The Alicorn Solution

It would be wrong of me not to say what my fears are before beginning my experiments.

I know it’s wrong of me to be suspicious of the hand that feeds me, but I question why the Gem family is so curious about the alicorn gene. I am not the most perceptive pony, but I’m willing to believe that it’s due to the current head of the Gem family, Cut Diamond, having an untreatable condition that will finally end his lifespan—which is, of course, the same condition that all living things possess.

Old age causes death. This is a fact. How else will a pony be able to cheat death, but to become immortal as an alicorn is? This is most likely the reason why he decided to fund this entire venture out of the household’s pocket. He made no research agreements or asked for any grants, but simply is writing a blank check for me each month to research a “cure” for his old age.

I am not directly opposed to this. Nopony wants to die, and if I make my discovery relatively quickly, he may yet save himself. Knowledge is to be shared among all, and I get the feeling he will be miserable if he chooses eternal life after all. It’s not as if there will be any repercussions in sharing what should be well-known anyway.

No, the pony that bothers me far more in this is his brother’s bastard, Squeaky Clean. The colt’s duty is to polish the gems his family buys and sells, and he is quite talented at it. He is not, however, so deft at hiding emotions. He made it quite clear that he expects me to experiment for a week or so, miraculously find some “cure” elixir for his uncle, and that I go on my merry way with minimal impact on the family’s economic state.

Were I not so experienced in how easily genetics projects get abandoned and lose funding, I may have shared the colt’s optimism. As it is, he is now my greatest ally, and will just as quickly become my greatest enemy when I fail to yield results 6 months from now. I hope Cut Diamond has the wherewithal to keep his bastard nephew away from me and my experiments.

It is not unlike me to distrust those around me. Being a geneticist is not exactly the most lucrative job, but I have seen many noble causes in the interest of advancing genetics quickly become corporate pawns. As enthusiastic as I may be about what I will be learning on this project, I know it is a political device in the end. If I discover the alicorn gene, perhaps I, too, will become a political device.

Will I be able to handle so much stress? I have no doubt that I will be shot at at least once if I make my discovery—and I intend to be prepared when it does happen. I am not one to lie about my situation. In my mind, will it be worth it? But of course. I would not be here, deciding to take on this research project, were it not for my own bravery and confidence. This knowledge will very likely lead me to an early grave, but... this sort of knowledge is not meant to be hidden from the world. If it means re-birthing the alicorn race, then so be it.

The bastard was down to see me work today. He watched me making some preliminary notes on what my initial experiments are going to be, then asked why I wasn’t using my lab equipment. He will prove to be quite nosy as I progress. I informed the colt that I doubted I would even touch my lab equipment for at least a month, maybe more, because so much of science is about taking notes, preparing, understanding why each step is being taken, then taking these steps one at a time, making notes on each step, then collating these notes of what was predicted and why it was predicted, then what happened and why it happened, and finally a conclusion of what was learned. He seemed quite bored with the scientific method in practice, much preferred to his mad scientist novels that I used to read when I was his age.

This is just as well. I don’t appreciate bastard colts staring at me while I take my notes.

I do get the feeling that this will be far more taxing on my ideas and creativity than the zebra common ancestor. That project was very straightforward, there were many fellow geneticists involved in the project, and, when it proved ultimately fruitless, there was no one pony to whom the blame was solely placed upon. This project, on the other hoof, is like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded. I have no idea of what picture I’m trying to make, only that I know there is one.

Perhaps worst of all is that there is no other pony for me to bounce ideas off of. None in this mansion possess the knowledge or the training to even remotely understand what genetics truly are. If I get desperate enough, maybe I’ll try to educate the bastard on some basics, if only for somepony to have intellectual conversation with. He seems sharp enough to be able to understand, provided I speak slowly.

When I’m not sleeping, Cut Diamond wants me working on finding the alicorn gene. I explained to him that this sounds wonderful on paper, but nopony has that sort of work ethic, not even me, so I was able to talk him down to 8 hours sleep, 10 hours work, and 6 hours recreation... provided I don’t leave the mansion. And, much as I want to complain, he is paying for everything I could possibly want. The mansion is large, very much to explore, and I am allowed to stroll through the garden. Perhaps I will be able to later negotiate a single weekend a month for myself to have exploring more of Canterlot. I know better than to expect it.

As it is, I believe I have ranted long enough about my employer. I have to sleep, then there is plenty of work to do tomorrow.