what any normal university colt would do
The shadows on the cobblestone streets shift left and right as the polychromatic lights shining from the single-pane windows of a small bistro on the corner of 56th Street and Trotter Way change in intensity. The colored shadows switch jaggedly from one to another. This is mediated, however, by the constant, yet somewhat understated, dull blue light from the full moon. A particular individual watches this scene unfold from the inside of the building. He stands leaning and breathing on the glass while he regards the cutting shapes dance across the street in quick, starting motions; a horrible postmodern dance. The music plays loudly, albeit not loud enough for the atmosphere to be considered "club," despite the intense light show and a few dancing ponies. There is a certain modesty and reserve that permeates the place; hardly anypony talks. Drinks are passed almost with remorse. The party, which had been at its peak an hour and a half ago, had since died down to less than ten individuals. Our subject who is so fascinated with shadows breathes a sigh into the window as he realizes it is approaching time to leave. His breath cools and condenses on the inside pane—which, he realizes, provides a wonderful metaphor to describe the party—and temporarily obscures his view into the street. For an instant, the deep blues and blacks become blurred together, a late-night soup of color in the early-morning moon light. When all of the condensed water droplets evaporate again, he pushes himself off the glass tiredly and makes his way around three or four ponies that have grown almost annoyed with congratulating him.
Our subject, it is worth noting, was given the Starswirl's Lifetime Achievement Award five hours earlier for his work in bringing the first-of-their-kind personal computers to the ponies of Equestria—and all before he reached the age of twenty. He shook hooves with previous recipients of the award who seemed rather upset that they themselves actually had to work for a majority of their lifetimes in order to be recognized. He gave a speech that was said to "open the digital frontier and pave the way for a better connected world" as one paper put it. Our subject had also created a network to link the newly created and affordable computers where people could record their lives in a digital medium and share it with their friends online. Truly a novel and revolutionary idea. Two grand achievements with just 19 years of living is a feat in and of itself.
Our little friend is Nexel Diode, the computer wiz-kid from the University of Canterlot, and he is about to leave this party where it's just been called, time of death: 2:23AM. However, as Nexel meanders around the tables in the pulsing light, he spots somepony at the bar. Not just somepony, but a female—one he has never seen before. She wasn't a reporter or someone interested in his work, if so, she would have already tried to talk to him earlier. Not only had she not tried to make contact with him, but Nexel had never seen her before in his life—he would have remembered such a figure as her's. So, by deduction, Nexel Diode came to the conclusion that she had just shown up to the party, the party that had ended.
What kind of pony shows up to a dead party? Maybe she was just very, very late? Maybe she just wants a drink and happened on this place? What ever the reason, Nexel Diode had come to the obvious conclusion any rational University Colt would when confronted with a pretty girl who was out late. He was determined to hit on her.
Finally, through the labyrinth of tables and passed-out ponies in chairs and on the floor, Nexel makes it to the bar stool directly to the left of the mysterious mare. Nexel clears his throat to alert the rather irritated bartender of his presence.
"I'll have a appletini and whatever the lady wants," he says smoothly. His premeditated words are met with the reluctance of the brawny bartender to whip up a drink for Nexel. But after another second or so he finally puts down the shined mug we was cleaning and looks at the mare as if to ask what she'll have. She looks up quickly at Nexel, then at the bartender.
"Oh, I don't drink alcohol. But if you want to purchase me a glass of water," she says while slowly turning back to Nexel, "I'd love to have one."
Nexel smiles at her then at the rugged stallion who is looking impatiently at Nexel with his hooves spread on the counter, supporting his large frame and making him look larger than truth. "An appletini and a tall glass of water, please."
"Thank you," the mare says to Nexel as the bartender stallion shuffles off to prepare the drinks.
"It's nothing; it's only gentlemanly," Nexel responded. This is the first time he can focus on her features up close since spotting her. Her snout is a little longer than usual and her ears pointier, similar to that of a fox, although she was definitely a pony, proved by her toned, slightly shorter than normal legs, each ending in a petite hoof. Her coat is a light red, her mane seems indecisive about being long or short and it is just a shade lighter than the dusty fibers of Nexel's. His own coif spirals around his head like the thorns of a pine cone, with each small collection of hair curling up at the end. His coat is a pale grey that stops just above his coronets. In primary school, colts would often tease him for not having big enough hooves. They haven't grown much since.
"So, small talk time. What is a mare—who doesn't drink alcohol—doing in a club at such a late hour?" he asks as the bartender clinks, filling the glasses on the other side of the bar.
"I'm just...browsing. Like one does at a market place on a Sunday afternoon." she replies. The bartender brings the glasses and sets them in front of the conversing couple. Nexel slips in a terse "thank you" before continuing.
"Is that so? What is there to browse at a small club like this? Especially when everyone is asleep. Sounds a bit strange, don't you think?"
"I suppose it is a bit odd. However, it's exactly at this time when the selection becomes truly interesting." She said hesitating a microsecond on the last word then lighting up her magic and raising her glass to her lips. A sparkling golden flame burned around her horn, filling the air between the two of them with a warm glow.
"But seriously, what could you possibly be looking for in a place like this?" He still hasn't touched his appletini.
"Ponies."
An ominous one word reply. Nexel concludes he is either talking to a pony-trafficker or a prostitute, either way, his interests are piqued.
"It has just occurred to me that we have not introduced ourselves yet. My name is Sentinelle Flamader."
"Wow, that's a mouthful," Nexel said having some fun, "How about Seni for short?"
She looks confused and offended in a strange mixed expression. She pauses for a bit, her face still contorted, "Uh...no."
"How about just Sen?"
"No."
"Senzi? Sengi? Zen?" He asks rapid fire.
"I will not debate informal names right now." she says calm and austere. Nexel didn't understand how this reaction came about. This type of flirting usually got the girls giggling, what had gone wrong? He shakes it off.
"Okay then. I'm Nexel Diode." He raises his hoof to his chest and closes his eyes, waiting for the "oh" or "ah" of recognition to wash over Sentinelle who will, like all of the others, recall all of the resent newspaper articles containing his name. But no such reaction comes to pass. He opens on eye to see Sentinelle staring quizzically at him. He quickly clears he throat and pretends to brush off his chest. "Does—um—does the name ring a bell?"
"Not really, no. Am I supposed to know your name already?" She wears a lifted eyebrow as she says this, tilting her head just a hair.
"Well—um—I've been in the news recently...you see..." he trails off rubbing the back of his head with a hoof. How could she not have heard of him?
"Oh, well, I'm a bit of a recluse." Bingo. All of this only made him more interested. After a few weeks of people knowing his life story, he would now be able to tell it himself, independent of a interviewer. It was a refreshing thought.
He had been silent for the past couple of seconds staring blankly into space and the air now smells of awkwardness. "Well, it is becoming late as you pointed out earlier. I suppose I should be going." Sentinelle says matter-of-fact-ly.
"Oh," he says still staring into space some where just below her chin. He then looks at her again, "Yeah, I guess...let me walk you home."
"Oh that isn't necessary. I wi—"
"Please, it'll be my pleasure. It's only gentlemanly." Nexel finishes off the statement with a smile.
She just sighs, steps down from the bar stool and begins moving towards the door. Nexel hesitates, then takes out a couple of bits and smacks them down on the table to pay for the last drinks of the night, before running after her into the shadowy streets.
The cobblestone clops as hooves their are brought down upon it. The sound travels quickly through the cool night air. The reverberations respond with alacrity; the sound returns in large echoes that die out slowly, then they are reinvigorated by another hoof falling. This cycle continued as Nexel Diode and Sentinelle Flamader walked side by side along the starlit roads and alleyways of upper-west Canterlot. "So..." Nexel begins, "Sentinelle..." The name was cumbersome with it jagged syllables that didn't quite fit the mouth. After enough time had lapsed for the word to float away on the cool night air, he finishes, "that's not a name you hear every day." It's strange pronunciation gave it a ancient air about it—like the way ponies used to talk, hundreds of years or so ago.
He hadn't noticed it before, but Sentinelle was wearing a hooded dark cloak that tied around her neck to keep the cold out. The only reason Nexel was paying any mind to it now was because she had pulled the hood up against the slight breeze, which made her facial features hard to distinguish, and every time a small gust came along, the fringe of the coat would brush up against his hooves. They walk in silence for a little while longer before Sentinelle speaks up.
"Yes I suppose it is unique."
Nexel glances around at his surroundings as if they would give him a question to keep the conversation going. "So, what do you like to do? Or do you have a job?"
Sentinelle looks at him for a moment before looking to her left at the dark windows of the shops they passed. "I like to go shopping."
"Oh really?" Nexel tries to sound more interested than he was, "what do you shop for usually?"
"Books mostly." she says still looking away from Nexel. Now she had piqued his interests for the third time that night. A mare who liked reading: it wasn't an endangered species, but it was rare. Anypony who liked reading was rare.
"What kind of books?"
"Oh, you know, normal books," she answers tersely. It was a bit of an odd answer, and Sentinelle must have realized this because she quickly added, "Like romance and fantasy novels." As she says this she turns back to Nexel as if to see how he absorbs this information.
"Oh alright, who's your favorite author?" There was a pause as she thought. You could see her mind moving behind the eyes that stare into the space just above and to the left of her in that classic pensive face.
"Ernest Neighingway," she says after some time.
"Ernest Neighingway? I can barely get through that stallion's work for school, how could anypony enjoy that?" Nexel retorts with mock disgust.
"His style is revolutionary," she says with a smile, but upon seeing Nexel's grimace, she quickly adds, "you know, for his time."
There was something strange about the way she spoke. It was as if she was trying to keep her cool, but was also stumbling through things. She was feigning a tranquil mood. But why would she need to do that?
Then Nexel had an idea that was so fueled by his press-inflated ego, it had to be true. She must be uneasy because she is speaking to a modern celebrity. This thought made Nexel smile as he glanced at her, her eyes darting over the path as they walk along. He couldn't believe he was making a girl nervous. This was unheard of in Nexel's line of work. He couldn't help but capitalize on this opportunity.
"You know...I'm not much different from you," he says smiling at Sentinelle beside him.
"What do you mean?" she asks looking quizzically back at him.
"I'm just saying," he continues with a lighthearted, playful tone, "there is no need to be nervous about talking to me just because I am a celebrity tha—"
"I beg your pardon?" she interjects. They have come to a corner where the street turned left. Sentinelle stops walking in order to face Nexel with a raised eyebrow. Nexel stops too and notices the confusion in her face.
"I mean—I—uh—you look kind of nervous and—" he stutters with his own confusion.
She comes back forcefully, "I may be nervous but it is most definitely not because of you, sir!"
"Why—I—wh-what are you nervous about then?" he asks almost squeamishly.
As if by some cosmic cue, a large gust comes down from the roof tops of the shops on the corner of the street. This gust creates a howling sound in Nexel's ears and blows Sentinelle's hood off of her head. The wind is so strong Nexel feels the need to turn away and shield his face with a fore hoof. When he turns back he was not prepared for what he sees.
Sitting on the roof of the shop directly across from the two ponies is a large wolf of some kind. In the moonlight all that could be made out were his eyes, glowing a sickly green hew, and his teeth, like seven-inch pearly daggers neatly arranged in the beast-canine's mouth.
"Sentinelle...don't...move," Nexel says through gritted teeth, trying to take control of the situation, but his eyes betraying his moral fear. The wolf sits idly on the roof, staring at Nexel who is scared stiff. In his periphery he sees something dark grow and then shrink away. He takes the chance. In granting the possibility that the wolf might spot his movement, he sees a much stranger sight.
Sentinelle's cloak has been cast aside and now lays limp on the cobblestone. Sentinelle herself is now dressed in an ornate corset that ends in a skirt. On her hip is a thick, black belt with a scabbard for a long sword and a few pockets. Nexel watches wide-eyed as Sentinelle's horn erupts in a soft blue flame as she pulls the sword from it's sheath. She brings it in front of her and assumes a lower stance for better leverage against her foe.
With a quick side glance Sentinelle delivers this one-liner, "Now you see what I was worried about."
Nexel still has no idea how to react, his brain says 'flight' but his hooves are glued to the floor—like one of those nightmares where you can't move because your hooves feel like they are in quicksand. Then a helpful suggestions from Sentinelle.
"Run!"
Nexel does a quick one-eighty on his hind legs and bolts it back the way they had walked. He glanced back to see the wolf leap, muscles rippling, from the roof after him. His aim was immaculate. The wolf was on a collision course with Nexel, baring his teeth and claws extended as he fell from the sky. Nexel thought this would be the end. But just before the claws could tear at his flesh or he could be swallowed whole, a flash obstructed his vision for a second.
Then everything faded to white...
Nexel wakes with a start. It isn't the classic wake-up-screaming-into-the-camera movie scenario, just a small shock and then awake, staring at his ceiling. What had he just dreamed? It was hard to remember; the details had already began to blur, but not quick enough to elude Nexel's mind. A strange woman, an annoyed bartender, a wolf-like monster... It slowly comes back to him as sits up in his bed. Like most ponies, he firsts thinks it wasn't a dream. It always feels the most real just after first waking up. But then he considered the facts: last night he did not go to party after his receiving the Award, he remembers coming straight back here to his dorm room and falling asleep instantly. There were no parties, no strange women, no horrible attempts at flirting--Thank Celestia. It must have been a dream. He shakes the realness of it after coming to this conclusion and gets out of bed.
Nexel lights up his horn with its usual pastel golden flame in order to grab his basket of shower trinkets that he uses in the communal bathrooms. Walking out of his dorm room and magically shutting the door behind him, he walks the 20 some feet to the bathroom rather exhausted. Before getting in the shower, he gives a quick yawn and smells his own breath. He made a mental note that he would need to brush his teeth today.
The warm water feels good on his sticky coat, crusted from a thin layer of sweat he must have perspired during that nightmare. He cranes he neck into the stream that showers down on him from the angled fixture and runs the water through his short, curly mane. Stepping out of the shower, he shakes loose from his body most of the water that adhered to his fur. Nexel then takes his basket swiftly to the sinks, already feeling more alive and awake. He brushes his teeth hastily, this not being one of his favorite past-times, as wells as figuring he wouldn't be seeing anypony too important today so it did really matter. Then, after a solid fifteen minutes of Nexel checking himself out in the mirror--an activity that was only put an end when another colt walked in to take a shower--he heads back to his room with a bit more spring in his step than when he arrived.
When back in his room, Nexel begins his normal day of coding. Loging on to his personal computer, he enters his own digitally crafted world where he finds himself king. That's the feeling Nexel loves the most about the Network, as he calls it, the fact that he basically owns it. Currently, the only thing anypony could do on the Network was create a profile for their friends to see and interact with, although Nexel recognized the true capacity of the Network to expand beyond sharing your personal life with other ponies.
Nexel pauses for a moment to levitate a half-drank alcoholic cider can to his lips and sips the lukewarm liquid. No more froth, it's not too tasty. That's what happens when you let it sit out for a day, he thinks to himself. But no sense in wasting it. He downs the rest. He chucks the can away towards the waste bin; it rebounds off the rim with a sharp clang.
His gaze remains straight ahead at the screen before him, tapping away on the two keys on the prototype keyboard he designed and built himself. Depending on the order of the pressed keys, he can navigate the on-screen display and create every character in the Equestrian language. After the fairly recent invention of a magic-to-usable-energy conversion mechanism--a device that the corporate advertising departments had so astutely christened the MAJENER--the main obstacle to overcome in Nexle's design of the first personal, consumable computer was the reconciliation of the size restrictions of the machine with the necessary size of the physical keys that could be pressed by the average hoof. Nexel's design, he thought, was both efficient and poetic: the two options available to the user mirrored the two options available to the computer in its own native language. Soon after he had began building a prototype for this design, another helpful invention was announced: a means by which magic could be harvested from Pegasi and Earth Ponies alike. It seems the magic that unicorns have at their disposal is not unique to them, only the ability to manipulate it is. In fact, it is inherent in all ponies. This was first theorized by Starswirl the Bearded in his paper where he discussed the implications of measurements of certain Pegasi' flight speeds that seemed to exceed their physical potential and similar measurements of certain Earth Ponies' strength. It has been a long time coming, but apparently researchers at Nexel's own University of Canterlot cracked the puzzle and figured out how to tap into this Latent Magic. This made Nexel's design even more viable as it could now technically be used by a pony of any breed.
The hardware was the easiest part of the entire project, computer theory had been around for quite a while, first discussed by Ada Lovesnout and perfected by Alan Trotting, but had only really manifested in rudimentary game systems and foal science fair projects. There wasn't anypony who had the vision or the know-how needed to create the first generation personal computers. Nopony until Nexel Diode, of course. This past year, Nexel's second year at university, was spent creating the foundations of the Network.
Nexel hated to leave the personal computer hanging, nothing for it to do besides to create, edit and delete files. What else could he do with these computers? Looking over the published paper on the inherent magic of ponies, he noticed something in the math, a connection. A connection could be established between the magic at the center of separate ponies that could facilitate information exchange. This could be harnessed to become the pathways that these new computers could talk to each other on. Nexel immediately began working on a second computer to test the connection on and discovered the ease with which these pathways could be manipulated. He created a way by which ponies could make files on their own computers that could be sent to or accessed by other ponies. Nexel imagined a vast network of future computers and future user ponies that would connect even the furthest regions of Equestrian with near instant communication. This beautiful thought became the basis of the Network. Some patents, business deals and debugging later, Nexel was ready to tell the world about his invention. That is what he did last night, and already the first 100 systems created before the announcement had been sold.
Nexel sits back in his desk chair to admire his latest and greatest work: a way for ponies to write down and share their experiences to be viewed by other ponies that they chose. It was a new way to be social, a revolution. Nexel smiles to himself as the door behind him opens. A round, stout pegasi with a light green coat and a jet-black, long, slightly curly mane and tail combo enters the room. This is Nexel Diode's room mate and was "User2" on most of the preliminary Network tests, Amien Seule. Nexel swivels around his chair, his face still tracking his computer screen and his hooves taping away the finishing touches on his code before pulling his attention away from his computer and focusing on his room mate.
"Dude," Amien begins, as he did most conversions, "I thought you were dead!"
"What?" Nexel replies confused. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers the ending of his dream from the previous night.
"You were out like a brick this morning: mouth open, drool flowing and snoring like a tractor. I was surprised you weren't up before me, I mean, you usually are," he says fully walking in and setting his groceries on the small table in the corner. He uses his left wing to close the door behind him and faces Nexel waiting for his reply.
Nexel realizes he was just staring at Amien and not conversing so he stammers out while rubbing an eye with a hoof, "Yeah, um, I had a weird dream."
"Sweet dude. Naked chicks kind of weird, or...?" he asks a little too hopefully.
"Uh...no, not--uh--not that type of weird, no." Nexel comes back a little uncomfortable.
Amien either takes this as a yes or tries to have fun with Nexel and replies, "S'alright, brah, your wildest fantasies are safe with me."
Nexel brushes this off with a small smile. "What did you get?" he asks gesturing with a hoof toward the full saddle-bag Amien dumped on the table.
"Oh," he says, turning to unpack the bag, "Just some stuff to hold us over." He says this as he pulls two twelve packs of alcoholic cider out of the bag and places them in the mini-fridge under the table.
"Oh, yes please, can you hoof me one now?" Nexel asks. Amien gives him a sidelong, raised eye-brow look.
"It's still before ten. That's real classy, Nexel," he says while tossing Nexel a can.
"I seem to recall someone vomiting all over this carpet at around nine AM last St. Paddock's Day." Nexel rebuttals.
"Touché."
Amien was from Cloudsdale, not many other places a pegasus could be from though, is there? His parents wanted him to attend flight school to prepare him for the Flying Corps, supposedly a family tradition. But that was never what Amien wanted. Ever since he had seen his first State of Equestria Address on TV, he had always wanted to do something in government. He came to UC to study Poly-Sci in the hopes of one day scoring an ambassadorship to one of Equestria's allies around the world. He and Nexel were paired as roommates their first year based on the nerdy hobbies they both enjoy. It's been smooth sailing ever since.
"So what, you're keeping these for posterity or for your massive ego?" Amien asks picking up a stack of newspapers from the table with Nexel's name in a big serif font on all the front pages.
"One of the two. But to be honest, I wish they had mentioned you more in all of those stories. I couldn't have beta-tested any of the Network without User2," Nexel jokes back in a sarcastic tone.
"Hey, now there's a reason you're user1 and I'm user2: you may be piss-pour at coding, but I'm straight shit," he said with a big grin. Nexel stares at Amien, who still sports a stupidly large grin, for almost a full fifteen seconds before answering, "I bet you're really proud to hav-"
"So proud!" Amien interrupts before breaking out in laughter at his sub-par excrement joke. Nexel begins to chuckle as he turns back to his computer to finish his code.
