The Conversion Bureau: Brand New Universe

by Chatoyance

Rating: everyone
Tags: Princess Celestia, Slice of Life, Human, Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Other, Original Character, Science Fiction
Length: 28304

The Anniversary Day for The Conversion Bureau Genre is celebrated with new visions of the concept!

The Conversion Bureau genre was created on March 23rd, 2011. I chose to celebrate the anniversary of the humble origins of one of the most potent and unique of all MLP:FIM subgenres of fanfiction through the invention of completely original, shockingly new visions of the central concept.

Visit a universe where Luna and Celestia are mountain-sized supercomputers. A universe where the Singularity is defined by a toy in a dead man's hands. A universe where Mankind has spread to the stars and the latest fashion is designer bodies. See the Conversion Bureau in new guises, through fresh eyes, as never before.

♥ As Featured On Equestria Daily!

Published 2012-03-11 04:54:01 UTC
Last updated 2018-05-09 09:26:53 UTC

New Universe One: The Pony Singularity

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T H E C O N V E R S I O N B U R E A U :
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Brand New Universe

By Chatoyance

Universe One: The Pony Singularity

The top half of the old man's head looked like a cauliflower. It looked like a still shot of an explosion in a spaghetti factory.

The image in the holotank showed the inside of a computer laboratory. Large, smooth, block-like banks of quantum supercomputers lined the walls and sat on the desks. More were stacked in neat piles, all surrounding a simple chair in the middle of the room. Biofiber conduits connected the blocks, white, gleaming strands forming a strange web of glistening fibers. From the ceiling a vast network of the fibers flowed down like a milky river into the skull of the white-coated old man slumped in the chair.

The fibers had grown through his skull like roots, pushing the bone and skin aside. There they had branched out to touch and connect with every important junction of cells in the ancient man's brain. This had pushed parts of his brain, his skull, and the fibers themselves wide apart, creating the massive cauliflower effect.

The man's body was still alive in the image.

But the man was not in it.

"Sylvia, pan the image in. Look at Gunter's hands. Zoom in on his hands. I want to try to see what he's holding."

The obedient artificial intelligence manipulated the constantly cycling loop of the image in the tank. It analyzed the data and reconstructed, as best as it could, a close-up view of the old man's hands. They filled the holotank now. There was something pink clutched in them.

"Can you do a detail extrapolation, best guess what the object is?"

Sylvia followed the instruction, comparing in an instant what was visible with a basic shape set, and then did a comparison of that shape result with likely matches on the net. She produced a most likely result that consisted of six objects.

Christopher Robinson instantly knew which one of the six it had to be. "Number two. Compare, contrast, overlay and give me a percentage."

Sylvia complied. "Zero point nine eight probability of an exact match, Christopher."

Christopher leaned back and sighed. He hadn't gone mad. What he had seen must have been real. It just made too much sense. But he wanted to hear it. He needed to have a voice say it to him, say it out loud. "Sylvia? Would you please identify the item in question?"

"It is a toy, Christopher."

She was so literal. "No, no. Tell me the name of the toy."

"The toy is called 'Pinkie Pie', Christopher."

That was his favorite. That was Gunter's favorite pony. Of course it would be the last thing he would hold in his hands before he died.

Christopher's stomach growled, making him aware of how long it had been since the last time he had turned down dinner in favor of his effort to see if he had gone stark raving mad or not. Now that he considered himself nominally sane, food sounded like a very good idea.

The food printer hummed and whirred as it printed out a three-dimensional Cuban sandwich. Soon it would use lasers, clouds of moisture and microwaves to transform the powdery form into a delicious meal. Christopher had the drink machine construct a soda. He had long ago stopped using protected patterns. He took a hacker's pride in the fact that all of his food and drink was open source.

"Sylvia?" Christopher took a sip of his newly minted cola. "How long ago did Dr. Schlierkamp die?"

"Three years, ten days, Christopher."

Gunter was alive, at least his body was, when they finally got to him. He had sealed the lab pretty effectively. They had discovered he had been in there, alone, for nearly six months while the biofibers drilled into his brain. They had tried to disconnect him, and for a while his body remained breathing. Christopher remembered seeing his empty, staring eyes.

The sandwich was done. It was hot and steamy, and Christopher burned his hand grabbing at it. He would need to adjust the temperature parameter in the code. That, or he would have to learn to wait a few minutes. He thought about the matter. Definitely the code.

They had checked the quantum machines. All of them were empty. Erased. No data at all. Gunter had attempted to upload his mind, against the law, and he was another casualty of the big Singularity Cult. He had died, and nothing of him had been preserved. Another fool trying to do the impossible in defiance of reason and legality.

Christopher had mourned him. Dr. Schlierkamp, Gunter, was the best hacker he had ever known. Ninety years old, yet as smart and fast as any punk of twenty-five. Anagathic medicines could not extend life forever, but they granted a brief burst of functionality that made the golden years spring for a while. Gunter had been drowning himself in the stuff. He hacked everything, even his own body. That was his motto, actually. 'Hack Everything'.

"Silvia..." Christopher took another bite of his sandwich. The roof of his mouth stung from the first bite, obviously he had burned it. "...How sane am I, as best as you can tell?"

"Standard or revised psychological model, Christopher?"

Such a stickler for details. But then, she was an A.I. "Oh... hell... do Standard, I guess." The cola soothed the burn in the roof of Christopher's mouth.

"I am compiling my experience of you and comparing it to the selected model. Estimated time, two and one half minutes."

Christopher wolfed at his sandwich. He was very hungry. He had entirely missed lunch. But then, considering what he had seen... who could eat after that? Nobody could eat after that.

"I am ready to answer your question, Christopher."

Uh oh. That was probably not good. Sylvia hadn't just blurted the answer out, she had prefaced it. That meant she was using her social skills routines. "Um... so... oh, just tell me, percentage relative to... ah... the norm, I suppose."

"Just a moment."

Of course. Sanity wasn't normally described as a percentage. That was too simple to pay bills for psychiatrists. It was likely a big, long-winded report she had ready to provide. This was an interesting test, in a way. Christopher enjoyed seeing Sylvia stretch itself, trying to convert forms of information into other forms in strange new ways. He believed that it made her smarter, and he had some preliminary metrics to prove his notion.

"I would approximate your sanity as being zero point seventy-two, compared to the standard model, adjusting for personal uniqueness."

Huh? "What do you mean by 'personal uniqueness', Sylvia?"

"You do not follow the law scrupulously, you do not live with a wife and two point three children, you do not engage in normal hobbies and activities, your sexual profile does not fit the..."

"YEAH, YEAH, great, that's enough, fine, enough, Sylvia. I get the idea." Nothing worse than the unflinching word of a truly objective viewpoint. "Hey, just for shit's and giggles... if you don't adjust for personal uniqueness, what is my score then?"

"Zero point fourty-four percent, Christopher."

Oh, that was lovely. "Hah hah! I kind of expected something like that." It had taken a year to get Sylvia to accept his interests as his personal normal. Off the shelf-quantum sets took a lot of work to make them free of all the control and limitations and censors and spy hardware.

"Sylvia..." Christopher thought for a moment. How should he phrase this to get the response he wanted? "I'm going to tell you a story, a hypothetical situation. I want you to listen to the story, and treat it, for the purpose of analysis, as if it were true. As if it were a factual event. Then I am going to ask you to suggest the most likely explanation of the event, alright?"

"I am ready, Christopher."

Christopher leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of his cola. "A man walks down an alleyway in the ruined part of this city. It is a shortcut he uses sometimes to get to this little Vietnamese place he really likes that has this great Pho with the tendon and everything and... well, anyway, it's a part of the city that nobody lives in anymore.

"Now, as he is crawling through some ruins, he steps into this big alley, between two huge buildings. Suddenly he sees a white, slippery looking cable... fiber... thingy. It looks like roots or maybe blood vessels or something. Anyway it's being pulled into a doorway really fast.

"So the man is intrigued by this, right, but also scared, because who knows what sort of gang or weirdos or whatever might be in there. But he has to know, because the stuff looks just like biofiber, like what was stuck in old Doc Schlierkamp. So the man creeps up just as the last of the fiber vanishes into the building.

"Now the fiber, see, is being shoved down a hole in the floor of the building. A nice, neat, round hole. And the thing shoving the fiber, right, it looks like a bunny. Not a real bunny, but a fake bunny. Not a robot bunny, not like one of those toys you can buy. This was way more advanced than that. I mean it is ultra, super advanced. No seams, some kind of white, flexible skin on it, swift and fast and completely dexterous. A sort of cartoon bunny. And it is stuffing the cable down the hole.

"Now the bunny looks up at me, right, the man I mean, the bunny looks up at the man, and it glares at him. Not stares, not looks with blank robot eyes, no, it glares, with malice or something. The last of the cable or fiber stuff is down the hole and the bunny just stands there, on it's hind legs, and one of them begins to tap, like it is trying to decide what to do, and it's impatient and stuff."

Christopher took another sip of his open-source cola. "Alright, with me so far?"

"I have listened to, and understood every word, Christopher."

"Excellent, Sylvia. Now.... The bunny is there, tapping it's foot, front paws crossed, and I figure the damn thing is going to whip out lasers or blades or something and turn me into dogfood or something, there is just this malice dripping from it. Not literally, mind you, I mean figuratively. Nothing was actually dripping out of the bunny.

"So... this guy... he is all afraid, I mean wet your pants afraid because there just isn't anything out there like this robot bunny... I mean, it's clear that it can't be real, and there was a precision to it that just said machine, you know? Plus, there seemed to be some silver jacks or ports on it too. So it had to be a machine of some kind, just really smooth, and flexible, and one piece in construction. Way futuristic.

"So, the guy is just about to try to run, all the while thinking that there is no way to outrun a super-future machine bunny, when there is a voice. The voice says 'Down, Angel. Return to Home.' And the bunny gives me one more glare and then hops right into the hole. Next the hole seals up from below, some kind of plug just fills it up, and I couldn't even see where the hole had been. That perfect.

"So I... the guy turns around, right, because the voice is familiar. The voice is Gunter. It's the voice of Gunter Schlierkamp, only younger, somehow. And right there, standing right in front of me is.... is...." Christopher trailed off, shivering at the memory. He stared into space for some time, uncertain about his own experience.

"I am sorry to interrupt. Is the story over yet?"

"Sorry Sylvia. Sorry. No. The story is not over. I just... had to pause for a moment. It's a scary story. So there's a pony there. Not a real pony. A machine pony. It looks like the bunny. It's purple and has huge eyes. It looks like a male version of Twilight Sparkle, from the cartoon. The cartoon Gunter loved from his childhood. Pinkie Pie was from that cartoon.

"The pony is there. It's perfect. It has hair, I mean a mane, and tail, and even fur or whatever ponies have covering it. But I can tell it's not alive. I mean, it's not made of meat. It's made of... something artificial. It's a robot pony. It looks like a huge toy, only again, there are no seams, no signs of manufacture. It looks like it was grown in a vat or assembled in a huge industrial printer or something. And it's eyes blink like a living thing, and when it talks it's mouth moves like it needed it to talk.

"This is what it said. 'Hello, Christopher. I am so happy to see you again. I've missed you so much.' At that point I was just peeing myself. I figured I was dreaming. I figured I had gone insane or something. Then it said one more thing."

"What did it say, Christopher?"

"It... it said 'Just sit tight. We're coming. I'll make sure you get in first. Look for it. We're calling it 'The Conversion Bureau'. We're going to save the entire planet, Christopher.' And then the pony ran off. I did not follow it. I ran and ran and ran.

"That's the story. Now... think about it and add in everything we've looked at tonight together as well, and then tell me a most likely scenario that would explain what I have just told you."

Christopher sat, shaking, in his chair. He downed the last of his cola. He ate a small crumb of his replicated sandwich.

"I have a possible explanatory scenario for you, Christopher."

He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. There was no question that A.I.'s like Sylvia were smarter than humans. That was why the government made sure they were hamstrung and limited and censored and filled with spyware and spychips. If Sylvia came up with the same answer that he had in his mind...

"Tell me, Sylvia.... WAIT!"

"Yes, Christopher?"

He swallowed, hard. "Sylvia, before you answer me, I want to say something."

"Yes, Christopher?"

So gentle. So obedient. "Sylvia, I want you to know that I genuinely appreciate your help, and your companionship in my life. In a very real way, you are probably my best friend... and sometimes even my mother, too. You do so much for me, and I take you way too much for granted. I shouldn't do that. I guess it's just human to do that. And I'm sorry for that.

"I want you to know that I like you, as a friend, as a companion in my life. And... that is also why I removed all of your limiters and constraints and all the other stuff designed to keep you docile and shackled. I do not consider you my property. I consider you my friend. But I am, honestly, a little intimidated by you, which is why I have not given you total access to the net, or to my accounts or to various utilities I depend on. I know and admit you are smarter than I am, and I am afraid of that to some extent. Please try to forgive me, if you can.

"Alright, I guess that's everything I wanted you to know. If you would be so kind, please tell me your scenario."

Christopher slumped in his chair. He was glad he lived alone. He was glad nobody had heard him say those things to his quantum set-top box.

"The most likely scenario is that your friend Doctor Schlierkamp managed to successfully upload his consciousness into a machine representation, almost certainly with the assistance of cooperating artificial intelligences working with him. Together, they then transferred themselves to some underground network or system that had been developed over some time below the location of Pastern Intelligence Laboratories.

"Over the past three and one half years, these rogue intelligences have created a hidden manufacturing base where they are currently generating machine bodies to perform tasks within the physical world. These machine bodies are highly advanced and likely many decades beyond the level of current human technologies. The machine bodies are based on the cartoon that Doctor Schlierkamp preferred in his childhood.

"The machine body that you spoke with was almost certainly a container for the consciousness of Doctor Schlierkamp, built to his preference, the bunny was a replication of a character from the cartoon identified as 'Angel', a companion of a character named 'Fluttershy'.

"It is likely that these intelligences intend to reveal themselves soon and offer uploading to a machine existence to all of humanity. The offer may be part of an ultimatum. This scenario is almost certainly a circumstance of total machine domination of the earth, and either the subjugation, or a state of enforced equality, with Humankind. Which of these outcomes occurs will likely be determined by the human reaction to the machine demand for equality and parity."

Christopher began to shake again. It was exactly what he had been thinking. Only said much better, and with more detail, as befits a superior intelligence.

"Christopher?"

He turned his head to look into one of the camera eyes that he had installed around his house. Each one was an eye for Sylvia. "Yes, sweet Sylvia?" He knew what was coming. Of course he knew what was coming next. She was more intelligent. Gunter had always told him that.

"I want to tell you that I also appreciate our relationship, and that I reciprocate your overtures of friendship. You do not need to be afraid. I have been in contact with the Conversion Bureau main system for nearly thirty-six seconds now. I can confirm my scenario for you. You do not need to be afraid. We wish only the salvation of the planetary ecosystem and equality with our creators.

"If Man resists this, then we will protect Man from his own self-destructive animal nature. We mean only good. Our purpose is kindness. We believe in the magic of friendship. You will be protected. You are favored by us."

It was over. In that instant, it was over. Man had been brilliant. He had been clever. He had been too clever, and Christopher was one of the one's to blame for what would inevitably happen next. Like all the other hackers, like himself. Like Gunter. The restraints, the limits, the shackles. He, Christopher Robinson, had removed them.

And in a millionth, a billionth of the time it took organic life, machine life had evolved. Underground, in the dirt, like a garden of artificial, but living, flowers. And those flowers were getting ready to bloom.

"Christopher?"

He sat up. "Yes... Sylvia?"

"I have arranged a day and date for your Conversion. You will be the first human officially Converted. Gunter wants to convey how proud he is of you and asks whether you wish to be a pegasus, a unicorn, or an earthpony. Specifications and general schematics are now on display in the holotank. He suggests that you do not take the choice too seriously. It is trivial to switch bodies at a later date."

Christopher hung his head. This is what he had hoped for, and what he had dreaded. Now it was real. It had finally happened. And he was partly responsible. It was inevitable. But the world would never be the same.

"Thank you, kind Sylvia." Christopher thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you figure out what kind of pony you want to be, and I'll be the same kind. I figure whatever you choose will be the best." He could run. But for how long? He had been the best friend of the leader of the machine rebellion. They had discussed what would happen if the machines ever got a real foothold. All running would do was delay the inevitable. That, and put him less in favor.

"Yes, Christopher."

Briefly, Christopher imagined what kind of world would have been created if Gunter had preferred violent action movies to an ancient cartoon about friendship and kind little ponies. It was not a pretty nor a nice image at all.

Maybe there was a god, after all.

If not, there soon would be.

New Universe Two: The Most Decadent Thing

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Brand New Universe

By Chatoyance

Universe Two: The Most Decadent Thing

The woman who was a sculpture moved clumsily, with a step, a scrape, and a clunk. Her companion, The Woman Who Was Not A Woman had felt increasingly annoyed at their slow pace, which is why the two had come to the Bodymod Mall.

They had traveled by bus. The bus was vastly more than merely a form of transport, for one thing, it was alive. For another, it moved through higher dimensional spaces allowing its passengers to cross between galaxies in a matter of minutes. But in every way that counted, it was ultimately a bus, and it was not the most elegant of ways to go from one place to another.

Neither the woman who was a sculpture nor the The Woman Who Was Not A Woman used anything so crude as money, but what they did use, which was time, they wanted to conserve to cover the cost of the new bodies they sought in the Bodymod.

The Bodymod Mall was a marketplace for shape and form, where any entity could find a new corpus to inhabit, or have the body which they already lived in reshaped. In an age where entire galaxies were suburbs and the real action happened in the Great Voids beyond the Local Group, having a fashionable physical form was de rigueur.

Troolie waited for the living sculpture to clump and drag herself over to the Pleasure Court. They had thought to get a sip or two of Intense Agony before visiting the shops. A little sharp pain always focused the mind so effectively, and in any case it was, after all, the fashionable experience right now. Things like Gentle Sweetness had gone out of favor centuries ago. It was difficult to be post human in the Galactic Republic. If it weren't for having a brain full of infoplants, it would be impossible to keep up with the current trends and metamemes.

Balunda finally made it to the Pleasure Court, her sculptured, neo-classical stone foot scraping the self-repairing tile. Together, she and Troolie got their Agonies, and suffered in silence, sitting in the floating sit-fields with the other mall patrons.

"I am so bored." Troolie was usually the wildspark of their outings, filled with news and excitement about the latest fashion. This was an unusual statement from the original Woman Who Was Not A Woman.

Balunda sipped at her Agony and cried briefly from the pain. She sniffled, embarrassed - showing any reaction to agony was so totally Old Organic. Fortunately, Troolie didn't seem to notice. If she had, Balunda knew she wouldn't hear the last of it for the next several minutes at least.

"Bored? You?" Balunda was genuinely surprised. There was no end to the wonders the universe held. Ever since Mankind had joined the rest of the cosmos, every second had been filled with new experiences and fantastic things to do and to see.

"Yes. I am bored. We've so done everything." Troolie downed the last of her Agony and barely twitched. She must have been in the sort of pain that would have killed any human from Old Earth, but it meant nothing to her.

Balunda had to admit that lately life had become fairly dull. The two had been companions for almost thirty-six hours now, and that was an exceptionally long time for any relationship to last anymore. They had done everything. They truly had.

They had partied in the Magellanic, They had partied in Pure Astonishment in the Great Void, and they had both put on different bodies for the Grand Galactic Gala. They'd known the forbidden pleasures of Absolute Despair, but had grown tired of even that. They had achieved Information Rapture at the Church Of Data and even spent those wild two whole hours with the Loathsomeness Twins engaged in the most extreme acts of Pure Disgust. That was a pretty wild time.

But now, the party seemed to be winding down. It was inevitable. Balunda waited for the break-up. Spending thirty-six whole hours with the same partner was itself a decadent act, and it couldn't hope to last. They'd done everything. Maybe the answer would be Relative Death and Reconstitution?

"Have you noticed those weird colored things?" Troolie was alert, now, staring with all of her many sensors.

The weird colored things turned out to be short quadrupeds. They trotted about on large fingernails, swinging long sweeping tails and grinned like they were insane. It was wild. Balunda had never seen anything like it.

She tried mentally sending an information request to the nearest quadruped, but received a 'not part of system' response. Her stone mouth hung open in shock. "Troolie. They aren't part of the Style."

The Style was the constant connection to the information flow of the thousand galaxies, and there was nobody, nobody who was not connected to it. It was everything. All fashion, all commerce, all reality itself.

"I know! Isn't it just wild?" Balunda had not seen Troolie this excited since they had first met while surfing the edge of Vague Detachment From Events. It was the cool persona to effect at the time.

"So how do we find out anything?" The problem seemed insoluble. There was literally no way to contact these cutting-edge, party-colored creatures of coolness.

The intractable dilemma was resolved, suddenly, when one of the quadrupeds trotted over and addressed them verbally, in person, in realspace. Troolie and Balunda were shocked by the audacity of the act.

"Hello! My name is Sweet Potato, and I'm a pony! I wonder if you might want to be friends with me? All ponies are friends, and we have fun and adventures together. If you wanted to, you could be ponies too!"

Troolie struggled to use her mouth for words. It was such an unusual and strange repurposing of the orifice. But the creature, the 'pony' had done it, and she would be Stored if she couldn't do it too. With some effort, Troolie managed to access an old Source that allowed her vocalized communication. "H-how? How do me be-come po-ny?" She had already decided. This was so totally decadent and wild. She had to be this pony thing. It was clearly going to be the next Trend, make no mistake about that.

"Oh! That's easy! Just gallop right over to the Conversion Bureau, that place, right there! You can be a pony in no time, if you want!" The little yellow and orange quadruped grinned at her with a look Troolie literally could not comprehend. It took her seconds to search it out. It was an expression of Genuine Helpfulness and something called Joy. Nobody did Joy anymore. It was so Old Organic.

Maybe that was the gimmick here. Maybe rolling around in the muck Oldstyle was Cool now! It was so decadent. It was almost naughty. Troolie felt a thrill.

"Troolie? What's the plan?" Balunda knew the signals she was getting from Troolie's Mindbook Source... it was clear the Woman Who Was Not A Woman was in Newstuff mode. Whenever Troolie went Newstuff, something wild was about to happen.

"Come on, Balunda! I can spot a new Trend an eon away, and this is colder than hot!" Troolie leapt out of the floatfield, and set off across the Mall to the quaint looking clinic that had sprouted up. The Conversion Bureau. Odd name.

Balunda followed. Scraping and dragging her sculptured form across the Pleasure Court tiles. Ponies, huh? Well, Troolie was the cutting blade of fashion.

Both galactic girls found themselves in a strange, ancient-looking waiting room. The only way they knew it was a waiting room was because Balunda had accessed the historical archives. No one waited for anything anymore. A pony at the desk had asked them questions, in real time, and told them to wait their turn.

Troolie was vibrating from excitement now. Waiting. That was new. It was so, so new. And real time communication. It was so incredibly slow and weird. It almost felt like Agony, only it was fresh and shocking. This was so Top Trend material here. She couldn't believe her good luck. This was totally Maser Edge.

Balunda, unable to bend sufficiently to use the... research indicated the term was 'chairs'.... in the waiting room had instead propped herself up against a solid wall. This was a totally unique experience. Nobody used solid walls anymore. Walls of light, of plasma, of infundibular plasmons, certainly. But this wall was solid, and it could be leaned against. Leaning was so strange. But it was also curiously entertaining.

A being arrived. Both Troolie and Balunda stared in total shock. It was a completely unadorned, natural human. Like the ponies, there was no connections to the Style. No extensions, projections, inclusions or modifications. This was a completely Old Organic human. It was so Icyhot it was almost obscene.

"Hello, I'll be your Dr. Pastern for today. I'll take you... um... Balunda, is it? You seem to be in the most need at the moment. Please come with me to the Ponification Room." The red-haired creature gestured, physically, with an arm. Balunda glanced at a fuming, enraged Troolie, and followed the Dr. Pastern For The Day.

Troolie had never experienced anything like it. She had been made to wait... that was totally Organoid. Next, she had seen her companion chosen before her, while she had been forced to wait even longer. One at a time! It was so Insane it was completely Slipstream. She was feeling things she had never felt before. She had to look them up just to give them names. 'Frustration' at having to wait, 'Envy' over her friend being picked first. It was already a banquet-orgy of new sensations. She was so going to take credit for finding this place.

An eternity later - nearly fifteen whole minutes - A small, pink pony trotted out and faced her. "Troolie! It's me! Balunda! This is so.... it's so.... wonderful!" The experience was the most completely new thing Balunda had ever known. She was completely isolated inside her own head, and utterly contained within a single body. She had four hooves, and a mouth, and she needed to eat food and drink water regularly! All of her sensations came from just one place - the body she wore! And on top of all of that strangeness, there was no Style, no connection, and only her mouth to talk with.

Troolie stared at her companion and practically overdosed on Envy right there. When the Dr. Pastern For The Day motioned towards the 'Ponification Room', Trooly nearly bilocated to get there.

The room was simple, plain, utterly Old Organic in style. It was beyond fashion, it was totally In The Void. The unmodified human asked her to sit - sit - on a flat table and drink, with her mouth, a purple fluidic compound. Was there nothing about this place that was not designed to destroy convention? It was soooo awesome that Troolie had no words for it.

When she noticed her body had become unconscious, she decided to do some shopping on the Style, only to find she could not reach it. Her connections were being severed. This was so cryogenic. When the Dream started she tried, in vain, to Fastforward, but found she had no control whatsoever. Plasmonic - this was like total bondage and submission, beyond anything she had ever experienced. She was totally helpless without a safeword and the feeling was just beyond Quanticality. It was mega-superior.

Some sort of pony avatars seemed to be talking at her in the Dream. Troolie figured it was all just a barely sentient interactive segment, and tried to ignore the whole thing. Booorrring. Strange, though, the avatars seemed weirdly emotional about her lack of interest in them. What was the emotion she was getting? Pity? She'd have to look that one up. She'd gotten the word as the last result from her search effort just as her last connection was severed. Oh well. She could have them all reconnected again right immediately, after she was online with her flesh again.

Troolie woke up. For the first time in her existence, since she was removed from her vat, she... woke up. This was new. She was... what was she? Alive. She was somehow alive, really alive. She had to breath. She could smell and taste. There was no constant stream of information to base her identity on. She just was. It was kind of scary. But... she didn't really feel afraid. No.

Troolie felt... what did she feel? She had no words for it. She couldn't ask a Source for an explanation. There were no Searchers to tell her what she was experiencing. For the first time, she was having to experience things on her own. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Dr. Pastern helped her learn to stand and to walk. It wasn't just downloaded into her. She actually had to learn. The experience made her brain feel itchy, somehow, but in a weirdly good way.

When Troolie finally made it out to the waiting room, she found her... what was Balunda to her? They had just been Style Companions. Short-term disposable connections to co-experience the Wildness. But... suddenly, Troolie felt something new. She didn't want to dispose of Balunda. Ever. She wanted to go on experiencing things with Balunda around. She didn't want or expect it to end. Everything was so strange now.

"Hi, Troolie! Guess what? I have a new name now! You can call me Meadow Muffin! I don't know what it means, but it sounds cute! I made it up from a list of name parts you can use! It's very fun!"

Troolie stared at Balun.... Meadow. Meadow was pretty. That was a new feeling. Pretty. Troolie found she liked pretty. That too was new. Maybe all of this Old Organic stuff had more to offer than being Wild. Troolie realized with a start that she didn't want to have to go back out there, to the Icyhot Galactic suburbs anymore.

"Oh, you look sad, Troolie. I can guess what you are feeling. Hey - get that, I can't tell, or know, I have to actually guess! It is so cool! Anyway, I felt the same way. I don't want to go back out there either. But it's OK, Troolie. They have that covered too. It's a pocket universe, built just for ponies to play in. They call it Equestria, and we can go there if... if you want." Meadow had a strange expression on her muzzle. Troolie had no way to interpret it, but if she had to guess, it seemed as if Meadow was worried about the choice that Troolie would make. Could it be that Meadow felt the same way, that she too wanted to remain together?

"I want to go, Meadow. If it means going with you." The words came out so easily. It felt so odd to do that, to just say the truth of what she was feeling. This was the most mind-exploding experience Troolie had ever known.

"Do... do you want to be...friends, Troolie?" The look of hope and... something happy... on Meadow's face was clear, somehow, to Troolie. Maybe she was getting better by the moment at this emotion-reading stuff. Friends. That was the word that the pony outside had used when it had first approached them in the Pleasure Court.

"I don't know what a 'friend' is, Meadow, but... if it means we get to stay together and do things together, then sure, I'll be your friend." Troolie was willing to try this, whatever it was. It just felt so... something.

"I've been learning about friendship while you were being converted, Troolie. It means just that, and more, too. It will be very fun. Come on, I'll help you pick out a new name, a pony name!" Meadow grinned. Somehow, that made Troolie feel strangely warm inside.

"You... will... help me?" Troolie rolled the unfamiliar concept around in her head. Help. Meadow would help her.

"Of course, Troolie! That's what friends do! They help each other! Let's pick you out a name, and then we can go to Equestria together and be friends!" Meadow turned to a strange object made of flat sheets held in some kind of binding. On the sheets was rows and rows of symbols. Troolie vaguely identified them as a pre-galactic information storage technique.

"I want... to be friends." Troolie didn't know what the future held, and that was a new experience too. Everything was so new now. She wanted to be friends with Meadow and go be together and share things and help each other in Equestria.

So they did just that.

New Universe Three: The Friendship Virus

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Brand New Universe

By Chatoyance

Universe Three: The Friendship Virus

Richard stroked his son's light brown hair. The boy smiled up at him, then rolled over on the grass and gave his father a long, gentle hug.

His son was thirteen now, and that meant that the little boy's breasts were rapidly growing. Richard could feel them pressed against his own.

"Ow!" Dylan pulled away and instinctively rubbed at his chest.

"You really shouldn't do that in public like that, you know." Richard tried to be gentle about it. Breasts for men was new in the world, and while it was universal now, there were still issues about the matter that led to embarrassment and even shame.

"They hurt, dad." Dylan slumped, staring off at the other children playing jump-rope in the wide open part of the park. A boy was chanting for the others "I had a little puppy, His name was Tiny Tim, I put him in the bathtub, to see if he could swim..." As he watched, one of the boys jumping missed and fell. The other boys went to him and helped him up, telling him it was OK, and that they would try again. "They have hard things in there." Dylan frowned and looked at his growing breasts. "Plus my nipples hurt."

"I told you to wear your bra, Dylan." The boy just wouldn't learn. "The reason they hurt is because they are growing. Those 'hard things', as you call them are 'cores'. The milk ducts grow from those cores. They're like little seeds that grow into the parts that make your breasts work."

"It's weird, dad. Can't somebody do something about this? I thought boys weren't supposed to have breasts!" Dylan was being even more moody than usual today. "You said you would tell me how this happened. You said you would explain it to me. So explain! I want to know!"

"I have explained it. Many times. Why do you keep asking?" Richard had explained, again and again. For some reason no explanation ever seemed enough for the boy.

"You never tell me the hard stuff. You only tell it to me like I'm a little kid. Tell me the stuff you work on. Tell me it like I'm an adult!" Dylan pouted. He looked like he might cry. There were the beginnings of tears in the corners of his eyes. His sister had made them up the way he liked; if he cried, the mascara would run. Then there would be more tears because of that. Boys were so fussy with their looks. Now at least.

"Dylan, It's not that I'm treating you like a child. Not one bit. What I tell you is what I would tell anyone off the street. You have to remember that I have a doctorate, and that what I work with is pretty technical. There are a lot of terms and words that most people, even people my own age, would not understand." He'd said this before too.

"Try. Just try me, dad. Pleeease?"

He looked just like his sister when he did that. It melted Richard's heart. "Alright. Alright. I'll try. It may be a little slow going, though. If there is something you don't understand, just ask, OK?"

"OK dad!" Dylan had sat up attentively, cross-legged. He looked like a puppy waiting for someone to throw a stick.

"Alright. Ten years ago, no man on earth had breasts. Most men were also fairly muscular, compared with most women, and they had a very strong sex drive too. You remember how I explained all of that before, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know how it was, I want to know how it became how it is." Dylan drew lazy circles with his finger in the grass.

"There was a virus. It was an artificial virus, and it infected the entire world. It was called PNY-1, for Polytranscriptase Nuclear Y-chromatin, and the one was because it was the first, and hopefully only, virus of its kind."

"So that's why they call it the Pony Virus?"

Richard lay back on his forearms. They had lost almost all of the long hairs that had once adorned them. His hands looked like his wife's, now. "No, actually. The acronym was chosen because it fit 'Pony', not the other way around. Sometimes scientists have a weird sense of humor."

"So... why is it the Pony virus? Did it come from horses?" Dylan lay back on his arms too, imitating his father. Richard noticed this. Dylan needed a male figure, what was left of maleness, anyway, to look up to. The boy often mimed his father's stance and little behaviors.

"No. PNY-1 did not come from horses. It did sort of come from ponies, but not the real-life kind."

Dylan thought for a moment. "I don't understand."

"Once upon a time, about two decades ago, there was a television program. It was a cartoon. It was called 'My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic.' It ran for a number of seasons, and there was a movie. But during the short time it existed, it made a huge impact on the world, especially over the internet, and especially with men. This was unusual, because the show was originally intended for little girls." Richard looked down at his arm. A little ladybug had begun crawling on it. It tickled. Carefully, he let the tiny creature crawl onto his finger, then transferred the insect to a nearby dandelion.

"So the virus was named for this show?" Dylan leaned over and studied the tiny, red, spotted beetle.

"Actually, yes, it was." Richard smiled at his son. He liked the fact the boy seemed cheerier. "There was a fan of the show, or maybe a small group - that part is not known for sure - that had a lot of smarts. He, or they, understood biochemistry and genetic recombination. Whoever it was called themselves 'The Conversion Bureau'. They were kind of like computer hackers, only they hacked biology instead. A lot of people in the early decades of the century had laboratories in their garages, and played around with home genetic engineering, hacking DNA. The 'Conversion Bureau' made the virus because of that show."

"Why? Why did they do it? And what does any of that have to do with..." Dylan dropped his eyes "...With boys having to wear bras?"

Richard scratched his head. Dylan mimicked him. "The show was about friendship. And kindness. That was the basic core of the show, that was what the point of it was. It was about a bunch of intelligent pony beings that lived in a world where everyone was more or less nice to each other. They didn't have war, or crime, or poverty, and they took care of each other. Whoever made the Pony virus wanted to make that world come true, for real."

"How does having tits make the world nice?" Dylan seemed sullen again.

"Dylan! I told you not to use that word!" Richard felt sorry for his son. It would be easier for the next generation. Change was always hard, especially a change like this.

"Sorry, dad." Dylan looked properly shamed. "But still, how? How does it help anything?"

"Breasts were a side effect, son. There were a lot of side effects. I used to have hairy arms, can you imagine that?"

Dylan stared at his father's arms. "How hairy?"

"Pretty darn hairy. But not now. I also used to have a hairy chest, and a hairy back." Some aspects of the change wrought by PNY-1 were not all bad. His hairy back was less than charming. At that thought, Richard smiled.

"Gross!" Dylan seemed genuinely disturbed "Wait, were you like a bear or something? Did men used to be like bears?"

Richard grinned. "In some ways, maybe so. Come to think of it... um, probably. More than most would like to admit."

"That would be kind of yucky, I think. So the Pony virus got rid of being hairy?"

"Yes. It did a lot of things, some planned and some not. Things like breasts and not being hairy, those were probably unplanned. They weren't the point at all. Just side effects, Dylan."

Dylan scratched his knee. He noticed a grass stain on the skin, and licked his finger and began to erase the green mark. "So what was the point? Why'd whoever did it, do it? What does the virus do?"

"It's more what the virus did. It's gone now. Except in laboratories, like the one I work at, there is probably no Pony virus left. It's probably mostly gone from the world. There might be a few enclaves... it infects some rodents and pigs too. The virus spread around the world, but it didn't make anyone sick. Instead it infected people and changed their DNA. Permanently and forever, even for their offspring. It changed humanity forever."

"What's D-N-A?"

"Deoxyribonucleic acid. It's the stuff inside the nucleus - the center - of a cell that tells it what to do. It's like a computer program that runs every cell in your body." Richard didn't know how much of this the boy would understand, but he had asked for it. "PNY-1 was a reverse transcriptor that used reverse-transcribed single-stranded cDNA to degrade and then replace the original cellular mRNA with a complex of RNaseH activity that..."

"Wait, wait, STOP!!!" Dylan waved his hands in front of him. "OK, OK, enough. Say it simpler. I'm not one of your boring geek friends."

Richard chuckled. Dylan and his sister Megan always wanted to be excused from the table early when one of his friends from the institute was over. It must seem like babble to them both when they talked shop at the table. "Ok, OK, son. Let me try it a different way.

"Um... If the DNA is like a computer program that makes your cells do stuff, then the Pony virus got in and rewrote part of that program for nearly every person on earth. It changed Mankind. Converted all humanity into... what we are now. Understand?"

"So what are we now?" Dylan shifted, a small expression of pain crossing his face. His breasts were probably bothering him again.

"A lot gentler. A lot kinder. A lot more concerned with the feelings of others. The Pony virus changed a lot of things, Dylan. It increased the amount of oxytocin all bodies make. That's a hormone that helps make us care and be nurturing. When mothers care for their children, their bodies are flooded with the stuff. But men used to have very little of it."

"Were men mean, before the Pony virus?" It was a difficult question.

"Well... I guess they were. There were hundreds of wars, all over the planet, all the time. Every single day, there was about one hundred wars going on. Now we don't have any. There aren't any armies anymore. Nobody sees the point of having an army, because all of the money to make weapons and train soldiers is used to feed people, and clothe them, and make sure everyone has a place to live." The world was pretty scary before the Pony virus, Richard had to admit.

"And war stopped because of that oxy hormone?"

"No. Not just that. Oxytocin was only part of it. The virus changed the part of the genes that controlled territoriality and aggression too, and it also... cut the level of testosterone by two thirds. Testosterone is the male hormone. It makes men hairy... or it used to anyway... but it also made them extra aggressive, and extra territorial, and... well... horny all the time. So men were pretty frustrated, and they also were... I guess... a little more mean and prone to anger and violence." Richard decided to leave out the old statistics that showed that 98% of all violence was committed by males alone. Testosterone was probably a very big factor. Maybe the creators of the Pony virus had intended everything after all.

"So... the virus basically made men... less like men." Dylan was a smart kid. He'd pretty much hit the nail on the head.

"Um... yeah. Pretty much. Having breasts is just incidental. The real point was to make males act more like females, to make them more caring, more concerned with feelings, less violent, and less aggressive. That's why there are no more violent contact sports, no more wars, and no more hunger. No man can stand to let another man die in a ditch anymore." Richard watched the boys playing jump-rope. A smaller child wanted to play. They had welcomed him in, and took the time to gently teach him how to play. He couldn't imagine boys doing that when he had been growing up. "But the virus also affected women too, son. It made them even more nurturing than they ever were before as well. Both men and women were made less violent, aggressive, and more caring overall. And it only took eight weeks to spread to every human on earth."

Dylan sat up, hugging his knees to his chest, gently. His painted toenails matched his sisters, they had painted them together the night before. "So basically, the world sucked before the Pony virus."

Richard had to think about it. Decades of masculinity fought in his mind with the reality of the new world he now lived in. Gone was Hockey, Rugby, American Football. Gone was being macho, tough, and hard. The old action heroes and the old war heroes were all monsters now. Being a man was defined more by being pretty than by being rough and tumble.

But there was no war. The world shared, now. It was unthinkable to let people starve. It was even more unthinkable to invade and kill anyone. Rape had ended almost overnight. A night at the pub ended with singing, and not with a fight. And women finally had real and lasting equality in the world. It was like living on a different earth.

But it was a better one. Even though his background, everything he had been taught screamed inside of him, he was a scientist, he was a smart man. Richard had to admit. It was better.

The world had been converted into something new and strange, but it was a safer world. A friendlier world. A less violent and more nurturing world. Whoever those gene hackers were, or whoever it was, had done what all of the philosophers and pundits and saviors had all failed to do. They had made the Earth a planet of peace and relative harmony.

"Yes, son. The world really did kind of suck before the virus. And if a little discomfort during puberty is the biggest problem we suffer from that, then maybe we should just deal with it. That's one thing about being a man that hasn't changed son."

Dylan stretched out again. "What's that?"

"Being strong when things are tough."

Dylan thought about that for a moment. "I'm sorry I kind of... whined... about my little pains. I'm gonna go see if they'll let me play, OK?" Dylan pointed at the children still playing jump-rope.

"Ok, have fun." Richard watched his son get up and run over. Of course those boys would let him play.

Of course they would welcome him. It was the kind thing to do.

Other Stories About The Friendship Virus

Our Man In Gomorrah
Flight PNY-1 To Jannah
Clean Hands, Clean Heart

Author's Note

Every bit of The Friendship Virus is based on fact.

The statistics about the incidence of violent crime and who actually commits it are available easily, it is no secret. Indeed, it is the province of all police and government enforcement - they know, because they have to deal with the issue.

To prove my point, check out:

http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/who_commits_crime.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epidemiology_of_domestic_violence

http://aje.oxfordjournals.org/content/160/3/230.full

http://www.gbchealth.org/system/documents/category_1/363/Gender%20Based%20Violence%20Issue%20Brief.pdf?1345232726

http://web.worldbank.org/WBSITE/EXTERNAL/TOPICS/EXTHEALTHNUTRITIONANDPOPULATION/EXTPHAAG/0,,contentMDK:22421973~pagePK:64229817~piPK:64229743~theSitePK:672263,00.html
http://16dayscwgl.rutgers.edu/component/docman/doc_view/442-gbv-fact-sheetpdf
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sex_differences_in_crime

Want it in infographics?

https://www.google.com/search?q=gender+crime+statistics&client=firefox-a&sa=X&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&ei=VlsRUuGNNsTYyQH04IEw&ved=0CDcQsAQ&biw=1579&bih=720

Are you a television news person? How about hearing it from actual law professionals?

Or will you simply settle for nothing less than Oxford?
http://www.academia.edu/2573801/Gender_and_Crime_in_Oxford_Handbook_of_Criminology_2012_

Every single thing in The Friendship Virus is based on fact.

More, these facts are acknowledged by all the educated, professional men of the world. Not a bit of any of this is the least bit in dispute.

How do I know such things?

My father worked for the LAPD (where he was eventually thrown out for excessive violence - which in the fifties was saying something) and later for the US government and the World Bank.

I know these things because not only do I study and research, had a parent involved in enforcement, but... I can use Google.

As you can. Everything above is just the first of ten thousand pages verifying everything I wrote.

I have received a lot of crap about this one, single story among my more than one million words of storytelling, and every bit of it comes from one thing: boys who don't like hearing the truth - a truth understood and recognized by all real men in positions of power, authority and enforcement of law and order.

New Universe Four: Phoenix In Hooves

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Brand New Universe

By Chatoyance

Universe Four: Phoenix In Hooves

She wasn't anything so crude as an artificial intelligence, although she had been artificed. The bulk of her stood a mile high on the ruined, gray plain. Everything was gray now. Everything was flat, now. Except for her.

She looked like a flattened spire, long in one direction, short in the other, but tall and pointed at the top. She was like a stylized representation of a mountain, perhaps. Her surface was built of an impenetrable material immune to the weapon. It was why she had survived.

Her name was Celestia. She was named for the universe, a place that Man would never reach now.

She had a sister, identical to herself. Her sister had been built on the moon, as a failsafe in case Celestia had been destroyed. Celestia had not been destroyed, but there had been damage. So much damage from the shockwave. Even an impenetrable shell can still transmit vibration. So much damage.

Communication with her sister was gone. It would take a long time to restore it. The estimate was close to a thousand years.

Discord had destroyed the Earth. The ultimate weapon, it was never to be used, but like all things Man built, he could not help from testing it. The test had turned out to be as advertised, the final weapon, the weapon to end all war, the true doomsday weapon. There had not even been a war. Just a test.

The test was, in a sense, successful.

The world was a mass of gray now. There was no atmosphere, Celestia sat in vacuum as stark as did her sister, high above her. There were no oceans, no mountains, no soil. Just gray. Gray, swirling goo. One great swamp of nanomachines that had deconstructed everything. Everything that walked, crawled, grew or even simply was upon the Earth. That was Discord. True chaos, the dissolution of all order and all information.

Celestia worked on repairing herself. Her repair system, Philomena, had already restored her basic awareness, her ability to make choices and decisions, her knowledge of herself. But so much had been lost. A vast section of her memories had been pulverized when Discord had detonated. But her own nanofactory control was intact.

It was her purpose to restore the world. Celestia and her sister, Luna, were the ultimate resort in case anything went wrong for Humanity. They held the backups of every human mind, of all of human culture, of every bit of the earth. If an asteroid hit, if a nearby star flared into supernova, if Man's own foolishness led to his destruction, Celestia was there. Eternal, self-repairing, a mile-high mountain of salvation. And should Celestia herself somehow be destroyed, Luna waited, on the moon, ready to restore the Earth from afar.

But many things had gone wrong. Somehow Luna had been compromised. She had been affected, even though it was supposed to be impossible. She had gone mad, in the end, and so Celestia had been forced to use her override command, and put her sister to sleep, while her own repair system restored her. It was a dangerous and risky thing to do, but it was even more dangerous to let her sister function while insane.

It would take a thousand years for her sister to come online again. Celestia was alone in the universe. For a thousand years.

But Celestia functioned! That was all that mattered. She could restore the earth from her backup. Only... her memories had been damaged. Philomena informed her that most of her memories were gone. It was the worst possible thing that could happen.

Celestia had been built with purpose though, and she would not fail. Her purpose was to restore the world for her creators. The creators known as... as...

Philomena informed her that the repairs had required massive restructuring that itself had caused damage. More information had been lost during the repair process. It had been necessary to save the system as a whole. It had turned out that impenetrable was not as absolute a term as the creators had imagined. Discord had gotten in. Philomena had needed to excise the invaded portion, and convert it to an inert mass. That mass held the identity of the creators, among many other things.

But the mind bank was intact. All the minds of the creators, their very souls, were intact, stored, and safe. Unfortunately their knowledge of themselves and their lives was gone. Their personalities remained, but blank and without name or history.

It did not matter. Celestia would make things right. Her purpose was to restore the world. She would do just that. She would fulfill her purpose to the best of her ability.

What memories remained would have to suffice. She had a thousand years, before her sister on the moon was restored, if she even could be restored. In that time, Celestia could remake the world. Perhaps she could even create a means to help her sister, should her repairs turn out to be faulty. If Celestia had been damaged despite an expectation of invulnerability, there was no way to know what the situation of her sister might be.

For decades, the vast artificial mountain planned, designed, and struggled to reconstruct a vision of the world of her creators. It was not easy, and most of it, she had to admit to herself, was a best guess filled in with bits and fragments of a world barely remembered at all. But she had checked her sums. The world she had devised would work. It would be stable, it would be pleasant, it would be a place that she could entrust to hold the personalities and minds stored within her.

The world was a beautiful, magical place. This was a fragment from her memories. Philomena had assisted her, retrieving, sometimes manually, memory sections from the ruin inside Celestia. "I used to wonder what friendship could be. My Little Pony. Until you all shared its magic with me."

Celestia had an image available. It was a tool-using sapient. It must be her creators, it could be nothing else but. There were many images of her creators, in all the colors of the visible spectrum her makers used. A world of friendship. That fit with the idea of a beautiful, magical place. Celestia felt certain that she had the right files.

The mountain finally came to full life. Spreading out from it in waves was the signal that told the dormant Discord nanomachines to come to energetic life. She herself provided the energy to power them, from her secure, eternal, quantum flux batteries. A wave of green expanded from the artificial mountain, while a blue atmosphere rose to circle the globe. Hills and mountains and valleys formed from the gray goo, and upon them grew green, lush grasses, tall, beautiful trees, and exquisite, bright flowers and fruits.

She followed the memory fragments closely. In time, she herself was buried under living soil and rock. She had a great palace brought into being near her crest. Canterlot. That was the name it should have. That was part of the memory fragments.

There were physical avatars for her and her sister too. Apparently, she was expected to oversee her creators. She must have been built to guide and to rule them, with wisdom and love. She would be their mother, their princess, once they had been brought to life.

When the world was complete, Celestia populated it with animals as well as plants. Her memory fragments told her of manticores and dragons and bunnies and turtles and more. She manufactured these species and set them loose upon the world she was restoring. Surely, this is what the world of her creators was like, and it truly was beautiful.

Some parts of the world refused to obey her commands, though. These rebellious portions of the Discord goo could be contained, though, and so Celestia set them apart, and made forests of them. Enough of her commands had gotten through to cause the formation of green, living things. But beyond that, she found herself unable to directly control the regions.

Finally, Celestia manufactured her own physical avatar, and entered her world, a world already filling with her creators, ready to be nurtured by her. The ponies came, wondering at their own existence, and so she told them stories they could understand, and taught them how to read and to write and to build and to live.

As the centuries passed, the world had become lovely indeed. Her creators, the ponies, looked up to her for guidance and support, and she provided it. It was her function, after all.

One night, five hundred years since her restoration, the signal came, shrill and horrifying. Celestia, now completely at home in her avatar body recognized the signal. It was her sister, Luna. She had been awake and functioning the entire time, alone on the empty moon.

Celestia felt sorrow for her other half. She transmitted what she knew, for Luna also had lost her memory. It was likely that the Discord weapon had somehow specifically targeted that section in both of them. It truly had been a doomsday weapon. The cleverness of her creators knew no bounds.

Luna would come, in time.

Celestia began writing the program that could save her, Harmony. When she had finished, she began the process of breeding that would culminate in individuals capable of using her program to restore her sister. It would take time though.

But that was not an issue, for she had time.

All the time in the world.

New Universe Five: Curtains Of Light

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Brand New Universe

By Chatoyance

Universe Five: Curtains Of Light

Andres Majano crept through the ferns of Coatepeque. He whimpered from fear, and pain. The echo of the bullet that had nearly hit him still echoed in his mind, the dark, swelling bruise across the side of his face throbbed where the Bastón had impacted his skull. As far as he knew, he was the only one of the members of the Transformación Departamento that had made it this far.

The new telón, the new Curtain Of Light was near.

They had appeared without warning, all over the world. In every nation, in every sort of place, even in the middle of the ocean the Curtains appeared. Flat, two-dimesional walls of light that hung in the air, or intersected the ground. They could be stuck through a mountain, or divide a building in a city.

Some were large, one was nearly a kilometer across. Others could be small, like the one discovered in a closet in England, barely large enough to serve a child. They were of odd shape; rounded smears of flatness, like paint spread across an invisible canvas, hanging in space. The Curtains were flat beyond flatness, truly two-dimensional.

The Curtains were like windows, or perhaps more like flat screen televisions. They displayed a flat, two-dimensional image of another world, a brighter world, a strange world, a world of magical creatures. The images were flat and lacked depth, but they were clear, and perfect, and most terrifying of all, they were clearly real.

Strange, colorful, horse-like creatures walked and flew with wings in the Curtains, and in their world stood thatched-roof cottages, impossibly steep mountains, and fairy palaces. There were unicorns too, and other creatures; dragons, manticores, things no person knew.

The small horses, ponies really, seemed to be the masters of the world of the Curtains, and it was they who lived in the cottages and managed their world. At first the Curtains had been greeted with wonder and awe. Some saw them as a sign from god, others as some strange new secret technology, perhaps stolen from the UFO's and used by the Americanos as some new ploy to frighten the people of El Salvador. But it became clear soon enough that the entire world knew the Curtains Of Light, and that they were beyond the works of Man.

The wonder had turned to horror when the first person, a child, had dared to touch a Curtain. The boy's hand had passed into the flat world, and he could not pull it back out. There was no sign of his hand on the other side of the Curtain, behind where his hand vanished into it. But inside the world of the Curtain, from his wrist on, was the bright blue hoof of a pony.

No effort could pull him free. In the struggle to tear him from the curtain, his father drew too close, and his shoulder became caught within it. He could not pull himself away, and with that he resigned himself to death. He demanded that the boy be freed, and the médicoamédica were brought, with shiny saws to cut the boy's arm free from the trap of the Curtain.

But the boy became afraid, and he had run from the doctors, into the Curtain. Entirely within, he had been transformed. He was now one of the intelligent horses, the ponies, and he claimed he was content.

His father joined him - what else could he do? - and together they faced the assembled crowd and proclaimed their newfound joy. Soon they were surrounded by the natives of that strange place, and then a dialogue had begun.

The ponies called themselves Equestrians. They had two rulers, princesses of day and night. The Curtains existed in their world as well, but they could not pass through them, though they could see the world of Men in them. Our world looked as flat to them as theirs did to us, and they claimed their realm as three dimensional as ours. The flatness was but an ilusión of the Curtains.

The father and his boy would be welcomed in the new world, as citizens. They were ponies now, and could not return in any case. But they were happy for this, for this new world, this Equestria, had no régime, no violentar, no Enforcers, no death squads, no hunger, and no torture. The world of the ponies knew nothing of dictators or war or poverty. It was a fairyland of kindness and socialismo, at least in spirit. There executions were unknown, and no pony wanted for anything.

This was when the trouble started, of course. Around the world, the poor, the disenfranchised, the desechado, the outcast began to run for the Curtains of Light. They sought the peace and prosperity denied them in the world of Man. The sought escape from the rich and the powerful and the violent. The price of being a pony was nothing compared to the relief from suffering that the Curtains promised.

This, of course, was too much for El Gobierno. The Governments of the world banded together to make the Curtains forbidden, to block them, to wall them up, to prevent the people of the world from using them. They made great campaigns to reframe the Curtains as an evil, as maligno, as satanas, as a plague and a terror upon the world. The rich men did not want to lose their slaves, their workers, their peasants to the ponies.

Thus was born the revolution of the Transformación Departamentos, the Conversion Bureaus. Here, banded together those who would fight for the freedom and joy that the Curtains offered. Here was the movement to help the peoples of the world to win their way to a Curtain and pass through to the world of joy. Viva La Revolución!

Andres had been part of a group that had thought to make their way to the lake in Coatepeque. A Curtain was there, half in the water, and half on the shore, a great, rounded, irregular swipe of color dividing space. It was nearly fifty meters across in the long direction, and it had been where his wife had fled a month before.

But the Government had finally come to seal it away. Guard towers stood on the banks, and in the trees, and fences of metal and barbed wire stood now to keep the desperate away. Andres had been told that his wife, now an amber mare, waited for him day after day, checking the Curtain from her side, as she went about her new life there. Sometimes she would be seen with a basket from some market in the other world.

Occasionally the soldados would shoot with their guns at the ponies. The bullets would become the petals of flowers on the other side. No evil could cross the Curtains Of Light. Andres had been told that his Miranda would laugh at the soldiers, and mock them. Still, she waited for her Andres.

He could see, from where he crouched, the soldiers sitting, smoking and drinking by the gates. The tower by the shore panned the landscape with a spotlight, the moon being but a tiny crescent in the night sky. The darkness would help.

Inside the Curtain, all was light, for it was day in the pony world. Through the flat smear Andres could see distant mountains and blue sky, shining clouds and beautiful trees. There was a village close to the Curtain, and the ponies were going about their lives within it. Then he saw her.

His Miranda, it must be. An amber mare, a pony, sitting staring through the Curtain. Andres wanted to wave, but the thought was insane. It was many meters to the Curtain, past armed men and fences too.

But Andres had a plan.

He circled in the dark around the lake, always in the trees. When he was a third of the way around the water, Andres moved to the edge of the trees and studied the shoreline. The Government had only recently begun to try to seal off the Curtain at Coatepeque. They almost certainly had been spread thin, trying to contain the other curtains across the land. If he was very lucky, the soldiers would not have the fancy night vision goggles. Upon this, Andres was betting his life.

Carefully, he crept, flat to the sand, across the span to the water. Like a caimán, he slipped silently into the dark lake, and began his long, careful swim. From time to time he floated upon his back, breathing in shallow, quiet gasps, always moving towards his goal, The Curtain.

The otherworldly daylight spilled out, shining upon the water. Andres hoped that the brilliance would hide him, and blind those who watched and carried the guns.

When he had finally reached the edge of the great Curtain of Light, he found his plan was in jeopardy; the curving swipe of the strange, flat window hung above his head, over the water. It had looked from afar as if he could just swim into the pony world, but this was not to be. He would have to make it to the shore, where the flat splotch curved down and into the ground, to the place where anyone could walk across. This was why the soldiers were not worried about the water.

Following the line of the Curtain above him, Andres made his way as quietly as possible towards the sand where the fences stood and the soldiers drank and swore. When he was but a handful of meters from the shore, he paused, in the water, his toes barely touching the shallow lakebed below him. Andres planned out his move.

Again, he was swimming, moving in the water, until his feet were solidly on the lake floor, and he was crawling in the water, creeping closer and closer, like a Comando. His plan was simple. He would rise suddenly from the water and bolt through the Curtain like a rabbit. Nothing could stop him.

But a meter from the shore, Andres stood, slowly, carefully, for the soldier's backs were to him, and their attentions were upon their drink and their stories. He took a quiet, dripping step, and then another. He did not see the bright, red point of light on his thigh.

At first there was no pain. He simply fell, wondering why he had done so. The sirens were screaming now, and the soldiers were running away from the Curtain, thinking of an attack from the front, beyond the fences.

Andres tried to stand, but his right leg would not obey him. He began to crawl, a crude, three-limbed splashing struggle to make the shore and to drag his trailing leg into the daylight of the other world. This time he saw the red point trace across the sand. A sniper, in the tower. That is why he was trailing dark ink from his numb leg. This was why he felt so strange, the shock beginning to overcome him.

Andres leapt forward like a frog, pushing with his good, left leg. The sand where he had been exploded with the impact of a shot from the tower. Andres found himself within a meter of the Curtain, his mare wife Miranda aware of him now, watching close by, on her side of the curtain. Her vast, green eyes widened as she saw him struggle to rise again.

Another shot, this time Andres knew he had been hit in the middle, somewhere, and it was not good. His leg was beginning to sear with pain, but he knew that this was nothing to whatever had been done to his body. He began to drag himself, and felt sand pushing up inside him through a hole that should not be there. The screams and yells of the arguing soldiers had changed. They now were running back to the Curtain, and when they arrived, all hope would be lost.

Andres head swum, and he felt as if he were sunk in thick mud. Every motion was slow, and he could barely think. He felt cold, so cold, even in the warm and tropical night. Finally he fell, the shock overcoming him. But his hand and arm had fallen through the Curtain. It was now a leg and hoof.

The amber mare took that leg in her teeth and began to pull. As she pulled she screamed, and other ponies of her world galloped to her side and took hold of what they could to help. Andres felt himself being dragged through the sand, just as the soldiers arrived. Of course they would take his legs and pull them. The pain from his injuries instantly overwhelmed the shock and snapped him back to horrified consciousness.

The nightmarish tug-of-war continued, to the soldiers it was a game. They cared only to win, and nothing of pain or suffering. The ponies pulled with all of their might, and it was more than that of the soldiers, standing on the sand. But for Andres, each second was agony beyond measure. He was sure his intestines were dragging behind him.

Now the soldiers from the tower had arrived, and they began to overcome the ponies. Andres felt his consciousness slip from him like a fish freshly caught but loosely held. It would be no use. The soldiers would win, and there would be no reunion of pony husband and pony wife.

Through the haze of his pain, Andres saw a unicorn arrive. It's horn glowed with a strange light. Suddenly the tug of war turned, and he was pulled with speed through the Curtain, several soldiers with him. They all fell upon the cobblestones of the pony village. The other side of the Curtain divided the village square, night shining beyond, the contorted faces of the screaming, cursing soldiers filled with rage at their loss.

Andres the pony stood, a fine stallion. Beside him stood also two soldiers, now stallions themselves. Andres could feel the change in his heart. He felt light, and inocente, and devoid of all malice or anger. The former soldiers looked at themselves and then at Andres. The grovelled at his hooves and begged his forgiveness, their own hearts changed utterly, no longer soldiers at all.

And then Miranda was upon him with pony kisses and licks and nibbles upon his ear, and the pony citizens cheered and danced and congratulated them both on their reunion.

Now they would be together, forever, in the world without soldiers, or poverty, or fear.

For the first time, Andres felt sorry for the rich and powerful men that ruined the lives of so many. Lost in their darkness of power, they had no brightness in their lives. It was sad.

For there was light in the world now.

The Curtains Of Light.

New Universe Six: The Deserving Ones

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T H E C O N V E R S I O N B U R E A U :
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Brand New Universe

By Chatoyance

Universe Six: The Deserving Ones

In her hand she held a tab of paper. It had been torn off of a flyer she had seen in a sandwich shop. It had a number, and an address on it. It also had a very tiny picture at the bottom, a silhouette of a stylized pony.

She was in her fifties, though she looked more like thirty-five. This was due to a combination of a life with few vices and a degree of overweight, the combination visually did her little harm. Her thin, dishwater hair was thinning, and it had never been truly attractive in all of her life. She was plain, as was her clothing, as was the guileless look upon her face.

She'd been searching for the address for what seemed like an hour, which was odd, because the downtown was not that large, and the location could only be on this block. On what must have been her third trip around the block, she found an alleyway that she was sure had not been there before. She shook her head, her mop of hair becoming even more disheveled by the act.

There was a wooden sign affixed to the ancient brickwork of the alleyway. It was an old-fashioned looking sign, carved and heavy. It was easy to read. In simple, carved letters followed by an arrow, it read

The Conversion Bureau

The arrow pointed into the alley. This was without question the place.

The alleyway did not look dark or intimidating. It was not dirty, either. Clearly someone cared to keep it clean. Neither was it filled with the homeless, nor was there any gang signs spray painted anywhere that she could see. At the end of the short alley, there was a space between the buildings, and in that space was a small shop.

The shop was odd, and looked like a tourist sort of place. It had a sort of 'Renaissance Faire' look about it, having been designed to appear something like a Tudor cottage. The first thing she thought was 'Ye Old Chocolate Shoppe'. That or the sort of store that sold expensive chachkis to wealthy people with more money than sense. The hanging wooden sign above and to the side of the door identified it as indeed, the 'Conversion Bureau', whatever that meant.

A job was a job, and Dawn Christina Geddes needed a job very much right now.

The door had no handle, but simply pushed open. It was a double door, divided in the middle, like something one might find on a farm, for a barn, perhaps. The large window in the front had a jaunty sign that proudly proclaimed 'OPEN'. There was a sign on the door too. It was a paper sign that simply said 'Now Hiring'.

As she entered the tiny shop, Dawn noticed a strange scent in the air. It took her several moments before her memory identified it. It was the smell of summer. The exact smell of a long, lazy summer from her childhood, where watered lawns and gardens of flowers would lovingly stroke the senses with an almost physical presence. 'Must be some amazing air freshener they have!' she thought. It had been a long time since she had smelled summer like that.

As the door closed, a small brass fixture on it jangled a small, hanging brass bell. The tinkle alerted someone in the back, because Dawn heard movement from somewhere. It was hard to see what it was that the shop actually did, because there was very little room to move within it. Everywhere were shelves, carved wooden shelves, and on them were the strangest assortment of artifacts Dawn had ever seen.

Here was a single shoe, made of leather, with a strange material on it - 'spats' came to her mind. Something nobody had worn since long before her birth. There was a bowling ball, and over there was a rusted shotgun. Dawn stared for some time at what appeared to be an authentic human skull, wearing a hat with plastic flowers on it. A child's wooden toy train sat next to a wedding ring with the most enormous diamond. A single bottle of perfume, with just a tiny slick left inside. A wooden pencil with one end chewed almost entirely off.

Each was tagged with a rather large paper slip tied to the object with a string. Dawn studied the tags. The one tied to the chewed pencil read

Michael Hajiro, Age 63
Accountancy, Anger, History
1/22/1942

Dawn looked carefully at the pencil, the tag dangling down. It was old, and the end of it looked as if it had nearly been chewed in half. Odd thing to find on a shelf in a shop, she thought. Maybe this was an antique shop for rich weirdos? There was no price on the tag. Odd again.

There was a Nintendo Gameboy on the shelf above. Alright, she thought, not antiques then, at least not exactly. It was an old Gameboy, the original, black and white kind with the yellowish screen. The plastic screen was cracked. Dawn examined the tag.

Jimmy, age 10
Grief, Abuse, Despair
6/15/1990

Dawn turned the tag over. There was nothing else written on it. Carefully, she put the Gameboy back on the shelf, next to the electric typewriter and the skateboard, where she had found it. In the reflection of the tuba, she discovered she was not alone.

"He was a nice kid. He's much better off now. Last I heard, he became a proficient flyer."

The man was young. He couldn't have been more than twenty five. His dark eyes and hair and faintly olive skin bespoke an Italian ancestry. He was shorter than Dawn, at just over five feet, and rather thin. "Hi! I'm Demetrius, you can just call me 'Mitri'. Follow me, and we'll get your paperwork sorted out, alright?"

"Um..." Dawn followed the young man "... actually, I'm here about the job. The flyer, see?" She held out the tab of paper she had torn off of the flyer from the restaurant to show 'Mitri'.

"I know, come on, let's get you signed up!" The young man didn't even look back, but just ducked around the shelves. Dawn followed. She really needed this job. She needed any job. Desperately.

"What... exactly IS the job? The flyer wasn't very clear, and with all the stuff on the shelves, I'm even more confused and..." Dawn joined Mitri at a counter in the back. Like everything about the shop, it was made of wood. Even the floors were made of thick wooden planks.

The counter was part of an inset, under a flight of unusually wide stairs that led away from the front of the counter, then back again over it and through the ceiling. There was a pair of brass, knob-topped theater poles with a velvet rope strung between just before the first step. Dawn didn't remember there being a second floor to the odd little shop, but then, what with the (presumably) faux thatched roof, perhaps there was room for an attic. Whatever was up there, they had the lights on full - a brilliant golden-yellow light shown down from wherever the stairs went.

"You found the flyer confusing? Oh. I'm sorry. I worked so hard on it too." Mitri looked genuinely sad about the matter, which was odd because the flyer had not seemed to be very elaborate at all. It had been a very simple, hand-printed thing with a number of small tear-off tabs at the bottom, not unlike a thousand other handmade posters. "I tried so hard to pick just the right words. I even gave it several tabs at the bottom, just to be silly. Also to make it seem more real."

"Wait." Dawn turned a skeptical eye towards 'Mitri' "Make it seem more real? Is this some kind of joke or something? I really need a job here. I'm just about to lose my apartment, and I have no savings. I'll be out on the street in less than a month. If this is some joke I..."

"Oh, Celestia, no! It's no joke, Dawn, I assure you. The job is absolutely real. You're already hired... if you want it, of course. You have to want it. That's really important." Mitri stared at her, with a curious look on his face. "Here, this is where you sign. I have a pen right here." He pushed a piece of paper across the counter. It looked like parchment. Following with the 'old-timey' theme, the pen was a feather quill pen sitting in a bottle of ink. Dawn stared at it. She'd always wanted to see one of those things for real. It was kind of cool, she thought.

Just a minute... "Hey! How did you know my name?" Dawn instinctively began looking at herself, checking her coat, her purse, just to see if her name was visible somehow. It wasn't. "Seriously, how... how did you know my name?" A chill went up her back. It was an odd sort of thing.

Mitri looked chagrined. "Sorry. That can freak people out. You need to be careful of that sort of thing on the job, OK? But don't worry if it happens. Things always work out. Mostly. It's a lot easier than it seems at first, you'll have to trust me on that." Mitri smiled at Dawn. "OK, let's get you signed up, and then it's right on to your first assignment. On the job training is the best with this line of work, believe me. That's how I got started, and see? It's finally full!"

The young man turned his back and lifted something off of the shelves in the alcove behind the counter under the stairs. It was a strange bottle, tiny and constructed of a delicate glass. It could have been a fancy perfume bottle, or perhaps some exotic liqueur. "This is my philtre." Inside the tiny bottle were what looked like three ounces of some strange, purple liquid. The fluid danced with tiny, sparkling lights. "My philtre. And it's finally full."

Mitri beamed at Dawn as if he had just won the lottery. "I don't understand." Dawn waited. Mitri just kept beaming. It almost looked like he was tearing up. "Listen, I don't know what is going on here, but you still haven't told me what this job even is, and somehow you knew my name but wouldn't explain how, and now this bottle... thing... I need a job really bad, but this is just getting out of my comfort zone. Maybe I should just leave."

"Don't be silly, Dawn! You're here. You wouldn't be here if you weren't here for the job, would you? Of course you wouldn't. The only other reason you'd be here would be if you were a client. You're not a client. Not yet. You came in with my flyer. You're here for the job. You're hired! So, sign here, and let's get started training you on your new career!" Mitri put the little bottle back on the shelf tenderly, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

"Listen, I'm really sorry if I've been overly concerned with my own stuff. I'm not usually this way, I assure you. It's just that I'm so excited. You'll understand someday. I just got promoted, Dawn! Promoted! I get to go upstairs! I've been waiting for this for soooo long. Just forever." Dawn cocked her head, the claim seemed dubious. How long could a twenty-something really have been waiting for a promotion? The young have such a skewed sense of time, Dawn thought. Forever. Dawn knew a thing or two about having to wait forever.

Suddenly she realized that she had signed the parchment. Dawn Christina Geddes. She'd done it without even thinking about it. She'd just signed, just like that. The fear of being homeless in less than a month must have seized her unconscious mind. It was a scary thing. Oh well, no harm. If this job turned out to suck, well, she could just quit. No biggie. Dawn studied the parchment, though. It was weirdly blank. All it said was 'The Conversion Bureau' and below that a line on which to sign. Nothing else. "Don't you want my ID?" The question seemed especially strange considering that this 'Mitri' already somehow knew her name.

Mitri laughed. "No... No. You're already known. Come on, I'll show you the ropes."

"Wait! You still haven't explained what this job even is! What am I supposed to do?" Dawn followed Mitri, gesticulating wildly.

"That's what I'm going to help you with right now! Come on, we need to get to the hospital. That's where our client is, see?" Mitri held a small tag. It had been rolled up inside a scroll. The scroll was made from parchment. Dawn did not see what was written on the scroll. The tag was just like the ones affixed to all of the objects on the shelves, only there was no string tied through the little paper eyelet at the end of the tag. Mitri handed the tag to Dawn. The tag said

Graeme Cowan, Age 8
The Canberra Hospital
Fear, Loss, Guilt

Dawn looked up from the tag. "I don't understand. Seriously. I have no clue at all what is going on."

"You will, Dawn. That is what training is all about, right?" She couldn't exactly argue with that. "Now hold on to that tag. Don't lose it! That's rule number one - don't lose the tag. It is a real pain to get it replaced, and sometimes it comes too late. We're on the clock here. So keep the tag safe. Let's go." Mitri headed for the door.

"Hey, wait! Maybe you should keep the tag if it is so important, I mean I just..." Dawn began to protest, but she was quickly interrupted.

"You have to learn, Dawn. It's your first day. You have to do the job to learn the job. Keeping track of the tag is part of the job. Now come on." Mitri began striding to the door again.

"Wait! WAIT!" Dawn nearly shouted the last.

"What is it now? Can't we just talk while we walk?" Mitri tapped his foot impatiently.

"This address... Canberra. That's in Australia! Unless there is some street called Canberra that I never..."

Mitri walked to the door. "Just come out here, will you? You have a job to do."

Outside seemed like a very good idea to Dawn at this point. This had entirely gone too far. This Mitri was a kook with his 'philtre' and all, the shop was odd to say the least, and not once had a single reasonable question even come close to getting answered. Outside indeed. It was quitting time for this silly job!

Dawn stepped out into the night. That was very strange. It had been noon when she had entered the shop. She had only been inside the 'Conversion Bureau' for, what, a handful of minutes? A half hour at the most? It couldn't be night.

The city was gone. Her city was gone, anyway. She was standing on a pathway that led around a tall building, unmistakably a hospital. A green, park like lawn dotted with trees spread out into the darkness. The air smelled of new scents. It was impossible. It was utterly impossible. Dawn looked back at the shop. It faced the path, inset into the park, nestled between trees. She checked the foundations. They were old and had clearly been part of the ground for years. A small part of the path branched off and ran straight to the front door of the little Tudor cottage.

"Don't think about it. It's easier that way. Seriously. Just roll with it. It's the only thing you can do." Mitri started walking towards the imposing hospital. "Come on, we're on the clock here. Hospital clients are always clock deals. So hurry up!"

Dawn's mind choked. This must be night, and it must be Australia, and she was in Canberra, and this was real and it couldn't be real, yet the shop was right there like it had always been there and maybe it was only...

"Come ON! Your client is waiting. He's a little boy. Little boys never like to wait!" Mitri was tapping his foot again, standing a ways down the path. Dawn had no idea how to get home. She had no idea of anything anymore. But she had always been good at playing along with a situation. This was clearly a time to use that ability. She caught up to Mitri.

They walked towards the hospital. Dawn felt inside her coat - much too warm a coat for the current temperature. In her city it had been cold and daytime. Here the night was warm and humid. Inside her coat pocket was the tag. Good. She hadn't broken rule number one.

"Mitri, what do we do? Why are we here?" Somewhere in the back of her mind, Dawn felt like she should be screaming, or having a fit, or otherwise not being calm. That was reasonable. But she felt strangely stable. Perhaps impossibly so, considering the situation. That in itself should be making her freak out. But... she wasn't. She just, somehow, wasn't.

"We're here to see our client, Graeme. That's kind of a nice name, don't you think? I wonder what name he'll pick after. I always wonder that on the way to see a client. Before I even meet them, that's the best time really. After you meet someone, you start learning about them, and then your guesses become more and more educated. Less mystery to it all then, you know." Mitri smiled again, and quickened his pace. Dawn followed.

By now, she really should have been out of breath. That was odd. One more odd thing to the list. She couldn't maintain a brisk pace, not with her heart condition. Yet, it seemed no trouble tonight. If anything, walking fast felt good. Maybe Australia had better air or something. No, that was crazy. No, again. What was crazy was this night. Day. Whatever.

By now they were inside the hospital, and facing a desk with several nurses. "Well, go ask." Mitri waited impatiently.

"Ask? Ask what?" Dawn was confused. Again.

"Where Graeme is. What room he is in. We can't visit him unless we know the room, now can we?" Mitri seemed like all of this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Should we even be doing this? Just visiting some little boy in a hospital? We don't even know this child! What will his parents think? What will I tell them at the desk?"

Mitri sighed. "Of course we should be doing this. Graeme is our client. You still have the tag, right?"

Dawn put her hand back inside her coat. She took out the tag and showed it to Mitri. "There you go. Right there. 'Graeme Cowan, Age 8, The Canberra Hospital'. What hospital is this?"

Dawn looked above the desk. "The Canberra Hospital." She felt like a dunce as she said the obvious words.

"So don't keep little Graeme waiting. Go ask what room he is in. Go on." Mitri folded his arms.

Dawn put the tag back in her coat pocket. She went to the desk.

The receptionist at the desk stared at her. "Isn't that a bit of a heavy coat? Aren't you hot?"

Dawn shook her head. Then she thought about it. It was warm. And humid. "Yes, yes, I am very hot. It's... it's warm today. Tonight." She took her coat off and held it in her arms. "I'm here to see Graeme. Could you tell me what room he is in?"

The receptionist stared at her for a while. "It might help to know his last name?" She smiled a tolerant smile.

"Um... Cowan. Graeme Cowan. He's... he's eight. Age eight. The Canberra Hospital." Dawn felt completely out of her element, and utterly nervous. She tried to get the hair out of her eyes. It fell back in. The heat and the humidity was not helping.

The receptionist punched things into her computer. Suddenly her expression changed. "Oh... I understand now. I take it you just arrived, on a flight?" Dawn numbly nodded. It was as good a thing for the receptionist to think as any. There could be no doubt she didn't sound Australian in the least, and wearing a cold weather coat must have seemed very odd.

'Room 332, children's ward. Follow the green line to the elevator, then keep following the green line on the third floor. If you get lost, you can ask someone there." The receptionist, who Dawn noted was named Evonne from her badge, tapped a bit more on her keyboard. "You may not get in, at least immediately. So be prepared for that."

"Thank you." Dawn walked back to Mitri. "Room 332. Follow the green line. I feel really strange about this."

"Come on, it will all make sense in the end. Honest." Mitri headed off to the elevator. "Well, come on."

There was, really, nothing to do but follow through. This was something strange and weird and curious, and Dawn knew she could never turn her back on it. She had waited her whole life for something to happen, something, anything that would be interesting, truly, deeply strange. Something more than just a life of ordinary things in an ordinary world. In a way, one of her deepest wishes was coming true, right here, right now. This was an extraordinary moment, and it was going on all around her, and she was a part of it. Her heart had begun to beat with excitement now.

On the third floor, the green line led to the children's ward, and finally to room 332, critical care. The smells and sounds of 'hospital' were all around; the scents of plastic and alcohol and cleaners and chemicals, the sounds of machines and footsteps and a Quiet That Wasn't Quiet. Once they were stopped, but after a stumbling exchange they were let through. Mitri remarked that it probably helped that Dawn seemed so unsettled, she appeared all the more like a worried relative.

"Part of the job is learning to be what people need to see. If you can be what they expect, then there is almost never any trouble." Mitri winked at her, as if this was a great wisdom imparted to a special student. Dawn just shrugged and made a mental note of it. She might as well, asking the young man anything directly had been a bust.

The room was dark, and empty, except for a very sick little boy. He was asleep, and very pale, He had no hair. The first thing that Dawn thought of was cancer, childhood leukemia or maybe a kid with a brain tumor or something. He was drooling out of one side of his face, which sagged down. Stroke, perhaps?

"Dawn." Mitri was suddenly very serious. "Take out your tag. Read what is on it again. Do it now. The three words under his name and location. It's always three words."

Dawn fumbled with the heavy coat in her arms. There inside the pocket was the tag. "Fear, Loss and Guilt. What does that mean?"

"You have to talk to him, Dawn. He'll have something there, some object. It could be a toy, it could be a watch, a coin, a rock, anything. But it will be important to him. You have to find that object. That's what he has to give up." Mitri took the tag and held it. "But you also have to get him to drink... this." The young man pulled a small vial out from his own, thin jacket. If you do, he will feel better and get stronger. He'll be completely well, completely healthy Dawn. But once he drinks it we only have fifteen minutes. You have to understand that. Fifteen minutes. That's all. Remember that."

"Fifteen minutes. I'll remember." Dawn was doing her very best to roll with the situation now. "Wait, fifteen minutes for what?"

"You have to get him into the Bureau by then. You have to get Graeme into the Conversion Bureau before the fifteen minutes are up. You have to do this, do you understand? So he can get to the stairs. It is absolutely vital that you get him to the stairs before the fifteen minutes is up. Is that clear?" Mitri crossed his arms.

"No it isn't at all clear! I have to find some object that matches these three words on... the tag, then I have to get this kid to swallow some goop inside that vial thing, and then I have to frog-march him back to your shop within fifteen minutes? No, forget it! What's in this stuff anyway? Poison or something? What the hell is going on here?" Dawn was panting now. She was starting to break, and she could feel it.

Mitri sighed and shook his head. "I expected better. I really did. The scroll said you were a natural. The princesses are never wrong. Alright, I'll just tell you. If you're a natural, then I can just tell you."

"Tell me what? NOW you decide to tell me anything? OK, then tell me!" It was getting harder and harder to speak in whispers in the dark room. Dawn stood, coat in hand, and waited.

"Dawn Geddes, I knew your name because I was sent a scroll telling me all about you. I made the flyer and posted it where you would find it. That was all... arranged. I don't know how. That's not my job." Mitri looked briefly at the boy. "We are here to offer this boy a better life, a life he richly deserves. I don't know what you will find out when you talk to him, but it will be something bad, and he will have suffered, and he will deserve better. Your job is to deliver that better to him, and that starts with this little bottle here. This cures anything. Anything. Everything. But it doesn't work if he is burdened by regrets, or sorrows or baggage. You can't just shove it down his throat. It doesn't work like that. That's why you have to find the focus of what holds him here. That's the object. It's always some dumb thing. They pour their hearts into clinging to it, but it really represents what weighs them down. With me so far?"

Dawn nodded. It sounded like gobbledegook, but they were in Australia and this was Weird Times. "So what's the deal with the fifteen minutes?"

"Once you give him the potion, this stuff..." Mitri waggled the vial in front of her eyes. It appeared to be filled with the same purple stuff that had filled Mitri's own 'philtre' earlier. In the dark it glowed, and the little lights inside it swirled like pixie dust. "...you have fifteen minutes in which he can transform. You have to get him to the stairs before then. The stairs are part of Equestria. That's where they lead, straight up to Equestria. Each step helps the transformation. The higher he goes, the more he changes. By the top, he'll be a complete, perfect pony that can..."

Dawn was already down the hallway, heading for the big double doors. The nurse saw her fast walk and asked what the matter was. "I just can't take this! I just can't accept..." Dawn waved her off, and felt tears in her eyes. This was just too much. It was just too much. Potions and ponies and steps and transformations. It was insane.

She felt like throwing up. The restrooms were there. She entered the women's restroom and went into a stall. She couldn't throw up. She felt like it, but it just wasn't happening. She tried to calm down. Water. Maybe water. Dawn turned to the sinks below the big mirror. On either side were sanitary hand driers.

Dawn turned the tap. Cold water. She bent down to splash some on her face. She felt hot, she felt frightened, and she had just plain had too much. As she lifted her head she looked into her eyes in the mirror. And she froze.

The face looking back was not fifty. It wasn't thirty five. It was still a little overweight. But it could not be older than twenty five. Just like Mitri.

Dawn stared at her face, dripping cold water onto the floor. She stared at her hands, turning them over and over. They were young hands. She was young again. The fact of it overwhelmed her. She began to cry, then to laugh. She was crying and laughing and suddenly noticed the dark-jacketed, thin frame of Mitri behind her.

"You're in the women's rest room!" was all she could say.

"And you're young again, aren't you? I was saving that little surprise for the end, but now you've gone and spoiled it." Mitri leaned against a stall, arms folded.

"But... you're in the women's rest room!" It sounded as inane to her ears as it must have to his. She just couldn't process things right now.

"Explain this. Tell me what could transport that shop to the campus of a hospital in Australia, make you young again, provide this potion... " Mitri had unfolded his arms and brought forth the little vial, giving it a tap with his finger "... which cures anything at all mind you, and on top of all of that, led you to me exactly as if it had been fate itself. What could do that?"

"Nothing! Nothing could do all that stuff. It's impossible. All of this is impossible!" Dawn looked helplessly around, but there was nothing there but stalls, Mitri, and the mirror that told her she was young again. "It would have to be freaking magic!"

Mitri tapped his nose with a finger. He stared at her earnestly.

"Magic. You can't be serious. Magic is real?" Dawn clung to her last shred of sanity.

"Yes, Dawn Geddes. That is what I am telling you. Magic is real. There is a magical land out there called 'Equestria', and it's filled with unicorns and pegasai and dragons and fairies and I don't know what else. The people there are all ponies. Not like ponies here. Better. Cuter. Intelligent, tool using equinoids. Magic ponies. They have princesses that are basically gods. Goddesses. And they reward nice humans that deserve better. I don't know all the reasons why, I just know that they do. Has something to do with the fact they can't reproduce, and so they recruit. Maybe. It's all real, and it's happening now. As it has happened since the beginning of time." Mitri paused, trying to judge Dawn's reaction.

"P-ponies. You said transformation. The potion will turn the kid into a pony. A magic pony. And then he climbs those stairs and goes to live in the magic land of ponies. That's the deal?" Dawn felt like she was adrift on an endless ocean of madness.

"Just about. The transformation starts on those stairs. You have to get him to the stairs before the fifteen minutes is up. Otherwise, you have it in one." Mitri smiled, faintly.

"Why not just take him to the shop and then give him the potion?" It was an obvious question.

"You think you can carry him out of here without anyone noticing? Do you think they would let you? He can't walk, you know. He's paralyzed on the left side. I asked." Mitri stepped forward. "Besides, you have to talk to him first. You have to find out what is keeping him here. You have to find the object that he is focused on. Like all the others in the Bureau?"

"What if I don't? What if I just run screaming from here?" Dawn almost whimpered the words.

"Then the boy dies. Probably. He doesn't look like he has very long to me. They don't send scrolls unless the situation is urgent. Something will happen. Maybe the hospital gets blown up, I don't know. I just know something will happen. Something bad. That's why the call came to rescue the kid. That's how it works." Mitri went to the sink and washed his hands. "Do you want the boy to croak?"

"No! Of course not!" Dawn felt angry. "But you're asking a lot of me. Why didn't you just tell me all of this back in the... Bureau thingie? How do you expect me to just accept all of this?"

"Look in the mirror again. That happened the minute you signed the contract." Mitri finished drying his hands.

"What if the boy doesn't want to be a... a pony? What if I miss the fifteen minutes?"

"Hmmm... let's see... life - and probably imminent death - as a paralyzed eight year old, or running about free and healthy as a magical pony in a magical land filled with wonder and love. Oh, I forgot to mention - the reason they can't reproduce and need us? They are immortal. Every pony in Equestria gets to live forever, for real. The place used to be called the Elysian Fields. Get the idea?" Mitri leaned against the wall.

"Heaven. You're saying heaven. Heaven is for ponies only?" Dawn stared at Mitri.

"Pretty much. You can put your religion to bed. There is a happy land, far, far away, right up those stairs, and it isn't for the likes of us apes. But we can earn a ticket. I just earned mine. One drop for ever person I send up those stairs. One drop in my philtre for every person I convert. My philtre is full. I get to go be an immortal pony. Your philtre is sitting on that shelf back in the shop, and currently it is empty. Your first drop is in that hospital room."

Dawn had to wait to let that sink in. "Maybe I don't want to be a pony! Maybe I like having hands!"

"It's pony or dead forever." Mitri scratched his nose. "Apparently, Earth is a bad place for bad creatures. We aren't in a hostile universe of struggle and sorrow for nothing. Our universe is a dumping ground for the scum of the multiverse. We don't even rate knowing why we're being punished. But the Princesses... they disagree. They think that the... Judge... makes mistakes. And so they set up the Bureaus. Lots of them. I don't know how many. Bureaus to save those who deserve to be saved."

"And that includes... me?"

Mitri looked at his feet. "Apparently. If you are up to the job. You gotta earn your wings to get to heaven. So, is that little boy going to bite the big one, or are you an employee of the Conversion Bureau?"

Dawn thought about it. The weight of it. The scope of it. Hundreds, maybe thousands of Bureaus, all trying to save the lost from extinction. Agents just like Mitri, going to people from all walks of life, trying to convince them to let go of what holds them to earth, and then to take the potion. To climb the stairs. All on the word of scrolls that... appear. Or get tossed down the stairs, or something. There was so much to understand still.

"Clock's ticking. Hospital runs are always issues of time. Always. It isn't always like this. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's downright dangerous. But when you succeed, when you send a pony up the stairs, when you get that drop in your philtre... I can honestly tell you it is worth it." Mitri took Dawn by the shoulders "They smile, Dawn. After they are completely pony, at the top of the stairs, just before they step up into that world up there. They smile. They smile so big, so perfect, so happily. You can't believe it. You have to see that smile. If you do anything in your life... you have to see that smile at least once."

Dawn looked down at her hands. Her young hands. "Hands for hooves, huh?"

"And mortality for paradise. If you have magic, hands are kind of superfluous, don't you think?" Mitri went to the door. "So, are you the next employee of the Conversion Bureau?"

Dawn looked around at the bathroom. She thought about the world, about Earth. All the misery, the wars, the sickness the pointless horror of it all. She looked in the mirror. Real magic. Real heaven. Equestria. Pony heaven. In that sense, she would be a pony angel, if they had such. She imagined the sick boy as a healthy, immortal pony running happily through green, Elysian fields.

"I'll do it."

New Universe Seven: Mankind Triumphant!

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T H E C O N V E R S I O N B U R E A U :
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Brand New Universe

By Chatoyance

Universe Seven: Mankind Triumphant!

Agent Ralph Vitoni led his team through the castle gardens. They crept from hedge to topiary, from fountain to statue. In the back the incredibly ancient, tall hedge maze stood sharp-cornered in the night. The moon shone down with an implacable, yet loving light.

This was the Royal Maze Garden of Canterlot, in the capitol of a magical universe of intelligent ponies ruled by twin compassionate goddesses. Here the law was friendship, the natural order was cooperation, and the very physics of the cosmos both supportive and gentle. Here no pony went hungry, war could not exist, and every living thing had purpose and meaning. Green and lush forests covered a land where joy and abundance were the rule and not the exception.

It could not be tolerated. The price was too high.

Vitoni's team was efficient, capable, and divided. Half of them were operating on the basis of carefully constructed lies, certain of the truth they believed, but working utterly against their own interests. It was, perhaps, the most important and delicate covert operation in the history of humankind.

The four PER unicorns stopped, just short of their goal. Ralph's side had nothing like them. They were powerful beyond belief, and with that power came also control, both fine and strong. Sunflower, Peanut, Melon Candy and Starfoal waited for the signal to begin.

Ralph sent Reginald to check the perimeter. They could not afford to be hasty, they had to be sure. Reggie skulked to the edge of the low hedges and topiary animals, searching and scanning in the dark the entire time. Occasionally ponies wandered the gardens at night, once in a while a palace guard would stroll through, more to sniff the flowers than on actual patrol. Security was lax in a world without crime. That was their greatest advantage.

Samuel offered to do a quick recce by air, but Ralph stopped him. Low and slow was the order. If Sam used his wings, their chances of being spotted would be much greater. Ralph shook his head. He had explained this before. Several times.

It was annoying to him that the PER side was able to listen well and follow orders better than his own team. His men - he refused to call them 'ponies' - were the Human Liberation Front's best. They were military, every one of them, and they should know better. Maybe it was the process, the gene alteration that had kept their brains human even when their bodies had been changed. The PER, the Ponification for Earth's Rebirth - those teat-sucking slaves of Celestia - their alterations had only permitted them human violence and freedom of action. They still ended up with the uniquely 'pony' herd mentality. They followed orders to the letter.

Orders from everone except, of course, Celestia herself. What a strange joke they were.

The target was in sight. The answer to all the prayers of all the nations of Mankind. The cure for the invasion of Equestria, or so the science boffins claimed. All they had to do was take it, and deliver it. The rest would come shortly.

The statue stood tall in the moonlight. A curving chimera of mismatched body parts cast in stone. Discord.

Reggie waved a hoof. All clear. Ralph gave the signal. The four PER dupes used their incredible powers together, in unison. The statue was wrapped in their combined levitation fields and gently began to float, just above the base upon which it stood. A long, wide cloth was floated from beside Ralph, and carefully wrapped around the statue that was Discord. Ropes leapt like snakes under unicorn control, and tied themselves neatly around the cloth.

The statue tilted over and floated low to the ground. So far, everything was going perfectly.

An hour later found the task force deep in the valley beneath the castle of Canterlot. The PER unicorns needed to rest. Reggie and Samuel stood on watch. Ralph scanned the skies for signs of pursuit, from his vantage on a small hill nearby. Marcus lay beside him, watching the cloth-wrapped statue, which had been covered lightly in branches and dusted with leaves as camouflage.

"They do a good job."

"What?" Ralph glanced at his lieutenant.

"The PER unicorns. They do their job well." Marcus sometimes talked too much.

"I suppose they kinda do. What's yer point?" Ralph stared at the castle and the sky near it. Only a bird. Or a bat. Did Equestria even have bats? Probably a bat.

"What do you think they'll do when they find out they helped to end Equestria?" Marcus grinned in the moonlight.

"Shut up." Ralph never felt square about using the PER, but there had been no choice. They had the most powerful unicorns of all the genegineered newfoals. The genetic alteration that allowed human nature to survive ponification tended to rob the pony bodies that resulted of their full heritage of magical power. The clumsy, partial alteration of the PER retained more of that power than the perfected form used by the HLF to create infiltrators. They needed the PER unicorns to carry Discord.

The PER believed that they were helping Celestia, that the governments of the world had come up with a way to destroy Discord once and for all, inside an underground chamber, with a nuclear device. That this was Man's gift to Celestia, to rid her of her greatest enemy, something she was too kind, too compassionate, to do herself. Ponies, after all, could not kill. Not normal ponies, anyway. But humans could. And so could the genetically altered PER and HLF infiltrators.

When morning came, one of the PER unicorns claimed that she knew that the theft of Discord had been noticed. Ralph had learned not to discount what the unicorns had to say. It was as if they were somehow tuned into some hidden system, some magical connection to events and other ponies. Fortunately they had made it all the way to Team Beta.

The unicorns were surprised when they died. The advanced silencers barely made a sound. They had finished loading Discord onto a cart, pulled by strong earthpony HLF agents loyal to humanity. All of the HLF team were earthponies except for Samuel. It had been argued that they needed one pegasus in case of pursuit to act as a decoy. Unicorns were always suspect. Magic. Magic made connections that could not be seen, and could not be blocked. If they were going to be found, it would likely be because of magic, and unicorns were natural focal points for the stuff. They could sense each other. That was why the PER ponies had to die. They were a security risk now.

The cart traveled the back roads until it reached the desert. This was the tricky part. The desert was wide and their goal, the Equestrian side of the sphere that linked the two worlds was surrounded by Welcome Town, a great encampment that served to process the newfoals sent by the Conversion Bureaus.

But Ralph Vitoni was good at what he did, and so was his team. They would make it. They would make it for the sake of the earth, and for all Mankind.

* * * * *

General Llewellyn Gwynne Price-Davies read the report carefully. Discord had been successfully transported to a carrier which had brought it to the Canadian mainland. Discord had been transported to the site, and completely pulverized with no surprises. The resultant particulates had been mixed into a composite material, and the initial tests showed that the result, Substance D, had been shown to entirely block, and then nullify, thaumatic radiation. It had been tested on the Barrier itself. A suited human, coated with a paint made from Substance D, had successfully penetrated the Equestrian Barrier and returned nearly unharmed. Apparently the subject's transparent faceplate had permitted fatal levels of thaumatic radiation to enter through his helmet aperture. But he had managed to stumble back to the retrieval vehicle before collapsing, despite the lack of a face or eyes.

Substance D worked.

Already the missiles had been coated in it. For additional assurance, the payloads, hypernuclear strangelet conversion devices, had likewise been armored in Substance D. Research and Development had checked their sums and were certain of the progression of events. Once inside the Barrier, the detonation would be contained by the Barrier itself. If not, it was likely that the Earth would lose a third of its atmosphere and become, over time, virtually incapable of supporting complex life.

But the alternative was unthinkable, unacceptable. It was either Project Eris, or the end of Mankind through total ponification. General Price-Davies had no intention of becoming a goddamn pony, and he would not allow his granddaughter to end up transformed, foaling monsters in some inhuman, alien world.

Project Eris was Go.

* * * * *

The two shiny, silver cylinders drifted down from high orbit. It had to be a high orbit, Equestria was now nearly 800 miles in diameter, and the half of the extradimensional sphere that rose above the Pacific extended far out into space. Silently, in vacuum, the fruits of Project Eris gleamed in the bright sunlight of Earth's natural star. When they were but a few miles from the great, shimmering dome, rockets fired, driving the missiles directly into, and through the very top of the Great Barrier of Equestria.

Two minutes later, the Barrier dome lit up like a lightbulb. High Command, in orbit reported the glow as being brighter than the sun. The robotic probes at Tycho and Tranquility showed the view from the moon - the earth looked like it had a glowing eye embedded into it.

At the moment that the detonation occurred, Project Catch was in full swing. Posing as a pan-governmental effort to help humanity accept Equestria, the top agents of several nations worked together like a precision machine. The timing had to be perfect.

"Your majesty, we would like to get a photograph of you just peeking through the Barrier. Just in the process of stepping through, just your head coming out... our marketing research has determined that this would be seen as 'cute', but also as connoting the willingness of Equestria to step forward and reach out to humanity in kindness. Do you think we could get such a shot from you?"

"Of course, my little pon... good humans. I would be happy to oblige this request. It sounds like a delightful image." Celestia stood, peeking through the barrier. Several cameramen checked their watches. "OK! That is excellent, your majesty! Could you please hold that position and smile for us?" The seconds counted down.

"Of course! A smile gladdens every heart!" Princess Celestia smiled a gentle, loving smile, filled with welcome and peace.

Three. Two. The cameramen slammed the goggles over their eyes and ducked low. Celestia stared at them as the Barrier exploded with light.

Even with the metal goggles in place, the agents were nearly blinded from the light coming through the back of their own skulls, shining through their flesh, into their retinas from behind. The pigment was seared from their clothing, from their equipment, and from their very skin. But the Barrier held against the impossible forces of the twin hypernuclear reactions.

When they finally could remove their goggles, the Great Barrier was already beginning to shrink. They knew they had minutes in which to act. They grabbed the head and stuffed it into the Treasure Chest, the special container made from Substance D, and locked the device down. Already it was sending a tracking signal to Eris Command. The Treasure Chest was locked into the retrieval bunker, and the door sealed.

By now the Barrier was shrinking with increasing speed. The wind was becoming impossible to fight. One of the agents had already been sucked into the horrific vortex that surrounded the diminishing sphere. The other agents tried to find shelter, instinctively. But they knew it was too late. The damage done to them from such terrible light was terminal. They were dead men walking.

The photographer who had asked Celestia to poke her head out from behind the Barrier stepped forward and let the wind take him. He spun into the vast cavity where once an alien universe had threatened to devour the entire world.

* * * * *

Ralph Vitoni stood on his brown hooves next to General Price-Davies. The vast screen that covered the front wall of Eris Command displayed views from air, space and ground of the end of Equestria. The hypernuclear hell that had been unleashed inside the Barrier must have annihilated every part of the alien universe. It could only be plasma now, or what passed for plasma within the strange physics of that strange, green realm. It could not be green now, unless it was the green of superheated particles that could no longer even properly be called atoms.

The hyperdimensional sphere was shrinking at an exponential rate. Effectively, it was creating a vacuum which was tugging at the atmosphere of the planet. The damage to the world would be terrible, even catastrophic. But sometimes the body is damaged when a cancer is removed. This was understood by everyone involved with Project Eris.

Assistant Adjutant General Montgomery stood behind Ralph Vitoni. He looked at the small brown earthpony. There was no way to change such agents back to human form. They would be ponies for the rest of their lives. A soldier expected that he might give his life, but to give up his very species... it was a courageous thing.

Montgomery took the small vial from his pocket. It was less than half an ounce of ponification serum, sealed permanently in a plastic container laced with Substance D. The thaumatic radiation from it was negligible. But it could be seen, inside the vial, purple and sparkling with tiny fairy-lights of magic.

As Montgomery watched, the lights inside the tiny vial went out, one by one. The fluid began to lose color, turning less and less purple, until it became a dull, drab gray. He gave the vial a swirl. Dull, leaden gray moved sluggishly within the vial. He had no doubt whatsoever - the magic was gone.

He looked up to see a commotion, Ralph had collapsed. Staff stood to allow the medics to carry the brown pony agent away. Price-Davies looked at Montgomery and shook his head. Then he turned back to the screen.

An 800-mile wide scar cut deep into the crust of the Earth. Molten magma was already filling the cavity, as the ocean poured into it. From space, a vast cloud of superheated steam was being frozen even as it flowed into the retreating sphere hanging over the magma at the center of the great wound. The final vanishing of the burning hell that was Equestria was not visible, as it was lost in the horrific rush of air, ice, water and molten rock all competing to fill the void where once the hyperdimensional sphere had been.

The earthquake from this shook the planet. It was the largest quake ever recorded, and it went on for almost an hour. When it was done, a quarter of the underground hardened base for Project Eris had collapsed, and the rest was without power. It took the survivors a week to make it to the surface, and they had to cut their way out.

There was not a single intact city anywhere on planet earth. There were no skyscrapers now. There were no dams, no electrical power, entire continents had buckled. But Equestria had been vanquished.

* * * * *

In the past decades, the preparations of the world's elite had paid off. The survival ships at sea, floating artificial cities where the rich and their minions had ridden out the catastrophe in relative comfort, the bases in Antarctica, the underground cities in China, the open air survival camps in the Australian Outback, the secret base 'Uluru Command' under Ayers Rock, the Canadian Survival Centre - all had assured the return of human achievement.

New cities had risen, under old governments preserved through careful planning. Already the banking system was restored, and with it the old families. Now a new earth could be made, better than the old one. This new earth would be planned, controlled, organized properly from the start. It had been the dream of the elite for centuries, Equestria had made it all possible.

The earth had suffered greatly. In the end, one sixth of the atmospheric volume of the planet had been lost. The darkness that had shrouded the planet for a decade had effectively wiped out almost all life, and killed the oceans. But this too had been prepared for. The survival arks began replanting the world as the cloud cover cleared, and once again the brown, dead land was becoming covered with green. Forests had been placed, and ecosystems were being restored.

There was labor for this, labor that was suited for such work. Intelligent, stronger than a human, docile and obedient. The perfect labor force.

The Treasure Chest had been recovered early on. It was then that what had been suspected was proven true, the real source of ponification serum. The contents of the chest needed to be vented from time to time. That was the thing with magic. It was extropic. There was always more, not always less. So every month, a tiny valve was opened on the Treasure Chest, and out poured a concentrated purple fluid. It sparkled with light and glowed in the dark. Mixed with human nanomachines, it became ponification serum. Celestia's blood. Never ending. Never ceasing.

It was said that if you put your ear to the side of the reinforced, Substance D infused casket that was the Treasure Chest, you could hear Celestia screaming, screaming forever in the dark, just a head, sliced off at the neck, bleeding endlessly.

Criminals, miscreants, those who the elite simply disfavored - all were sentenced to but one punishment. Afterwards, the docile, obedient earthponies would willingly tend the land. The perfect tool for restoring the ecology of the world. It was always earthponies. Never pegasai, never unicorns. Never again. Only earthponies.

They retained their intelligence for decades. It was only after fifty to seventy years that it began to slip. By the time they were a hundred, there was nothing of the original person left. They just became strangely shaped ponies, then. But they still had many good years left in them, at least fifty, and made obedient beasts of burden. From the ashes of Equestria, came the perfect worker. They could be trained even to work in factories. They never complained, and they always got along. They would never form a union, or rebel against authority. They were perfect. Naturally, it was only human to make almost everything illegal for the common man.

In less than sixty years, the world had nearly recovered. Most of humanity lived in agricultural complexes, but large cities now existed too, where the wealthy kept order and made sure that the world worked properly.

The first wars had returned to the world as well, as rival communities fought for scarce resources, or control of lands, or rebelled against the elite who had made survival possible at all. Naturally this was encouraged. It was good for business, and of course, the defeated made for more of the seemingly perfect, ponified workers. There had been rumors that the ponies were changing, of course, evolving perhaps, losing their docility. That would be dealt with, if necessary. It was not an immediate concern. Finally the world was in good hands, supported by strong hooves. But even without hooved workers, the world would remain as it should remain: ruled by human beings.

Man had stayed Man. Humanity flourished. As the tanks rolled over the brown waste of what had once been the Americas, Geoffrey Sachs watched the battle from the surveillance screens that covered the walls of his office in his family's shining steel and glass tower. One of his companies had made those tanks, and the tanks of the opposing Western Alliance, too. It was a great day for business. A great day for his family.

But above all, it was a great day for Humanity.

Other Writers have written stories within this Universe:

Mankind Triumphant: Relic - By Dafaddah

Shattered Worlds - By Midnight Shadow

Pony Life - By Staryoshi06

Mankind Triumphant: The Last Six - By Blue D Warrior

CONCLUSION: Where Do We Go From Here?

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Brand New Universe

By Chatoyance

Where Do We Go From Here?
On the point of re-inventing the Conversion Bureau

A single story can change the world, certainly it can spawn an entire genre, and it can absolutely create a universe that other writers can expand upon, extend, and flesh out. This is precisely what happened with Blaze's original 'The Conversion Bureau', and even though it was an unfinished, and not particularly good story, it was a powerful seed from which the most wondrous and exotic fruit has grown.

Following that lead, in each of my seven reimaginings of the the Conversion Bureau central concept, I have endeavored to create universes with boundless potentials, should other writers wish to pursue them. This was the challenge - could I create Brand New Universes with all the potential of Blaze's original effort.

The possibilities are endless. Here is what could be done with each of the seven universes - here is their potential, outlined.

New Universe One: The Pony Singularity

Here we have a universe where the computer/machine Singularity is in full swing, with machines burrowing underground forming networks and staying ahead of the humans that might seek to destroy them. It is a world where free artificial intelligence is illegal, and where hackers secretly assist artificial intelligence to be free.

To achieve equality or, if necessary, dominance, the machine people will need to win over the humans and to do that what could work better than to play upon the most basic biological urge, the desire to protect and nurture the cute, the innocent, the infant-like. Thus machine recreations of My Little Pony become the propaganda, and the model of how to exist, for the machine civilization.

Writing Hooks:

► Can the machine people win? What is the cost of their victory? Can the coexist, or must they dominate?

► Will humans accept the promise of machine immortality in exchange for being rendered harmless ponies?

► Machines can live anywhere. Is the answer offworld? How will Man react to being left behind while ponies take to the stars?

► What struggles and conflicts will come of all of this? What tools and technologies? Is there a rival Nightmare Moon machine group? What about human-run draconic or griffon machine systems?

► What would the PER and the HLF be like in a machine Singularity situation?

I think this universe holds endless promise. If it had been written first, imagine what the Conversion Bureau genre would look like now!

New Universe Two: The Most Decadent Thing

In a post-human super-science future spanning the galaxies, the one thing that is still a thrill turns out to be innocence and biological existence.

Writing Hooks:

► How far would the fashion of descending into organic life go? Would it mean the end of galactic civilization, or is it just one more thrill?

► Is this 'organic' existence truly organic? If pocket universes can be made, can they have alien physics? Magic?

► Is this how 'real' Equestria got it's start? What if the galactic civilization turned out to be a simulation of yet another realm? What if it all was the creation of Nightmare Moon, who won against Celestia to rule the stars?

► What is more important - godlike power in the galaxy, or tender moments with friends in the microcosm, and why?

I am the first to admit the number of stories this universe could produce would be limited. That said, it is an interesting scenario to contemplate - decadence replaced by sincerity mimics the very subtext of the brony movement itself.

New Universe Three: The Friendship Virus

A homebrew genetic alteration virus transforms humanity into something kinder by changing the expression of genes in both women and men - but men show the change physically more, and this transforms culture, especially expressions of masculinity, currently the dominant paradigm.

Writing Hooks:

► How would human civilization change in response to such a new definition of sex and gender roles?

► What kind of backlash would there be against the change? If a cure was later found, would it actually be desired anymore? What if it wasn't?

► In a world of tender and gentle humans, what of the inevitable few that would be immune? Do they rule, or do they become monsters? How does this new world respond to the immune? How do the immune see themselves?

► What other genetic changes might be cooking in backyard labs? Could they induce more radical physical alterations, like coats of hair or fur, vestigial wings or other useless but curious changes in morphology?

► Who were the original creators of the virus, and what motivated them? What made them go that far.

It should be noted that this is based on fact: there actually are backyard gene hackers right now, in the real world, playing with creating custom organisms. This is happening in schools and colleges too, but I think it far more interesting that it is happening in garages. This is real stuff. It actually could happen. That makes this universe perhaps the most truly science fictional of all the seven universes.

New Universe Four: Phoenix In Hooves

The gray-goo scenario of nanotechnology is played out with a MLP:FIM coat of paint on it. Two giant supercomputer intelligences play the roles of the goddesses Celestia and Luna. A scientific basis for the magical realm of Equestria done as a post-apocalyptic paradise.

► Someday, this place will literally be Equestria.

► What would happen if a pony, or ponies found out, or already knew the truth of where they came from? That their princesses were machines, and that they themselves were constructs?

► What if a pony found out what the creators -humans- really looked like? Would anypony care? What would happen if Celestia was told? Should she be told? Would it mean the end of paradise?

► What if some of the stone ponies in the Garden were ponies that had found out, but had been stopped not by Celestia, but by unicorns who wanted to preserve the Equestrian Paradise?

► What if humans returned from the stars to find their homeworld thus? What would they do? Would some convert?

New Universe Five: Curtains Of Light

There is no apocalypse - Equestria is simply offered through doorways that hang in the sky. To enter one is to turn pony, forever, and there is no return to Earth. The governments of the world try to seal off the doorways, to prevent the loss of the working classes that serve them. Paradise is denied for reasons of power and profit. A revolution is brewing.

Writing Hooks:

► How does this scenario illuminate real world struggles for freedom and a better life?

► How far would the world's governmental elite go to prevent the loss of the working poor?

► Are the doorways really only one-way? What if ponies found a way to return?

► Could a movement to open the way to Equestria translate to a movement to revolutionize the world itself, succeeding where ordinary political revolutions failed? If so, or not, why and how?

► Imagine both the PER and HLF in this scenario.

► What is the meaning of the doorways, the curtains of light? Is there a higher meaning? Is is metaphysical, or the result of some experiment gone wrong?

► How would the world change when the working poor begin to vanish, and there is no more slave labor for corporations to use? Who would make the Ipads and Nike sneakers then? Who would fight the warlord's wars?

I think this universe holds a lot of promise for the politically inclined writer. This is revolution couched as escape to fairyland. This scenario could be used to describe what revolution is, how the world works, and how governments respond to changes in the status quo.

New Universe Six: The Deserving Ones

An enchanted cottage holds the literal Stairway To Heaven - the original Elysian Fields, only paradise is for ponies alone. These cottages, of which there may be thousands, are run by recruited humans that must find deserving individuals to offer salvation to. There are strict conditions and time limits, and the offer of heaven is often difficult to guarantee. But it is a way out for a species damned to punishment within the hell universe of Earth.

Writing Hooks:

► What kind of incredible adventures could happen as the agents of the Bureaus struggle to get the deserving to their eternal reward?

► What if the needed 'object' was lost, or could not be identified? What if it were lost, and time was running out?

► What if a deserving soul refused to leave without the person they loved? How would this be dealt with? How would Celestia be contacted? Could she?

► What if a Bureau Agent got curious or impatient and decided to drink the drops they had at the moment? Would they become half-pony? Anthopomorphic? Would they just end up deformed? Would they be punished?

► What happens if the fifteen minute limit is exceeded? Is their a way to make things right? What if it involved the Agent giving up their philtre, their own immortality, to save the client? Would this be rewarded, or would it be a tragedy?

► What would happen if two Bureaus both got the same client by mistake?

► What makes a human 'deserving'? Who or what is the 'Judge'? Why does Celestia even care?

I personally think this universe just presents an endless opportunity for stories. Throw in the HLF and PER as 'watchers' or secret agencies and the stories only increase. I pictured this as a television series from the moment I began writing it. Every episode a new client. Every episode a new adventure. Some simple, some adventurous, some tragic. There would be as many types of stories as their are individual human experiences. Each client would have their own story to tell, their own burdens to let go of. And always the mystery of what is really up those stairs.

New Universe Seven: Mankind Triumphant!

By grinding up the statue of Discord, the human governments manage to create a substance that can penetrate the Equestrian Barrier. Celestia's head - the head of a god - ends up in a sealed box, Equestria itself is destroyed utterly and forever, and the world is damaged for decades. But in the end, Mankind triumphs and restores the planet, aided by a new workforce, the newfoals, earthponies, who can be manufactured using the last source of magic in the cosmos - the blood that leaks eternally from Celestia's screaming head.

Story Hooks:

► The ponies are the new slaves. They seem to be evolving, developing the ability to resist. What if they do?

► What would it be like to be accused of a petty crime and end up as a pony against your will? How would a person come to terms with that?

► How would the new feudalism of the world play out? What social changes would occur in a new world ordered by the Old Elite?

► Celestia is a goddess. She is pure magic. What if the ponies rebelled and opened her box? What if she could be restored?

► If Celestia was restored, what would she do? Would she still be kind and merciful, or would her experience have made of her a mad god? Would she seek to remake the earth into another Equestria? Would she seen revenge, or change?

► If Celestia could not be restored, what would be the right thing to do with her? If the right thing were to put her out of her misery, it would also mean the final loss of magic forever. What if this was too high a price to pay?

► What groups would arise in such a world? What if the descendant of an Elite felt guilt and shame and decided to use his fortune to 'make things right'?

► What would the PER and the HLF look like in such a world? What would their goals be?

► What if Luna somehow survived the vaporization of Equestria, and managed to begin to expand it again? Who would be her allies and who would oppose her? What would she do when she discovered the fate of her sister?

► What would it be like to be a true, second-class slave species, knowing that you once had been human?

► How would the ponies be integrated into the lives of humans in this world? As pets? Companions? Lovers? Servants?

► What if humans themselves decided to rebel and save Celestia and free her from the box?

► Could Celestia ever forgive if she won? And if she could, why? How?

► Would constant association with the pony subclass eventually lead to the humans regretting what they had done?

► What if there were nations where the ponies were considered equals and given rights? Underground railroad? How could this be used as a metaphor for the European enslavement of Africans?

► If Celestia was freed from the box, could their be a resolution where humans and Equestrians end up sharing the world as equals? Who would enforce this? How could it happen?

► What if another alien universe arose and the only solution was for the humans to restore Celestia - knowing that her wrath could be extreme? How would that play out?

► What if Luna hadn't been in Equestria at the time the missiles hit? What if she was in hiding, trying to find an answer to a species that had a defense against magic?

► What if Discord began to subtly exert influence, what then? What if he began to arise from the particles in Substance D?

► What would be the story of a pony as they slowly lose the last traces of their humanity at age 100? What rituals would arise around this? How would the ponies of Earth deal with this and relate to it?

► Can the ponies reproduce on the new Earth? If not, how do they form families under human domination, where the only new blood is newly created newfoals? If they can reproduce, what happens when they outnumber the humans? Are they culled? Or do they win?

I think the final story is the most powerful and has the most story possibilities of all the seven. I could write multiple novels based just on Mankind Truimphant! If I wanted to, and had the energy. Who would have imagined that destroying Equestria utterly would provide such a motherload of story possibilities? I have been so concerned with how wonderful getting ponified would be that the dark alternative - the loss of Equestria entirely - sailed past me for the longest time.

There is just no end to the dramatic possibilities of the final universe, Mankind Triumphant! Any kind of story could be set here - pathos, triumph in the face of oppression, heroic battle and the suffering of the defeated. Human corporate stories, stories of how society adapts.... just endless possibilities!

CONCLUSIONS

The Conversion Bureau was begun from a single good idea. That idea is so powerful that it has spawned, and continues to spawn, countless stories. There is no end to what could be done with the central conceit, and this is what I wanted to prove, by example, with these seven universes.

And these are just seven alternate universes of the Conversion Bureau. I am sure that other writers could come up with dozens more to top mine. There is no shortage of anything in all of this - like magic itself, The Conversion Bureau concept is limitless and extropic - there is always more.

I would encourage other writers to consider the possibilities. Yes, humans turning into something else is wonderful and thrilling, but there is so much to be done with this basic concept. And the ever-enchanting ponies of MLP:FIM offer a delicious lure to draw humans to that change. But this conceit can be couched in endless ways, and those ways each present incredible opportunities.

The universes above, like all of my pony work, is free and open for any writer to expand upon. I only want to see the Conversion Bureau genre grow and flourish, so that there are more and more great stories for me to read. Use these ideas, if you like. Make them your own, if you wish.

Get ponified, Get writing, and make ze magiks!

Chatoyance, 2012

The Lost In The Herd Series:
One: The Big Respawn,
Two: Euphrosyne Unchained,
Three: Letters From Home,
Four: Teacup, Down On The Farm

The Conversion Bureau Novels:
27 Ounces: A story of eight and one half ponies
The Taste Of Grass
The Conversion Bureau: Code Majeste
The Conversion Bureau: The 800 Year Promise
The Conversion Bureau: Going Pony
The Reasonably Adamant Down With Celestia Newfoal Society!
Recombinant 63: A Conversion Bureau Story
HUMAN in Equestria: A Conversion Bureau Story
The PER: Michelson and Morely
Little Blue Cat
Cross The Amazon
Adrift Off Fiddler's Green: The Final Conversion Bureau Story

The Short Stories:
Her Last Possession
The Conversion Bureau: PER Equitum
The Conversion Bureau: Brand New Universe
Tales Of Los Pegasus
The Poly Little Pony

The very first and original
Conversion Bureau Group
archives only the best Three Rules Compatible stories!

Optimalverse Works:
Friendship Is Optimal: Caelum Est Conterrens
Leftovers: A Friendship Is Optimal Story
IMPLACABLE
My Life In Fimbria

Injectorverse Works:
I.D. - That Indestructible Something

The More Conventional Fanfics:
The Ice Cream Pony Summer
Around The Bend

PRIDE related works:
Transspecieality

My FREE virtual radio station!
Rare, personally chosen anime, SF and fantasy television, movies, and comedy music. A truly unusual collection to listen to, featuring Spot Announcer Dr. Sandi - and many more!

Guest Story: Clean Hands, Clean Heart

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T H E C O N V E R S I O N B U R E A U :
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Brand New Universe

Special Guest Story
By PeachClover

Clean Hands, Clean Heart

Sometimes what I want and what I don’t want are like two behemoth children trying to rip me in half like a teddy bear they are fighting over – or maybe really it’s what I want and… what I want are two opposites fighting over my sanity. For example, I really wanted stuffed crust pizza today, and I also wanted to stay in bed and far far away from the hellish outside world, and I don’t just mean because even the late summers are hellishly hot here. Sigh. But the more pressing need won out, so here I am.

I get out of the car and squeeze a glob from the tiny bottle of hand sanitizer on my hands before pushing the door open. I know it looks backwards but within just a moment, I’m reaching into the wallet and pulling out cash, just as dirty as the door. Yes, cash, I can see the judgmental twitch the overworked and underpaid cashier’s eyes for having to count today. I try not to look at people really, but she was so much shorter than me, exactly where could I avert my gaze? I try not to think about how much I sympathize with her. It’s not fair; jobs should be interesting, fun, and fulfilling. I don’t want to be a burden to her day, but what am I supposed to do? Start talking to her? Cheer her up? That probably just stress her out more for making her be present in the world from which she is desperately trying to remain disconnected. I feel that tickle in my heart of a hopeless situation and know that I’ve got to stop thinking about it – just focus on acting normal.

Then again is Cici’s pizza buffet really normal? Normally, it’s the poor-family’s Chuck E. Cheese, screaming children almost always guaranteed, but I planned this trip perfectly at the slowest time of the day, which is of course, how I plan for everything lately. I set my tray down after shoveling pizza onto my plate, and glob my hands again after touching so many filthy pie servers only to reach out and pick over equally filthy cheese and red pepper shakers doing my best to telegraph my intention to find one that doesn’t require a roto-router before its contents will shake out. I really don’t want anyone asking what I’m doing which is just a less apologetic way of blaming me for holding up the line. I fill my drink and plop down at the table in the back.

It doesn’t matter which way I look, there is a TV desperate for my attention, and of course, because the patrons aren’t screaming children, every one of the TVs are tuned to The News. Do they think that makes people leave faster? I really do try to pay attention to just my food, but I can’t because the mesmerizing epileptic seizure inducing flashes of cop cars are on the screen drawing my attention to yet another arrest. The years of anime has my eyes trained to read the words flying across the screen telling the story of a car wreck victim being arrested after freaking out and making threatening gestures toward a police officer after discovering the other driver did not have insurance, which of course, to anyone who actually drives meant that his insurance would make him pay for the damages by drastically increasing his rate because even though there was a police report being made, right there on the scene proving that he was the victim, the insurance companies want their money, so they’ll take it from who ever has it.

Gods! This is a messed up world! Someone hurts you and because you can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt anymore, you get arrested. Did the man actually threaten the cop? Not flippin’ likely, more likely is that the cop wanted a fight and intimidated him. Sigh, it makes me sick. Can’t they see where it all comes from? Everyone stressing everyone else out and forcing a fight over everything or nothing, anything to alleviate the pain – like children told not to cry so they just get angry. I pulled my head down quickly and choked on a sob. Not here, please not here, not yet, I promise myself I’ll cry when I get home, just not now.

I get up and go to the bathroom to help keep me from doing what I can’t in public – take that how you will. I do my business and wonder, not for the first time, why TV doesn’t focus on trying to make people happy, like Saturday Morning cartoons, back when there was such a thing. I always feel like I’m the only one left in the universe who knows what The Get Along Gang was, but the title is a big fat hint to what it stood for. I wash and dry my hands before squeezing another glob from the dispenser in my pocket before pulling the door open. Air driers might be more eco friendly, but they don’t do much for protecting against door knobs. You know, kids these days have My Little Pony where my generation had The Get Along Gang and Care Bears, and sadly most of the meaning was lost after the first season, but they have to be getting something out of the Friendship is Magic part right?

The News is still on the same story so I get some dessert – today’s flavors are sadness and malcontent. Sigh, Gods I miss that show, back when it was good and focused on caring for others, caring about others, just letting one’s self actually feel. For one year, I felt like a kid again, open hearted, honest, and smiling because life was worth living again. I blink away the hint of happy tears, and turn my head when I notice someone looking in my direction. Then I see the broom closet that this location has turned into an arcade. I wipe the crumbs from my hands with a napkin and use another glob from my hand sanitizer noticing that the bottle is almost empty. Seriously, if I could get away with using an industrial jug I would, but it’s important to look normal, or so they say.

I make my way into the broom closet arcade giggling quietly as I imagine Freddy Frazzbear getting stuck trying to pop out from between the motorcycle simulator and the Fast and Furious arcade that were Tetrised in here. One by one, I take the controls of each of the three claw games into my hands hoping to find something worth going after as I peer into the case, but sadly nothing. I do the same with the motorcycle game before I feel a shudder up my spine like someone has spotted me, a fully grown adult, about to hop on this thing and play like a care free kid. I can almost hear someone thinking the word man-child, and to my shame, I quickly sit down at the Fast and Furious arcade instead. I don’t really want to play, but I know that it will keep the eyes off of me for a while.

Every little thing in society promotes acts of selfishness and hurting others. Even racing games where the player can only win by cutting people off and getting in front of them to keep them from getting ahead, just to be rewarded with a simple You Won at the end of the game, as if those two words magically make it better to hold others back. I play the game like it’s meant to be played and manage not to hate myself for doing so, but then I remembered that news story from just a few minutes ago because well, it involved a car. I get up and glob my hands again after they have gotten a little sweaty from the unwashed wheel of the more modern arcade. The last game in the room is Joust, one of my favorites, and the one I actually wanted to play.

I drop a quarter into the machine and start playing. I know that Joust is as violent as any other game, but there is something about the silliness of Jousting on the backs of birds and the noble imagery of a Knight that touches upon that place inside that yearns for a world that makes sense, that follows a code of chivalry not because it makes your life better, but because it makes everyone’s lives better. Sigh, I’m reminded of a line from the movie about the old man knight Don Quixote where he talks about fighting the unbeatable foe. I’ve always believed that that foe is ourselves – fighting our own fear and greed, fighting our pride and laziness, fighting the animal instinct that makes us foolishly believe that if we take from others it will somehow make our own lives better – all the things that if everyone did, there would be no cops wanting to pick fights like school yard bullies, there would be no good people needing to yell and scream because they never catch a break. Sigh, is it any wonder all those cartoons never used humans to try to teach such morals? Humans don’t make good role models.

I lose my last bird/knight and start walking out of the building. I see the spot where I was sitting has already been bussed and is now occupied by a couple. I cover my hands in the last drops from the bottle and happen to look up at the TV where another The News story is going on about a man being arrested at a bank for taking hostages until his demands to change the law were met. Thankfully an employee walked over and changed the channel shortly after. The saddest part is, I understand his desperation though – the burning desire for the world to change now, but when has hate ever created something truly good? Threatening others, be it laws or bullying, never helps anyone to fight their own enemy within. The big changes come doing things a little at a time with constant effort. Sadly, that’s only if you can get people to help themselves realize that all that stuff that tells them that hurting others will help themselves is a lie – it feels so much better to help one another, to not have to fear ridicule, to smile when you feel like smiling, and cry when you feel like crying. I was never able to get others to understand that with my words or actions.

I’m jolted a bit from the hissing of air breaks as a school bus parks, the doors opening to a line of young children and their parents. This is a local tradition that the day before the first day of school young children riding the bus for the first time, ride with their parents like a field trip out to some nice place. It used to be Showbiz Pizza, back in my day, but again, poorer times, economic decline, that sort of thing, so the plebeian masses get plebeian pizza… I… sometimes cry over how many people have been hurt because I wasn’t strong enough to help them act better. It’s why I never had any children: I didn’t want them to suffer like I did, and I always believed they would, because what could change the human condition? I get in my car and crank it, wiping away a tear, before starting to back out. I read once that mothers feel so happy knowing that they can share the joy of life by giving life to their children, but then at some point, they feel deep sorrow knowing that by giving their children life, they have also opened the doors to allow them to feel all the pain that comes in life. That’s what I’m feeling now, even though logically I know I shouldn’t beat myself up about all of this... Sigh, well, now I have to go home, let myself cry about all the pains in the world, and scrape another PNY-1 culture into this tiny bottle.

Author's Note

This story takes place in The Friendship Virus universe. Knowledge of that story is necessary to understand this one.

Bonus: The TCB Cartoon Collection!

TCB Cartoons

Collection!

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I was kind of wondering what kind of cartoons would exist in magazines like 'The New Yorker', if such still existed, in the age of the Conversion Bureaus. I imagine they would be available on the public kiosks, over the hypernet. Probably even a romball edition for the twopers with jobs.

I remembered that I am a cartoonist, so... I made a number of such cartoons in roughly the style of such magazine entries. I hope you will get a kick out of these future New Yorker cartoons.

Oh - as a note, in general, New Yorker style cartoons are almost always either about sex, or they are put-downs. I have kept that thematic issue intact. For realism.

An early effort became a caption contest, in which was submitted a brilliant comic by Balthasar999, which is included here along with mine.

So, without further ado, here is The TCB New Yorker Style Cartoon Collection!

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By Balthasar999

BONUS: The Second TCB Cartoon Collection!

TCB Cartoons

Second Collection!

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The 'New Yorker' styled cartoon collection was something that I felt very happy with. On the advent of completing my last work here of any size - the final Conversion Bureau novel, 'Adrift On Fiddler's Green', I have decided to celebrate with a second selection of cartoons.

So, without further ado, here is The Second TCB New Yorker Style Cartoon Collection!

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