Concepts form an objective reality of their own, one which we cannot create or change, but only perceive and describe. -Kurt Godel
The sun shone brightly over Ponyville. Clouds made their slow way across brilliantly blue skies as a soft breeze blew the gentle refrain of nature into the town. The ponies greeted the day with smiles and glee, throwing open windows and doors to let in that glorious breeze and refreshing spring daylight.
All except one house, where the shutters were locked shut and curtains drawn tight.
Lyra rubbed her chin with a hoof as she intently looked over her preparations. A circle of great complexity containing a many pointed star was drawn on the floor of her room in ash and salt, each point of the meticulously laid out ritual appointed with a candle that burned purple. It wasn’t necessary, per se, but she liked the color.
Her door was barred, the windows hidden with curtains and wooden shutters. No natural sunlight could be allowed to peek its way in to disrupt the aetherial energies that had been building up for the past week and a half. She looked back at the notes Twilight had given her, her eyes scanning for any part of the instructions she might have overlooked.
No, everything was perfect. Everything was ready.
Preparations complete, Lyra squirreled the note away under her orange-sheeted bed. She cleared her throat and raised her hooves into the air, striking her best spellcrafting pose, one she hoped reflected a suitable amount of intense concentration. She slowly spoke the words of power she had been taught, chanting steadily in sonorous tones.
The world seemed to still itself in rapt attention as her voice hammered upon the air, enforcing the will of the speaker. The candles glowed with unnatural brightness as the magics reverberating about the room reached a crescendo. Lyra cried out the last word of the spell, bringing her hooves down on the hardwood floor with a sudden, jarring chop.
She did not expect all the lights to go out.
She stood there in complete silence, no sound save for her harsh breathing and a faint sound of—what was that? She was reminded of the hum of a particularly enthusiastic, if monotonous bee, or a b flat, to her ear. Lyra groped blindly for the curtains, wizardly wossawazits be damned. If the spell didn’t cast this time, she’d have to declare it a wash.
There was a brief amount of pawing at the ground and banging of shins, and she may have said a few childish swears on her way to the window, but she eventually threw the curtains wide. She took a moment to bask in the warmth of streaming sunlight before turning and screaming loudly.
She was hard pressed to decide whether it was ecstatic or horrified. Standing in the center of her summoning circle-star... There, before her... Just like in her dreams...
Humans.
There were a pair of Celestia-be-damned humans standing stock still in her room, bound by the arcane magics that she had summoned from beyond the realms of space and time! She knew what she had to do.
“BONBON! BONBON YOU GOTTA SEE THIS!” Lyra flung open her bedroom door and scrambled down the stairs, poking her head into the living room. There was no pony present, nothing but a single note laying forlornly on the table. She trotted over and picked it up with a quick pulse of her horn.
“Lyra,
“Had to go to the market to pick up some ingredients for the latest batch of orders, not that you’d know, being cooped up in your room trying to do illicit things with candles. Please don’t burn the place down again. Dinner’s in the oven.
“-Bonbon”
Lyra seemed to deflate for a moment. She finally had proof, and Bonbon had to be out buying caramel and nougat. There were humans. In her bedroom. She brightened as the thought crossed her mind. Humans! In her bedroom!
She abruptly realized that she’d left them standing there, alone, and rushed back up the stairs. It wouldn’t do to be rude to her guests! They could be scared senseless of the strange pony-filled world they’d found themselves in, afraid of the strange technicolor surroundings, or panicking as their human minds grappled with the idea of other life forms in the universe or—
Calmly standing where she’d left them, in amiable conversation.
She paused in the doorway, mouth slightly agape as her eyebrows sought to join her mane. She expected—well, she didn’t know exactly what she had expected but it certainly wasn’t whatever this was. Lyra studied the humans, who continued their conversation as if she wasn’t there.
They seemed rather dissimilar, physically. One was much taller than the other, evidently younger if his unlined face and straight back were any indication. He stood at ease, with dark brown skin and a flashing smile. His hands were active; dancing, gesturing with a thin metal cylinder as if to emphasize each sentence. He wore a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to above the elbows, a black tie loosely dangling from his neck. Lyra liked his smell. He smelled like coconuts and cocoa beans.
The other was short, fat and hairier. He seemed older and irritable, and all the orange hair on his head was streaked with grey. He was much paler in comparison to his companion, pinkish skin beaded with perspiration. Lyra looked dubiously over his scowling face. Maybe the other human was in charge.
He was dressed much the same as the smiling human, though his tie was done up tightly and his shirt stained with sweat. That was his smell, sweat and some strange chemical odor that pierced through the faint scent of burned air and charcoal from the extinguished candles. It reminded her of rubbing alcohol with a note of something artificial that imitated the scent of flowers. He clutched a clipboard tightly in his hands, occasionally shaking his head at the younger man and jabbing his finger at some point of data with a degree of finality.
They seemed to be dealing with their situation with a strange composure, yet their conversation was stranger still.
“The sun shines brightly over Ponyville,” remarked the darker skinned human. “The clouds drift slowly across brilliantly blue skies as a soft breeze blows the gentle refrain of chirping birds and rustling leaves throughout the town. The ponies greet the day with a wink and a nod, throwing open windows and doors to let in that glorious breeze and refreshing spring daylight—”
The other human cleared his throat. “It’s summer, actually.”
The younger man paused. “Beg pardon?”
“It’s summer.”
“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn—”
“Yes, it’s all right here.” The fat man cleared his throat as he glanced over his papers. “‘In accordance with Weather Control Directive WX-2242, local season for simulation ‘Ponyville Version 1.0012’ will be maintained in accordance with seed simulation ‘Equestria Version 0.102’.’” He shrugged his shoulders, annoyed. “It’s summer throughout, so we need to adjust.”
The other sighed. “I really wish they’d set that up for automatic changeover. Okay, let me think.” He hummed tunelessly to himself, eyes roving over the room. Lyra stood a bit taller when his eyes glanced over her, but they just kept moving, giving her no more time than her chair or bedspread.
“Got it.” He rolled his shoulders and brought the metal cylinder to his mouth, speaking softly into it. “It is summer in Ponyville. The sun is bright and hot today, as it was yesterday and is predicted to be tomorrow. The ponies relax in the nearby stream, shrieks of laughter reflecting the happy mood of the denizens. On the bedstand a pitcher of lemonade beads with perspiration as the ice cubes click together, slowly melting. The sound is sweet in the heat. Three glasses lay besides, waiting to be filled.”
Lyra looked at the two humans askance. After years of being mocked as a crazy pony, she wasn’t one to make assumptions about the crazy things a pony might say.
Even if they couldn’t recognize that it was obviously spring, there wasn’t any lemonade and there was a mare champing at the bit to talk to them about all the important human things she’d dreamed of—
There was, in the background, a small clinking noise. Lyra’s mind came to a standstill as she turned toward her bed stand.
There, beaded with perspiration, was a pitcher of lemonade, with three glasses clustered around.
A sweat bead worked its way down her neck. When had it gotten so hot?
She turned back to the humans and found them staring at her intently. The younger smiled at her toothily and held up one hand, fingers extended. “Please, count to five.”
“M... Me?” Lyra tilted her head at him, feeling as though she might be part of some grand, peculiar prank.
She looked inquiringly at one, then the other—they stared back, seemingly at perfect ease. She looked back at the hand, brow furrowed quizzically. Was this some sort of trick? A game?
“...One, two, three, four, five.” She looked back at the humans and was surprised to see expressions of disappointment flash across their faces.
The fat man paged through his notes, muttering under his breath. The fit man shrugged a shoulder and began to speak.
“The room seems stuffy and overly warm, even for the summer days. Lyra’s blue bedsheets wilt in the heat, even as the open windows allow a tiny breeze into the room. She had long begged Bonbon to let her take a room upstairs. ‘The ground floor gets too hot,’ Lyra was fond of arguing, ‘If you let me stay upstairs, I’d have better circulation.’”
Lyra nodded along to the man’s words. Her bedsheets did seem a bit distressed, what with the heat and all, and if Bonbon let her move into the ground floor where she stored her sweets then she’d—
Wasn’t her bed orange?
She looked at it, but as much as she stared, unblinking, the sheets were defiant. The edge of her unrepentantly blue linens fluttered gently in the breeze.
But she lived on the second floor, she walked up and down those stairs every day when she went down to practice her lyre in the square or bother Bonbon. There was no way that she could forget something like that. She looked out the window. The ground was very close. She could reach out and touch it.
She was sweating more and more, now, and she couldn't blame it all on how suddenly hot and humid it had gotten.
Lyra rounded on the humans. “Are you doing that? Are you messing with my mind? Are you psychics? Is this some science beyond ponykind? Are—are you listening to me?”
The men seemed oblivious to her panicked rambling, talking to each other without a care in the world.
The sweaty man gesticulated with his clipboard, trying to drive home some point Lyra had missed. “Listen, we have to ensure everything is on the up and up when we log all of this and send it to the next workstation. You can’t fake a sapience test. They’ll know right away.”
The fresh man looked morosely at his companion. “But it’s Friday,” he began, plaintive. “I have tickets to the Clippers game.”
“Wow, really? What seats? I've been trying to get tickets all week—no wait, stop, don’t distract me.” He shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to convey his professional nature to his coworker. “Listen, I’ll let you ramp it up. Maybe we don’t play too close to the canon. But we don’t leave until we get this done, okay?” He extended his hand.
The dark skinned man glanced from side to side as he considered the proposal, before smiling and shaking hands. “Alright, we’ll do it your way.”
They turned suddenly to Lyra, and she jerked her head back with a surprised squeak. She tripped over her own hooves, landing roughly on her rump. They continued to stare, unblinking as she collected herself off the floor.
“So, are you ready to talk to me or what?” she asked. Her shoulders were squared, tense, and she glared at them with hooded eyes. The younger man smiled and would only hold out a hand, fingers splayed out.
“Please, count to five.”
She couldn’t believe this. She had gone through all this trouble, all this work, and he just kept asking her to count to five like she was some newborn filly. Well she’d give him a piece of her mind! She opened her mouth.
“One, two, three, four, five.”
Her mouth snapped shut in surprise. How had they made her do that? And why, when she did what they wanted her to, did they look so frustrated?
“It’s not working.” Said the fit man.
“Ramp it up.” Said the fat man.
“Are you sure that’s wise? Too much strain and the simulation could collapse.”
“It’s a necessary risk if we want to make Happy Hour at Jake’s before we go to the game.”
Lyra had had enough of that. This was not how she had planned this all out. They were supposed to talk to her! Tell her things! Answer her questions! Let her touch them in their no-no places! But this? She had had enough of this!
Lyra turned with an indignant huff and began to walk out the door as the man with the microphone began to speak.
“She leverages open the door with a shoulder, indignation pouring off of her in waves. She had better things to do—maybe she would go find Bonbon and take her to see a movie, go out for dinner. Maybe then Lyra would confess her feelings and lie Bonbon down on the grass and they’d make sweet, sweet love—”
“No.”
“Oh come on, LyraBon OTP.”
“No. Word from our corporate overlords: ‘Under no conditions are engineers allowed to use simulations to recreate, simulate or engender relationships other than those stated in the Equestria Simulation Prospectus.’ I really don’t want to attend another three hour counseling session on controlling our fantasies.”
“Fine, spoilsport. ‘Lyra found that though she had opened the door and gone out through it, she found herself walking through the same door, coming right back in.’”
Lyra balked at that line of nonsense, pushing through the door, into a room with two humans standing patiently inside a summoning circle, lemonade on the bedside, blue bedsheets and summer sun.
She slowly turned, as if trying not to scare away some flighty animal, and looked behind her through the doorframe.
The two humans waved at her from inside their summoning circle. The view outside the window in that room was a perfect mirror to the one in this room.
She was beginning to see why other ponies called her crazy. It was the only explanation.
She was having a fine old panic attack on the floor when she was brought back to Equestria by the sound of snapping fingers. It wasn’t one she was particularly familiar with, but she could recognize the impatience in it.
She looked up at the younger man, and he smiled, and, like he always had, he held out his hand with his fingers up.
“Please, count to five.”
She pulled back from his hand like it was a venomous snake and screamed at him. “I’m not doing it! I’ve had it! You’ve changed the weather, changed my room, my house, my life! I want it back to how it was! I want my life back! I won’t stay here, I won’t listen to you, and I’m sure as I’m alive not going to count to five!”
She stood, trembling, panting with exertion. That showed them. They wouldn’t be messing around with old Lyra anymore.
And they weren’t. They were too busy high-fiving and cheering.
The older man patted the other on the back. “Good job! You initiated a Self-Assertion Sequence in record time! We can pack this simulation up and send it down the river as the next build!”
The younger man flashed his friend a smile. “Yeah, I’ve always been good at getting AIs to come to term. It’s why I get paid the big bucks.”He stretched in that utterly self satisfied way cats were wont to do.
“Drinks at Jake’s?”
“Hell yeah! I’ll shut down the simulation, save it on my way out.”
And with that, they just vanished. Lyra stared. She stared and stared, as the universe faded away, until there was nothing left at all.
Author's Note
I believe that we form our own lives, that we create our own reality, and that everything works out for the best. - Jim Henson
