours.  You are effectively an open book to me; your species has no capacity to control their automatic biological responses to emotional stimuli on a micro-level.  We have the perception to take in all these changes at they happen; heart-rate, pupils, skin texture, breathing speed, pose..."

Neirin shifted uncomfortably and held up a hand, "I just... want to know why I'm loosing time, and hallucinating."

Philos grunted, "Mmm.  Yes.  That.  Well, the short answer is; you're not."

"Excuse me?!"  Neirin gasped, and leaned forward, a note of indignation and fear creeping into his voice, "I told you, and your Unicorn friend, that I was in a factory one moment, and outside this building the next! How can you say---"

Philos held up a claw, and glared, "If you'll let me finish please?"  Neirin collapsed backwards and exhaled in frustration.  The Gryphon inclined his head, "Thank you.  Now please bear with me; have you ever heard of the Disciples of Fate?"

Neirin shook his head, and squinted in confusion.

The Gryphon pointed to the wallscreen, as he tapped out a series of commands on his desk terminal, and called up a plethora of data, "They're a recent outgrowth of the PER.  Most of their attacks have been small scale and unsophisticated... so far.  They believe, like the Rebirth movement, in taking away human free will; but they do not share the fanatical dedication to Ponykind.  Their driving motivation is an atheistic darwinian belief that chance... or 'fate,' is the only governing force in the universe, and that all sapient life will benefit most when it succumbs to the flow of fate rather than fighting it."

Neirin's eyes widened, "So the guy's pistol?  The guy who attacked the mall?"

Philos nodded, "It was their first real invention; it works based off of a series of small potion cylinders; opaque and randomly loaded by a machine.  That way, whatever the victim is dosed with is utterly 'determined by fate.'  But they've been working on dispersion cylinders too, much like the ones the PER are so fond of.  What you ran afoul of was an as yet unloaded, untested prototype that was being ferried to one of their training camps to be fully weaponized."

Neirin held a hand to his forehead, and stared up at the ceiling in shock, "Sheeeesh..."

After a moment of thought his brow crinkled, "So... I was affected somehow by the device?"

Philos stood, and began to pace, "Have you ever heard of the Cartier/Thornton Equations?"

"Whatta-who-now?"  Neirin raised an eyebrow.

"Quantum physics?"  The Gryphon tilted his head in query.  Neirin vehemently shook his.

"Sorry.  I'm not good with math.  Or science."

Philos nodded, "Very well; I'll do my best to distill it.  You've at least heard of string theory yes?"

Neirin squinted, trying to remember, "I... I *think* I've run across it in a few novels now and again... Isn't that the idea that every time we make a choice, we create parallel universes where each outcome is true?"

"Correct."  The Gryphon held up a talon, "But incomplete as far as Cartier and Thornton were concerned.  They believed, and had some convincing math to argue, that the choice does not create one or more new universes.  Rather that there is only one multiverse, with one distinct timeline through which all universes and worlds march inexorably forward; none of them are parallel versions of alternate history."

Philos gestured expansively to the air around him, "However, to keep with conservation of information, they theorized that the multiverse records all the information dictating not only what *is,* but what *might* have been, and what might *be.*"

Neirin's eyes widened, but his mouth clenched into a firm line of confusion.  Philos pointed at the wall screen, "Let me illustrate; let us say that what you see on the screen is reality.  This reality is governed on some level by the color of each pixel, much like our reality is governed by math, physics, and logic, chemistry, and so forth.  But if we dig deeper, we find that all that is in turn governed by data embedded somewhere on a hard drive.  The universe works the same way."

Neirin began to nod slowly, "And just like the computer stores information on what might be on the screen, what has been on the screen, and what would have been on the screen...?"

"So does the multiverse.  Yes."  Philos smiled proudly, "Precisely."

The Gryphon returned to his stool, and leaned forward, his expression hardening into one of far greater gravity, "Neirin... as near as Astral Thread can tell, and I've never known her to be wrong, you're..."

Philos snorted, as he searched for words, then snapped his claws above his desk and called a hologram into view.  He traced out a line, ending in an arrow, with a talon, "This is the timeline.  You're living happily in it like everyone else..."

The Gryphon tapped several controls, and drew two lines emanating from the end of the first; each a different off-white color, intertwining, and ending in arrows pointing in subtly different directions, "When you were caught by the blast, you were exposed to the chaos magic the DoF have been experimenting with to drive the randomness in their dispersion cylinders.  Astral's theory is that... well for lack of better terms, that you're still there.  You're still lying there in the microsecond after the thaumatic radiation hit you."

Neirin gaped, "The *hell?*"

Philos inclined his head, "The idea is that your consciousness is currently split between two possible realities that are both being temporarily run by the universe in tandem as a result of the detonation of the device, combined with your brain providing for quantum observer effect. Your anti-concussion medications are jumping you back and forth between the two sides of reality as a result of something called Crimexaline, which is a drug that affects the parts of the brain responsible for understanding and keeping track of time."

Neirin threw up his hands, "Right! Ok! So I just stop taking pills then?"

Philos nodded, "You could.  If you spend more than a set amount of time... probably approximately twenty hours, in one particular side; the other will undergo quantum waveform collapse, be recorded on the universe as 'what might have been,' and reality will go on as normal."

Neirin held up a hand and closed his eyes, "Wait wait wait... Are you saying... I am the one who chooses?"

The Gryphon nodded once more, "Correct."

Neirin slumped back in his chair, "This is... too much..."  He pointed at the Gryphon, without making eye contact, "So if I just go home, go to sleep like I've got one hell of hangover... This will all end?"

When Philos did not respond, Neirin sat up and glared, "This will all end... *right?*"

Philos sighed, "Neirin... unfortunately... The effect is still strong right now.  And you've taken a great many of those pills over the last twenty four hour cycle.  There is enough Crimexaline in your system to more or less guarantee that several more jumps are going to occur, even if you stop taking the pills immediately.  In fact, until the thaumatic radiation bound to your brain begins to dissipate, and drops below a certain level, the best you can do is control the jumps with the pills to ensure they don't catch you by surprise."

Neirin groaned, "So... when will it drop to levels where I can get off this hellish ride?"

Philos inhaled, "Not for at least twenty four hours.  Possibly closer to thirty six.  No more than forty eight at the outside.  After that, you can stop taking the pills and choose one reality over the other."

Neirin groaned again, louder and longer.  Philos cocked his head, "Why concern yourself?  Hopefully the two timelines are similar enough that there is no major need to choose one over the other in the first place.  How far have they diverged currently?"

Neirin stared out the window, looking as if he was on the verge of tears, "In this timeline?  I've pissed off my roommate because he saw the Gryphonization flyer, I've had a shouting match with him, and I probably didn't show up to work today given that I'm currently here, now.  In the other he hasn't seen the flier, and I went to work, and everything is just... *peachy.*"

Philos spread his claws, "There you go then.  Simple choice yes?"

Neirin locked eyes with him willingly for the first time.  Philos nodded, "Ahhh.  So it's more complicated than that.  I see."

A tear finally forced its way past Neirin's guard, "You have no idea."

The Gryphon sat back and folded his claws, "Try me."