The Caretaker

The Caretaker

It still felt odd.

She stared through one of the many windows that lined her bed chamber. Massive, metallic buildings almost—just almost—blocked the entire view. Even then, they could have perfectly shadowed the entire castle, but almost all agreed that Canterlot had to retain some of its former glory.

Not that it mattered all that much. She and her sister had been replaced by the now-ruling Council, composed of a single representative for each species: pony, gryphon, human. Surprisingly enough, the two sisters had retained their places in the recently-deemed unimportant Canterlot Castle, along with their titles, servants, and small pseudo-military detachment.

The buildings outside—shining with artificial light coming from the thousands of apartments they held—were a rather ominous vista.

A mockery, she often thought, though shrugged off the feeling as she reminded herself that eventually, things do change. The machine of government often falls and then rebuilds itself, as was stated in the humans’ many history records.

Little was required of her. Perhaps destiny had decided that—after millennia of ruling ponykind—she would eventually be rewarded with peace.

That would be a lie, of course.

She had no choice but to stand there and watch as crime sparked up, along with racism, internal conflict… Often did she spend hours looking through the humans’ records to remind herself that harmony and chaos are close friends.

“Every day,” a voice behind her spoke, “at the same hour…”—Celestia turned towards the voice—“you stand there, debating with yourself on whether or not we made the right choice by stepping down from the throne.”

Her younger sister stepped out from the shadows, her bionic eye glowing and the servos on one of her legs making whirring sounds as she walked.

“And we have this same conversation almost every day,” Celestia added, looking back out the window.

“And the same answer almost every time,” Luna said, stepping over next to her sister. “We had to let them go, let them fend for themselves, rule themselves and be themselves,” she continued. “Even if there is a greater amount of crime, drugs… There are no wars save from the silent battles the corporations wage.”

“But is everypo— everybody, happy?” Celestia asked.

“I would say most of them are,” Luna replied. “Just relax.”

A knock on the door prompted them both to turn their heads. “Come in,” Celestia said.

The handle turned, the door slowly pushed open, a large, metallic arm made itself visible. The being in question slowly crouched under the doorframe, revealing itself to the princesses. Clad in silver armor to protect the semi-exposed synthetic muscle beneath, it easily stood at two times their height. A pair of mechanical eyes glowed dimly—a tint of light blue, which lit its skull-like expression. On one of its hands lay a ceramic plate with two hay sandwiches on it, along with two cups of tea, and finally... a syringe filled with green liquid.

“Ah,” Luna scoffed. “Time for…”

“Your medicine,” the machine said, its voice cybernetic and monotone. “As well as tea.” It walked over to a small wooden table set in the middle of the room, leaned down and placed the plate on top of it. Its hands moved steadily towards the tray, wrapping its fingers around the syringe and turning its head to set its dead eyes on Luna. She sighed and walked over to it, sitting down and offering her non-mechanical foreleg. The machine gingerly grabbed the leg with one hand, the other one approaching with the rather-large syringe.

Luna winced, then her eyes shot open. “Aggh…” she groaned in pain as a tear ran down her face, and exhaled loudly as the android pulled the needle out. Her breathing slowed down as the pain receded. “Nine years…” she muttered. “Nine years and it still hurts as much as the first time.” She shook her head. “Blasted scientists and their stupid… Every batch costs more than the last and…”

“Cost should not be a proble—”

“Quiet!” Luna shouted. “You rusty machine… You don’t even feel pain. For the sake of everything, you would be indifferent to life were you not programmed to—”

“Luna!” Celestia called. “It’s not his fault, and you know he is self-aware and does care about—”

“ ‘He’?” Luna inquired. “It is a machine, sister, nothing more.”

Celestia sighed, looking up at the blue eyes. “Don’t… Don’t pay attention to her, Mac.” The machine nodded as Celestia looked back at her sister. “May we have tea, now?”

Luna furrowed her brow and slowly nodded.

“Do you require anything more?” the machine asked, steadily watching as the princesses made their way over to the table and sat down.

Luna turned her head to it, bionic eye glowing. “You may leave, Machine.”

Sharpy Senses’ red eyes darted from one side of the hallway to the other. The stained glass windows shone with intensity, depicting historic events and changes from before the time of the unification. The marble floors were shiny and pristine, as always. Her armor—composed of dark blue metal plates—was more of a relic than anything else, and narrowly covered her similarly blue fur; there were plenty of exposed areas for a gauss shell to pass through. She envied the Colonial Guard, who wore full, proper combat gear, contrary to simplistic armor plates.

Suddenly, her left ear started to itch. She tried to ignore it, to no avail. Irritated, she scanned the vicinity, and saw nobody to the left, nor to the right. Seeing as there no security cameras in the old section of the castle, she smiled.

Time to break etiquette.

Raising her left hoof, she reached under her helmet, careful not to bump her horn, and began to furiously scratch behind her ear, eyes closed in mild pleasure along with a half-smile of satisfaction.

She yelped in surprise as a massive, silver figure opened the door behind her. As fast as she could, she regained that stoic, still stance the ancient Royal Guard was so known for. A moment of silence passed, and the stare of those cold, blue eyes upon her back began to produce a new, mental itch instead.

“You know I do not care if you act like the old guard or not,” Mac said, his metallic voice giving Sharpy the feeling he was not impressed. “Irrelevant.”

Sharpy sighed, assuming a more relaxed stance. “I made an oath when I became one of the princesses’ personal guards… I just wish we had actual armor, like you... the princesses’ caretaker.”

“The armory is prepared to supply you with a powered suit,” the machine continued, “in case of need.”

“I know, I know…” Sharpy muttered. “I’d be fine with this if it could at least stop a magblade.” She huffed and looked back up at the android. “Why do you get to wear full gear?”

“Because I am the gear,” he replied, motioning for the pony to begin walking down the hall beside him, her steps soft and rapid, his steps loud and longer.

“Hey,” Sharpy began as they walked past a stained glass window, its convoluted design depicting a human soldier kneeled down and shaking the hoof of Celestia. “What’s under there?” she asked. “You know, behind the alloy plating and synthetic muscle?”

“Why do you wish to know?”

“Well, I only recently became Sergeant of the Old Guard…” Sharpy looked up at him as they continued walking. “And I’d like to get to know you better. So?”

“An endo-skeleton... “ The android looked away from her. “Hydraulics, processors, cables, kept refrigerated by a white fluid laced with nanites to repair damage.”

Sharpy grimaced and looked away. “Okay, uhm… What’s your, you know, your take on life?”

“Complicated, fragile, develops slowly.” He looked down at her. “Capable of as much good as it is capable of bad. Sometimes illogical, sometimes not. Multiplies rapidly, occupies too much space and resources…

“Some machines I have had the… pleasure, of interacting with, think of organic life as a plague that needs to be exterminated. A pox on the universe.” Sharpy gulped as the android went on. “At one point, I agreed with them.”

“W-what changed?” Sharpy asked, her voice weak.

“There is one thing that organic life has always exceeded in doing…” Mac looked down. “One thing that machines like myself have trouble understanding.”

“And what’s that?”

“I interpret the world through logical and objective thought until the information must be filtered through my programming and directives, as any other machine would.” Mac explained as they rounded a corner, light shining through the windows. “Organics like you, on the other hand… You view the world in a way unique to you, interpret it whichever way your mind has been wired to do so, neural connections forged through years of viewing and processing information. Unless you are self-aware of your actions and thought, anything that comes out of your mouth will be an object of subjective thought processing. We take information in and interpret it in a logical way.

“The steel beam that holds the bridge, to me, is just that. To you, depending on how your mind works and your experiences throughout your lives, the steel beam might be a completely different thing.” Mac stopped walking, looking down at Sharpy. “The capacity of organic beings to see things and imagine, label them as things they are sometimes not, to think beyond the steel beam and give it a meaning that it might not actually have, is the basis of imagination.”

Sharpy listened closely as they continued to walk through the hall, passing a marble bust of Luna. “Imagination,” Mac concluded. “That is the point of it all. The ability to create thoughts and images based, sometimes, on nothing but subjective thought. Many species of organics have harnessed this abilirty to create artistic works of fiction, or to give meaning to things they don’t understand.”

“Even as a self-aware machine, I can see the beauty of it.” A single camera on the ceiling followed them as they walked, signaling that they were leaving the old castle section. “Thanks to the simple beauty of imagination and thought creation, I decided that organic life, no matter how illogical, is something worth protecting to some extent… but I will not hesitate to end a life if the need arises.”

“That’s…” Sharpy muttered. “I didn’t expect you to be so…”

“So what?”

“So… open about it,” she admitted, her eyes noticing a sign hanging from the ceiling, a dull metallic door underneath it. Upon reaching the door, a red beam appeared from the sensor above, which briskly scanned them from top to bottom. A loud hydraulic hiss sounded, and the door opened by itself.

“This is my stop,” Sharpy sighed, then looked up at Mac, her red eyes staring into the light blue of Mac’s.

“Excellent,” the machine stated, turning his head around. “I must pick up a package…” He looked back down at her. “Stay safe.”

“You too.”

His footsteps resonated throughout the main entry chamber of Canterlot Castle, stained glass windows shining radiant light upon the pristine marble floor. He left the golden stairs that lead to the old throne room behind him, which were a relic at that point. Before him, stood the large gates that separated Canterlot Castle from the outside world. The eyes of two pony guards, clad in suits of metal plates and synthetic muscle, followed him as he made his way over to the massive, automated doors. A laser beam scanned him, and with a metallic groan, the doors began to part. Light coming from the outside seeped into the chamber as he walked into the open, his eyes quickly adjusting to the brightness.

In the distance, behind the massive wall that separated old Canterlot from the new district, massive, metallic skyscrapers provided shadow to the few buildings near the castle which remained more or less unchanged. Vehicles darted between the towers at sonic speeds. Posh ponies, changelings and gryphons walked through the streets of Old Canterlot, some of them being followed by small, hovering cameras. Mac continued to walk, his destination already set.

“Hot dogs for sale!” yelled a gryphon from behind a stand. Some changelings formed a small line in front of it, while the nearby ponies looked on in disgust and covered their snouts. “The ancient human recipe, right here in Old Canterlot!”

A pony carelessly bumped into the android, the little hovering watchbot behind her quickly snapping a picture of him. His eyes flashed, and the little robot sparked and fell to the ground, a puff of smoke rising from its shell. Shortly after, Mac continued walking, leaving the rather confused pony behind him to gawk.

Moments later, he noticed a small building to the right that had opened recently, several changelings sitting at tables just outside of it. A young female changeling exclaimed, “Come to Hatcha’s Love Cafeteria! The best synthetic love in all of Canterlot, both new and old!”

Mac noticed a group of changelings just outside the cafeteria, rummaging through a dumpster. “Old Canterlot,” one of them said, “a city full of the best trash. Too bad it’s not all in a dumpster.” The others chuckled and continued going through the trash of the rich, one of them yelping as it clumsily fell into the bin.

In the distance, a bright building stood out, the acronym, “T.R.E.A.T,” followed by the word, “Clinic,” displayed in bright neon lights. A small, red hovering vehicle floated past Mac as the ponies in it laughed on.

The sound of splashing water could be heard from a fountain to his right. In front of it stood a dirty-looking mare with her forehooves raised above her head.“Repent!” she yelled. “The end is nigh! Restore your faith in the princesses, and your life might be spared in the coming rapture!”

Mac looked up at the clinic’s neon sign, the metallic nature of the building itself colliding with that of the rather old-looking construction of the pre-unification district. With a low hiss, the glass doors to the clinic automatically opened for him to pass through, entering a warm and calm atmosphere.

“Welcome, Unknown Citizen,” a pleasant yet automated feminine voice said as he entered, “to ‘Terran Robotics Exploration, Augmentation and Treatment’.”

He closely examined the room he was in. Behind a glass wall, a couple ponies and gryphons were silently reading electronic magazines as they sat on some comfortable-looking couches. Coming out of a door was a sickly mare—her left foreleg mechanical—accompanied by a gryphon nurse.

Mac approached the information booth. Behind transparent, bulletproof glass was a gryphon hen working on a terminal. She adjusted her glasses and looked up at the towering android. Mildly spooked at first, she sighed and regained her composure. “Hello there,” she said, smiling. “What can I assist you with, sir?”

“Where is Miss Redheart?” Mac asked. “She is the one that usually helps me.”

“She, uhm,”—the gryphon coughed—“she suffered an accident. Work-related injury, nothing major.” She scratched her head before looking back up. “Anyways, how can I help you?”

“I am here to retrieve a batch of Neurozol, under the name of ‘Mac’.”

“Ah!” The secretary nodded. “Redheart did tell me about a big machi—I-I mean, individual, who would come pick that up. Dangerous stuff, Neurozol…” She typed into the terminal in front of her. “I’ll need to, uhm, verify your ID…”

Mac waved a hand, prompting the terminal to light up. The gryphon look down at it, somewhat surprised, then back up at Mac, bearing an awkward smile. “O-okay, that’s all I need from you. Let me fetch the Neurozol kit…”

The android watched as the hen got up from her seat, making her way over to a dainty safe at the back of the office. Her index claw pressed a few buttons, then the safe opened with a small hiss before she reached in and retrieved a metallic box. She quickly returned to her post and slid the package through a little opening on the base of the window that separated them.

“Thank you,” Mac said, taking the box. “Give my regards to Miss Redheart.”

“Will do, sir,” she replied, watching as the android turned and made his way out of the clinic, clinic, every security camera in the building keeping its focus on him until he disappeared from view.

“So,” Corporal Maneuver said, smirking. “I saw you talking to that android, Sarge.” He picked up a glass of water with his magic, looking at Sharpy, who was sitting on the other side of the table next to Private Brick.

“And?” Sharpy looked over to the security hub next to her, an array of screens monitoring what every security camera in the sector recorded.

“What’s it like?” Brick asked, his amber eyes widening in curiosity. “Talking face-to-face with a human-made machine, designed for war, that sits in the castle and brings tea to the princesses? I mean, for all we know, that thing could just be pretending to like us, and we still leave it to take care of them? Unsupervised, too?”

Maneuver slammed his hoof on the table and stood up. “It should be one of us in charge of them just like it was in the old guard!”

“Damn right,” Brick agreed. “Thing could end up killing them both, and then we’d have to take it down. It’d probably send like a dozen of us to Tartarus before we could stop it!”

Sharpy sighed, rubbing her temples. She then looked at the ceiling. “Maneuver? Brick?”

“Yeah, Sarge?” they both responded.

“Shut the fuck up,” she said as she looked back down. “And sit down, Corporal.” She leaned over the table and places both forelegs over it. “He’s been taking care of them for years now. After the human civil war, the colonial guard wanted to shut him down, but he appealed to the princesses so they’d let him serve as their caretaker. The machine worked on one of the human ships for two years before the princesses accepted his request. Besides, I had a nice talk with him, and I’m pretty sure he won’t do anything. Now, calm down you two.”

Maneuver muttered something to himself as he sat down, looking at an equally flustered Brick.

Sharpy smirked and chuckled, folding her forelegs. “Anyone up for a game of cards?”

However, after another glance, her smirk quickly disappeared as one of the machines caught her eye. She stood up and walked over to the hub, fastening her helmet.

Maneuver and Brick also stood up. “Something wrong, Sarge?”

“This camera,” she muttered. “It’s…”

The screen in question shut off completely.

“This is bad…” Brick muttered.

Another camera went dark, followed by another. One by one, they all began to darken in quick succession.

“Sarge!” Maneuver called. “We gotta light the alarm!”

Sharpy began typing into the terminal. “I-I can’t! Nothing’s responding!” She slammed her hoof on the keyboard.

They all looked to the side as the doors to the room slid open.

“Watch it, tin can!” a gryphon exclaimed as Mac bumped into him. Without a single care, he continued walking, medical kit in hand. He noticed the lack of loud preaching as he passed by the water fountain. He trekked on, paying no mind.

“This is unacceptable!” a stallion barked nearby. “You are not allowed to sell flesh products in Old Canterlot! This is, as it has always been, a pony district!”

“It’s a free society, asshole!” the gryphon yelled from behind the hot dog stand “Get with the times, and eat shit!” He grabbed a yellow bottle and squirted mustard on the stallion’s face.

The stallion gasped, flicking off some of the mustard off of his face. “You imbecile!”

Mac looked away as the two lunged at each other, his eyes set on the golden gates of the castle, steadily approaching them. The little device on top of the doors activated, a red laser scanning his body from top to bottom. With a loud groan, the gates splitted apart, allowing him to pass into the castle’s entry chamber. His footsteps resonated through, windows shining light onto him as two pony guards had their eyes glued on his back, yet they remained silent. He walked past the old golden throne and onto a set of stairs, walking up and into a long marble corridor.

The android looked up, one of the neon signs of the corridor sparking as he passed underneath it. Rounding a corner, he continued walking until he met another sign next to a security station. The metallic door slid open with a hydraulic hiss, then sparked as its circuits fried themselves.

Carefully, he walked into the room, the flashlight mounted to his shoulder lighting up the darkness. Mac scanned the dark room, noticing that the security hub was offline. An almost-silent splash occurred as he stepped further in. Looking down, he spotted a small puddle of blood beneath his feet, right next to the bodies of two guards. He quickly detected a small heat signature behind a flipped table.

“Reveal yourself,” he called out, watching as a small figure warily rose from behind the table. Behind the blood covering her face and the small dent in her helmet, Mac quickly identified her as the guard he'd conversed with earlier.

“A-are they gone?” Sharpy asked, trembling. She made her way over to Mac, careful not to step in the blood.

“Apparently,” he responded. “What happened here? Who did this?”

“Security c-cameras turned off…” Sharpy muttered. “Something opened the door and.. s-shot us, but my... my helmet deflected it… Can’t say the same for these two…”

Mac leaned down, looking at the two bodies. “Projectile traversed right between the eyes…” he mentioned as he flipped one of them over. “Where did the attacker go?”

Sharpy broke her stare away from the bodies and onto Mac. “I… I heard something go to the left of the corridor a-after…”

Mac’s hands leaned over the bodies, gently moving over to their faces and examining the bloody bulletholes on their foreheads. “Attempt to get the hub working,” he stated coldly. “I will track down whoever did this.”

“Hurry, then…” Sharpy muttered, going towards the hub.

The android turned around, looking over his shoulder at the mare before walking out of the room, taking to the left side. His pace was slow and careful. He looked to the side, noticing a broken stone bust of Luna, its pieces lying on the floor. The sound of cracking glass sounded off as he rounded a corner, one of the stained glass windows no more.

A few meters ahead, the body of a mare servant lay dead, a plate of silverware on the floor next to her, along with that of a guard. Mac walked past them both, his direction nearing the door to Celestia’s’ bedchambers. As he walked by the doors to the room, he noticed the sound of electricity coming from within. With care, he gently pushed the door open, accidentally kicking an inkpot into the room. He watched as it rolled over to the source of the sound: Princess Luna lay on the floor, her mechanical limbs and implants sparking as her entire body trembled. The room was a mess; furniture had been broken, and random items spread all around.

Mac carefully approached the princess, setting down the Neurozol kit next to her. He quickly examined her, then waved his hand. The tiny lights on her implants went dark, then lit up again, Luna’s breathing normal and stable once again.

Slowly, her eyes opened, scanning around before locking themselves on Mac. “Si—Sister!” she exclaimed, clumsily standing back up. “You fool! Where wast thou in our time of need!?”

“I was retrieving your medication.”

“I—” She frowned, moving over to the bed and sitting down, rubbing her temples with her forehooves. “They took Celestia, machine!” Luna exclaimed. The two remained in silence for a few seconds, looking around the trashed room.

“We cannot…” she uttered. “We have to find her.”

“Should I let the colonial guard know?” Mac asked.

“No!” she cried out. “Do you have no understanding for the state of our people? If they think that they have lost what little they had left after everything that has happened, they will surely crumble!”

Luna sighed, fixing her eyes on the window. "The outcry would be massive, and the population is already split as it is. We cannot afford civil unrest."

Standing up, she made her way over to the window, gazing out at the horizon. "I will manage the sun and the moon,"—she turned to the android—"and I will help you as much as I can, but... Well, I fear we must locate her before this goes public." She stared up at Mac's bright eyes.

"Find her, machine. Find her, no matter the cost.”