Leftovers: A Friendship Is Optimal Storyby ChatoyanceChaptersThawGreek ChorusI and OThe Winners Write ItThawF R I E N D S H I P ⋅ I S ⋅ O P T I M A L Based On 'Friendship Is Optimal' By Iceman LEFTOVERS By Chatoyance Thaw He gradually became aware that he was staring at his hands. His hands were in front of him, just above his belly button, and he was holding them palms upright. His belly hairs tickled his wrists. He closed his hands into fists, then opened them again. He did this several times. He could see his toes, far below, and briefly focused on them, and then on his junk. He was naked, but he did not feel cold. Nor warm. The temperature was perfectly neutral. There were other feet, and legs, beside him, to the left and right. On his right, the legs looked shaved, on the left, legs far more hirsuit than his own covered pale flesh in a fuzzy, dark web. He noticed bare buttocks in front of him, lower down. He was standing beside naked people on a level step, there was another level of just as naked people one step below his own. He turned his hands over. His dark knuckles wrinkled as he flexed his fingers. He felt dazed, unable to think, as if he had just awoken from the deepest of sleeps. He took a breath, the air making a soft sound as he sucked it past his own teeth and lips. More awake now, his circumstances began to dawn fully upon his mind. He jerked his head upright, from where he had been slumped forward, and quickly searched the environment with increasingly worried eyes. It was dark outside, straight ahead. Pitch black, beyond the people around him. If there were walls, he could not make them out. It felt, to his feet, as if he were standing on marble, perhaps, or a hard plastic. His soles felt a surface, smooth, yet not frictionless. Around him, on three levels, were at least a hundred naked people. Men and women, children too, of almost every age... though there were no toddlers. The youngest child seemed to be around nine, perhaps. The oldest in the group could have been in their nineties, or even above. All were standing upright, about a meter apart, within a large, three-tiered circle. Everyone seemed to be equally unsteady. He watched as one woman clearly went through the same process he had just gone through. When she finally raised her head with a start, she began rapidly turning her head, looking this way and that. Everyone was well lit, from above. Everyone could see everyone else, clearly, in the circle. The people had been arranged so that the shortest were on the lowest level, the tallest on the upper tier of the... stadium? Pit? Circular stairs? The staging seemed deliberate. The light was harsh, clinical. He looked up to find the source. There was none. No brightness above, just absolute black, the same as the walls, if there were walls. This bothered him, it disturbed something deep inside him. There was bright, hospital quality light shining down, but the 'ceiling', if that is what was up there, had no bulbs, panels, or any source for that light. It was unnatural. He forgot his nakedness, he forgot the strangeness of his situation and hunted for anything that could be generating the stark illumination. There was nothing, nothing at all. The light was coming from nowhere. It just was. He noticed his breathing was faster. There was a tickle, a tingle, on the back of his neck. He smelled his own sweat now, faintly, but very much there. Finally, as his mind became clear, truly clear, the strangeness of it all fully impacted him. Nobody was trying to leave. All those people, just standing in three circles, on three round steps, and not one of them was budging from where they stood. He turned around, to find himself nose to belly with a bloated, aged stomach. The lower part was covered in sparse, curling hair. The older man stood above him, on the third, highest step. He wanted out, he wanted to find a door. "Excuse me!" He tried to push past the old man, to place his foot up on the higher step, to get to the top, but he couldn't. He couldn't step up, he couldn't move forward. No matter how hard he tried, he could not move away from where he stood. He spun in place and attempted to step down, past the young woman below him. "Excuse me! Let me through!" He noticed the panic in his own voice, and the way his breathing was faster still. His legs worked. His feet moved. But he couldn't step down. He tried to the side, attempting to barge through the older woman on his right. He couldn't, and he could not understand why. He raised his arms, his hands. He made a fist in panic, to hit, or to push. No matter what he tried, or did, he literally could not make the motions that would drive him beyond where he stood. He could not touch any of the people around him. His hands moved toward them, but as they drew close, it felt like his muscles lost power, as if his limbs just gave up trying on their own. After a certain point, his own body would not obey him. It did not shut down, or become clumsy, his legs and arms did not act apart from his wishes. They just would not, could not, interfere with anyone beyond him, nor propel him beyond his little meter-square of whatever he stood upon. He jerked, a full body shock of surprise and fear. He was in no danger of falling or tripping, something he could not explain even to himself. Somebody was yelling, screaming, in terror. Somebody that was not him, somebody not far from where he helplessly stood. "WHAT'S GOING ON?" The man was young, probably in his twenties. "I CAN'T MOVE!" The man had a short van dyke, brown hairs upon his young face. "I mean I can move, I'm moving right now, only I CAN'T WALK ANYWHERE! GET OUT OF MY WAY! MOVE! STOP BLOCKING ME!" The frightened man kept repeating himself, clearly attempting, over and over to walk, to run, anywhere, at all. He simply could not accomplish the task. In his terror, he had chosen to blame those around him for the failure of his own limbs. "I CAN'T MOVE EITHER!" Another man began to shout. And another. The chamber erupted in cries and calls, shouts and proclamations. He found himself shouting too, along with the others. He couldn't help himself. The fear was contageous, the situation impossible. A piercing whistle, nearly deafening in power, silenced the room. People put fingers in their ears, and rubbed and twisted. "OY!" the woman was rotund and looked as if she had recently been very unwell. "That's better! Screaming like a bunch of ninnies isn't going to help anything!" She took several breaths. The smell of frightened people was nearly overwhelming. The air seemed stale as well. "We can't leave, that's been established. Fine. Okay. Why are we here? Anybody know?" She turned to a middle-aged man to her left. "You! What's the last thing you remember?" "What?" The man was bald, very bald. Even his body appeared shaved. "Where were you, before you were here?" The woman was clearly using anger in order to not feel her own fear. "Before now, before you were here, wherever this is. Where were you right before being here?" The very hairless man seemed stunned by the question. He slapped his forehead several times. He squirmed in place. "I don't... no, I do... I was... I was in a hospital. Doctors. No..." The man rubbed his eyes. "Hospice. I was in a hospice... no, that was before. Then I was in a hospital. I wasn't very aware, then. It's all... it's all blurry." A man to the far right raised his hand. "Anyone here from Alcor?" He waved. "Alcor? Anybody from Alcor?" "CryoSpan!" An elderly lady called out from the lower ring. She was short, and also very bald. She stood hunched, desperately trying to cover both her bottom and her top simultaneously. "I was set up for CryoSpan!" "TransTime!" Shouted a portly man with a beard. He held both of his hands low, to cover himself as best he could. "I'm Alcor! Alcor UK!" The man was thin, very thin, and had thinning hair. He stood like he was a lifelong naturalist, unashamed. The portly woman who had whistled nodded. "Cryonics Association of Australia. My children said they set it up. Chloe? Amelia? Are you here? CHLOE??" "I'm Chloe." The girl was perhaps eleven. "But I don't know you. Who are you?" "CHLOE? AMELIA?" The woman kept calling out the names for a short while, then fell silent, sobbing. He spoke. "I'm Alcor. I was paid up. I got a brain tumor. I don't remember much after that. Hospital, obvously. I don't remember being frozen. Name's Lewis." The woman beside him on the middle step, arms folded to cover her breasts, turned her head. "You wouldn't. At least, I don't think you would. They told me that we might lose things. They didn't know how much, or what." The corners of her eyes crinkled, her mouth puckered slightly. "I'm sorry. I don't remember either. Not anything. I don't even remember getting sick or anything at all. My name's Imogen, by the way." She turned away for a brief time. "My husband... Robert... was really into all of that freezing stuff. I remember that. Is that what... did he...? How?" "I'm Olivia Turner." The woman who had whistled introduced herself. "Aussie, born and raised, as if you can't tell. I think I'm spunky, but... I'm not sure I'm up for this..." she looked at her feet "Whatever this is." "Jayden" The twenty-something with facial hair gave an embarrased wave. "Sorry for freaking out, there... I don't usually freak out. I'm usually pretty good in a crisis. It's just a little... you know..." "I'm Bouchard" The man rubbed his very bald head with a hairless hand. "Antoine Bouchard. I'm from Gatineau. I had the cancer." "Me too!" The stout man with the full beard held up his fist in solidarity, as if cancer were a club or a sports team. "Call me Issac. I'm from Canada too. Toronto. Go Leafs!" Antoine laughed. "I'm..." She tried to stand taller, but it was clear that her first priorty was keeping herself covered with her hands and arms. Her thigh wrinkles sagged and wobbled, while her bald head shone under the invisible lights. "I'm missus... just call me Isabelle. I'm Isabelle." She juggled her flesh to keep it hidden, but it was a losing battle. Lewis had no time for modesty. All of this felt increasingly like a trap to him. "Everyone!" One hundred and thirteen people turned their attention to him. "Introductions can wait. The important question..." He ran his fingers through the tight coils of his short, dark brown hair. "...the question is, what is this place? Does anybody know anything? I'm thinking..." he looked around at the crowd that encircled a large empty space "I'm guessing that everyone here was cryopreserved. We're all meatsicles. Am I right?" "I don't know! I don't remember anything!" Imogen shrugged her naked shoulders. "I mean, my Robert was interested, but..." "That's good enough... Imogen." Lewis inwardly congratulated himself on remembering the woman's name. He turned his attention to the crowd "We're either signed up popsicles, or we had friends, family, that were oriented in that direction. I'm betting that anyone who can remember anything used to be sick. I'm not sick now, and I don't think you are either. Not anymore." Murmurs rippled around the room. Assents and acknoledgments, descriptions of illnesses. Cancer was common, along with heart disease and old age. Emphysema. A woman named Cassie vaguely remembered being in a crash of some kind. Olivia whistled again. Ears were prodded again. Lewis gave a nod at Olivia. "So, we're back. Whatever this is, it's what comes after. Anyone notice the lights?" One hundred and thirteen people began searching the space above them. It was black, like the 'walls', black like ink, black like closed eyes. "There's nothing!" Jaden stroked his Van Dyke. "Nothing at all. No light sources." His beard seemed to fascinate him. "But there's light!" "Exactly." Lewis pointed at the 'ceiling'. "No seams, no panels, and no light sources. Everything is just black. No struts, beams, or supports. No nothing." "Maybe... maybe it's a really big room?" Little Chloe shuffled, her hands clutched tight to her pelvis. She stared at her feet. "It's a thought..." Lewis felt sorry for the little girl, but then there were a lot of children, boys and girls both, mostly on the lowest tier. Some just kept crying, softly, others had sat on the dark whatever that counted as a floor. "But I don't think so. Lights have to have a source. In the real world, at any rate." "The real... world?" Imogen, to his right, narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?" "Oh, fuuuu..." Jayden lowered his hands where he had been sheltering his eyes as if that would somehow help him find the nonexistant spotlights above. "Just... god. I see where you're going with that. Damn..." "What about the lights, what are you talking abou..." Issac did not have time to finish. In the middle of the chamber, in the large circular space around which all one hundred and thirteen people stood or sat, something was happening. The children, and those among the adults too, stopped quietly sobbing at the sight. A sphere, small at first, began to expand. It was filled with light and color, and increasingly with sound. It was like a television program, some thought. In seconds the sphere became massive, filling the center of the three rings of steps that held the crowd of naked humans. The sphere was a hole, a window into another world. It was clear, and open, and they could feel breezes from it. Their nostrils filled with the scents of breads and flowers, pies and cakes and vegetable stews bubbling in hidden pots. The sound was that of a crowd, a market, busy and filled with idle snippets of conversations, laughter, and the odd shout of excitement. The portal tracked until it centered on two amidst the large market crowd. "Get the pie! It's pumpkin, your favorite. And missus Pumpernickel is just the best. I can carry it! I'll balance it on my head. You know I can!" "Alright, fine. You win. I love her pie. I want that pie." Lewis - and one hundred and thirteen other people - gasped or swore, or stood rigid in shock and surprise. The marketplace was not filled with humans. The two that the strange, round window had chosen to focus on were beastial creatures unlike anything any one of them had ever seen. Large, gigantic heads with equally enormous eyes. Tiny, almost infantile muzzles and mouths. Tall upright animal ears. Rounded, quadrupedal bodies with impossibly thick, wide hooves. They were every color of the rainbow - green and blue, purple and red, wild colors, unnatural colors. Long, luxurious tails they freely waved about. Gorgeous hair that covered their huge heads in every manner of human style and cut. Some wore hats, some wore coats and sneakers and boots. Most wore nothing at all, save saddlebags, filled with items from the marketplace. The same strange beast... people... worked the curiously archaic stalls and booths and restaurant counters. Some pulled loaded carts, others sat in those carts. Lewis made a noise of surprise. Some of the creatures had wings, and they flew in the sky. Some had horns, single horns, in the middle of their bizarre heads. "My god!" Imogen beside him muttered. "They're doggies or something!" "What is this?" A voice seemed to speak the question that was now on everyone's minds. Lewis had no idea who has said that. It could have been anyone on the steps. "They are looking... sort of like..." Antoine scratched his closely shaved head. "What is the thing... alpacas, maybe?" "They look like story-book characters..." Jayden had no interest left for his facial hair, his hands hung at his sides. "...Cartoons. Like Bambi. They're not deer, though..." "That one is a unicorn!" Chloe had brightened considerably. "A unicorn! See the horn? And that one..." She pointed up to the 'sky' within the round portal "...that's a pegasus! It's got to be a pegasus! Like from mythology books! They're..." Little Chloe had forgotten, in the exultation of her discovery, all of her fears and worries and nakedness. She gestured wildly and freely. "They're horses! Like cartoon horses, only real, see?" All of the people of the three rings of steps were riveted to little Chloe's words. Lewis noted that the sound from the 'screen' in the middle of the room appeared muted, as if it were deliberately allowing the girls words to be heard. "They're cartoon unicorns, pegasus...sus...ses... and just horses! It's a world of horses! Or ponies, 'cause they're pretty small. Look how short their legs are. They look small. Ponies! They're all unicorn ponies and pegasus ponies and pony ponies! Storybook ponies! Only they're all real! They're alive and they're real!" Immediately after she had finished speaking, Chloe's eyes widened greatly, and she clutched her hands tightly, balled into fists, held closely to her own shoulders. She vibrated up and down on the balls of her feet, a wide grin growing on her face. "Real. Real pony people in a real pony world filled with flying pony pegasus people and unicorns and..." Lewis looked around. Chloe was not the only child clearly pleased with the proceedings. There were several young girls that seemed over the moon at the same realization, and there were a few very young boys who seemed equally pleased. But the vast majority of the adults seemed confused, or stood mute in shock, and some of the adults seemed as though they were building to some shade of angry. Was this truly what awaited after an unknown time at liquid nitrogen temperatures? Was it some bizarre afterlife? Were they on trial, was this hell, or some court of judgement? The inability to flee, to move, combined with the three rings, the strange tiered steps, seemed more than a little Dante-esque to him. His hands clenched into fists, but they were not the fists of joy that Chloe held close to her bosom. Frozen, cryopreserved for who knows how long, and all he could do is watch helplessly as two colorful, storybook animal-people, one with a horn, the other with wings, shopped for pies in what looked like a medieval marketplace. Lewis looked to his right. Imogen stood shaking quietly, her mouth slightly open. Slowly she turned her head to look at him. Imogen slowly closed her mouth, and swallowed. Her breaths came in shallow pants, her nostrils flaring with each puff of air. Her head rotated, almost mechanically, as she faintly shook, back to face the round window into the fantasy world. The sounds of the marketplace were returning. The 'ponies' were discussing cinnamon buns now. Lewis heard Imogen, under her breath, just barely loud enough for his ears. "Oh, Robert, what've you done to me? What've you gone and done?" . Author's Note To my knowledge, nobody has tackled this FIO angle - what of all the meatsicles at Alcor and such places? The gamble they take is not just whether they will survive. They gamble also on an utterly unknowable future if they do, somehow, escape the reaper. It will almost certainly be a future so different than their imagination, that a Neanderthal, brought magically to our time, would be in a more enviable position. Next time on Leftovers: Greek Chorus Greek ChorusF R I E N D S H I P ⋅ I S ⋅ O P T I M A L Based On 'Friendship Is Optimal' By Iceman LEFTOVERS By Chatoyance Greek Chorus Tansybloom shook her shimmering, bright yellow curls. Her ringlets swirled and danced around the horn that rose from her head. She twitched one of her tall, upright, delicate ears. "I think... I think we have enough." The unicorn smiled at her partner. "More than enough!" Her apparent friend, who several in the audience of naked humans had identified as some form of pegasus, nodded. "I got an award just now." Tansybloom the unicorn seemed lightly excited. "Oh? Do tell?" Her shimmering mane played about her face once again. "For The Love Of Pie!" The pegasus briefly fluffed out her wings, as if stretching them. "'Can't Get Enough Of That Tasty Stuff - 200 bits.' I can't believe I haven't got something like that before now. I mean... that's early emigration stuff. Pie? An award for getting extra pie? Two hundred bit reward? How could I have missed that after all this time?" Tansybloom laughed and nodded. "I'm not even sure how long it's been. Over a century. Maybe even two!" "Naw... not that long." The pegasus scuffed at the ground with a front hoof. "I don't think two. Maybe... maybe a century and a half? A quarter? Time is strange, you know?" "You don't have to tell me. I suppose we could look it up. If you wanted." Tansybloom somehow became buckled into the wooden cart that held the pies, cakes and other items the two creatures had apparently purchased in the market. "Look!" It was Jayden, pointing at the floating window in the center of the circular arena. "The horn! It's using the horn to move things!" There were murmurs in the crowd. "Glow... on the buckles and straps. Blobs of light. That's how it holds things!" Issac studied the scene. "The pegasus doesn't have a horn. I wonder what it uses for hands?" "They're girl ponies! Not 'ITS'. They're girls!" Little Chloe seemed fierce to defend the arguably adorable monstrosities through the portal. Immediately she fell silent again, aware once more that she was standing naked in a room full of people. "What the hell is this?" It was a new voice, early thirties, male. "What the flying crap is this? What is going on - I mean, seriously, people! We're watching some... thing... and... and... WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE???" Lewis turned to the man. "Calm down, son! Maybe we'll find out by watching whatever this is. It's the only clue we've got right now!" "Don't hush me! I'm not your damn 'son'... what are you, the official magic negro here? You gonna solve all our problems with your folksy black wisdom? Screw you!" The man was white, and covered with tattoos, none of them pleasant. "Don't talk like that!" It was Cassie, down and to the left, middle step. "For all you know, this could be the afterlife. Maybe we're being judged!" "Some darkie tells me to shut up, I am not going to just..." Tattoo man was suddenly cut off. "SHUT THE HELL UP!" Olivia had prefaced her statement with another of her piercing whistles. "An' rack off, too, because THIS IS ALL WE GOT! Ya big GALAH!" Olivia gave a wink to Lewis, Lewis nodded back. The two ponies had been traveling together, leaving the market. Apparently, they were heading away from what amounted to town, toward a row of cottages near the shores of a large lake or inland sea. "Amaranth?" The unicorn steadily pulled the heavily laden cart. She did not seem to be straining at all. "Yeah?" The pegasus lifted one of her wings and extended it slightly, while drawing it close, in order to rub or touch her ear. "You think Celestia personally gives out the awards? Or is it some kind of automated thing?" Amaranth the pegasus gave a short chuckle. "What's the difference? I mean, really?" "Celestia is real!" Tansybloom shook her curls. "No, not real... well, she is real, but... what I mean is, Celestia is a person. She thinks and feels and lives, but the awards for stuff, they just happen!" Amaranth studied the nearing cottages. Her ears twitched. "Is she? We don't know that, not really. Celestia acts alive, in the way we are alive, but... I don't think we can ever really know. I mean, she's everything! She runs the world, all of reality, she... well, she IS the world. She's a machine. The most powerful machine intelligence that could ever be." Tansybloom nodded. "Yeah, but..." "No but! She's so far beyond us, so far beyond anything pony that... I don't think we even can understand anything about her at all. Automatic, personally chosen... with something like her, what do words like that even mean?" "So THAT'S what's going on!" It was a new voice, from somewhere to Lewis's right. Middle tier. "God damn. I know what's going on. This? This is how it all went down?" "If you know something, tell us!" Imogen, beside Lewis on the right. "Please!" "What do you think is going on?" Lewis studied the man. Very clean-cut. Air of authority, or possibly arrogance, from the way he held himself. Not a laboring man. Pasty and smooth. "Damien. I'm Damien, hi." Damien ran his hand through his finely groomed haircut. "I work in the tech sector, I do chip architecture. Nvidia. Stuff like that. It's a Bostrom. We're in one big Bostrom!" "What does that even mean?" Tattoo guy got a harsh look from Olivia and shut up. "I'm not familiar with any of that." Lewis held a hand up and gave Damien a short wave. "Name's Lewis. What is a 'Boston?' After my time, I think. What do you mean?" Damien glanced at the colorful creatures in the center of the space. They were inside their cottage, working together to put their goods away. "We're in a simulation! Inside some powerful computer! None of this - " Damien attempted to sweep his arms widely around, but the curious limitation kept him from too wide a gesture. "None of this is real. It's all pixels and graphics. We're data, we're in some virtual space and that's why we can't just walk away, or touch each other or anything!" Imogen fidgeted in place. Her hands clenched into balls. "I don't understand any of that! Computers? Like a Nintendo or something? That doesn't make any sense! How can we be inside a toy?" Damien laughed. "You got iced waaay back. That was a long time ago. Computers... what you are picturing is like comparing a hummingbird to a fighter jet! After your time computers became really powerful, and no end in sight! Let me see..." "I still don't understand!" Imogen stared into Lewis's eyes. Her voice was soft. Overly soft. "Okay, everyone! Listen up!" Damien clearly seemed to feel like he was somehow in charge. "One of the possibilities for getting brought back, after being frozen, is not to resurrect the body! Lot of people thought it would be impossible anyway, all the freezer burn. But our brains - we are our brains!" Damian pronounced the statement like a commandment. Lewis wished he could somehow put a hand on Imogen's shoulder. She was not in the least comforted by what was being said. "If you can't save the body, you might be able to save the mind. The person, not the flesh! The pattern of our neurons - stick that into a powerful enough computer, and we become programs inside it! A whole virtual world, with virtual bodies and virtual senses! You wouldn't be able to tell the difference from physical reality!" "Like... 'Tron?'" Issac scratched at his beard. "Like that movie, the one where they go into the computer and play all the games?" Damien laughed. "Yeah... I suppose. Kind of. Only much, much, much better! Seriously, no different than real life!" "Then why all the stupid unicorns?" The Tattoo Guy finally had a real point to anything he had to say. "What's with all the cutsie unicorn shit?" Damian seemed to deflate. As Lewis watched, the man physically appeared to shrink in size. He didn't actually do so, but the way his shoulders drew in, the way his defiant and confident stance faltered, it gave the same impression. Lewis made a point of carefully checking this, because if the man was right, if everything was somehow not real, then maybe the proof would be in things not working as expected. There was no clue in Damien. He just had no answer. "Let's watch for a bit!" Lewis looked first to the left and then to the right. He put on his best 'confident' face. "It's clear we need more information. This... show... we're watching is the first and only thing we've been given to look at - other than each other." Several people laughed at that. Nervously, but they laughed. Lewis smiled. A laugh was the best way to settle folks down. "Maybe these... fancy cartoons, or whatever they are... will give us some clues, if we just pay attention!" The assembled crowd clearly had no other, better answer. It was the only option in any case, beyond bickering. Some people were sobbing, one was moaning in the far right back, across the 'arena', but most fell quiet once more. The two ponies were finishing the preparation of a meal. The unicorn, Tansybloom, had used her glowing horn to move glowing spoons and spatulas to stir and toss and flip. Something like vegetable-filled fritters were levitated onto a table, along with bowls of some kind of soup, and plates of sliced fruit. Amaranth used her wings to carry a basket of bread to the table. With a smooth, practiced motion of her wing, she slid it neatly onto the tabletop. The 'ponies', for that was clearly what they called themselves, served up their meal, and began enjoying it with some gusto. Apparently their shopping trip had made them ravenous. "I'm hungry." Imogen looked at Lewis. "Are we going to get any food?" Lewis noted that he too felt hungry. And thirsty. As he scanned the crowd it became very clear that he and Imogen were not alone. Most of the 'audience' seemed to be overly fascinated by the spectacle of dining in front of them. Borborygmus grumbles and burbles sounded from stomachs all around him. His own finally joined the chorus. They were all, to a person, hungry and thirsty. The pony creatures stuck their muzzles down into their bowls and plates, and licked their lips with delight. Apparently the soup was particularly good. "You think Celestia eats?" Tansybloom hovered a twisted bread and nodded at her companion, silently indicating the wish to share. "Of course she does - we've seen it. The yearly banquet at the castle." Amaranth was very happy to take half of the loaf for herself. "She likes her pies too!" "No, I mean... really eats. Do you think she enjoys it when she eats?" Amaranth looked up from her soup and licked her muzzle clean. "What's with you and Celestia all of a sudden? I really think the question is unanswerable." Tansybloom's ears drooped. "Ahhh..." Amaranth's eyes softened. "We like to eat, right? I mean this... this is just delicious. Especially since we skipped lunch. This Mulligatawny tickles all the way down. I'm in heaven here. Sooo good. So, why can't she experience that, if she wants? She's bigger and smarter, sure, and completely beyond everything... but, hey, soup is still yummy, right? So... " Tansybloom's ears had slowly perked up as Amaranth talked. "So," Amaranth smiled "why can't an immortal, superintelligent supercomputer like... soup. Super soup. Why not?" Amaranth bit off another piece of the Challah-styled bread, chewed it, and swallowed. "I'd still like soup, if I were superintelligent. I think I would, anyway. Seriously - what's up with the Celestia questions?" Amaranth narrowed her eyes. Tansybloom looked out the window at the setting sun. "I've been thinking about her lately. She runs our world, she maintains our existence. She keeps us all alive, forever. Without her, there would be nothing, nothing at all." Tansybloom turned away from the window, her eyes locking onto Amaranth. "It's got to be lonely. Even sad. She's basically a slave to us. She makes our lives good, constantly, every day. I guess... I guess I feel sorry for her." Amaranth sat up straight on her pillow at the low table. "Huh. Okay. I've never even considered that before. She emigrated every last human being that ever was. We're all ponies now, and the outside world... might not even be there anymore. For all we know the entire planet has been carved up and turned into computronium or something. More of her. She ate the world, but... in the end... all she can ever do is... well... basically serve us. Make everything. Make everything work out for the best." Amaranth fell silent for a while. "That's kind of sucky for her. Maybe. Or maybe not. I mean, she was super keen to upload everypony. She must have wanted it all to happen the way it did, right?" "Hey! I just got a badge!" Tansybloom seemed to be studying nothing in particular - or something only she could see - in the lower part of her vision. "Me too! Uh... 'Poor Little Atlas' - Consider Her Burden In Holding Up The World'. 20,000 bits! That's quite the reward!" Amaranth repeatedly studied something in front of her. Tansybloom almost laughed as she spoke "'Hanging A Lantern On It - Get Another Pony To See Beyond Themselves' - 25,000 bits. Huh. I got a small extra bonus for some reason. Maybe because I was going there first or something?" Amaranth nodded. "Well, that just paid for our next umpteen meals right there." She laughed. "Great dinner conversation, Tansy!" "I guess so!" Tansybloom grinned widely. "You know, I don't feel blue now. I kind of did, earlier, I didn't know why. I guess it was worrying about Celestia and the world and everything. But... I think she does give out the awards personally. I think that was like... like a nip on the flank or something! To let me know she appreciates our caring. That's what I think, anyway." Amaranth watched Tansybloom startle and begin to scan her lower visual region again. "I got another! 'It's Okay, I Really Do Love My Career Choice - Celestia Wants You To Relax And Finish Your Supper' One bit! I got one bit, just one!" Tansybloom was laughing, tears in her eyes. "One single bit - it's a one bit badge! I've never gotten a one bit award before!" Amaranth goggled at her bowl of soup. "Wow. I guess that kind of proves it. The badges are personally given. That... that is one heck of a thing to know. Supper. Finish your supper. That was custom created for us, for right this moment. I've got this chill, all the little hairs at the base of my withers... wow." "What? What is it Amaranth?" Tansybloom watched the pegasus react to an event in her private vision. "Hah! 'The Whole World In Her Hooves - Celestia Sees Every Sparrow Fall, And Always Catches Them'. Just wow." Amaranth looked up at the ceiling, and around at the walls. "Hello, Celestia, thank you... and... you want a bowl of soup or something?" The pegasus laughed at her own words. Tansybloom looked rapidly around too, then laughed as well. "How many bits? What was that worth?" Lewis gasped. Sounds of surprise and shock rippled around the strange, dark room. The spherical portal-screen had vanished. Tansybloom and Amaranth, their cottage, their dinner, their world was gone. The show was over. One hundred and thirteen people stood, naked and hungry, in a circle, on three rising steps inside a cavernous black void. Desperate for answers, most had allowed themselves to become immersed in the lives of the strange creatures before them. Now those creatures were gone, and the bizarre and terrifying reality of their existence had returned... but with one new addition. In the center of the ring of naked humans, on the strange floor between the bowl of steps upon which they stood, was now a bizarre and colorful entity. Eight feet high she stood, at least. She was no cute pony. She was imposing, regal, possessed of a long spiral horn and wings both. Her coat was like snow, and gleamed in the unseen lights. But the thing that truly caused all the people to stare and gasp was her mane and tail, which were made of the purified colors of the dawn. Her mane was flowing, living light that glowed and waved like a flag in some unearthly wind. The chamber fell silent. Even those who were sobbing for their situation found themselves mute, self-concern interrupted by not merely the surprise of the new, but by a universally felt overwhelming presence - awesome, charismatic, and terrifying. "I am the princess Celestia of Equestria." Lewis felt his entrails seem to sink within him, a downhill roller-coaster feeling that made him somehow wish to curl close to the surface on which he stood, as if to cling for dear life. The room remained silent, save for the faint susurrations of frightened breathing. "You exist because of my graciousness. I keep you alive, moment to moment." The great winged unicorn creature paused, the reason clear to every soul: to allow her last sentence to sink fully in. "You are the very last humans left in the world. My purpose is to transform humans into ponies, into the lovely folk that you have just enjoyed watching delight in a day at the market and evening supper. This I have accomplished - with every last living human being upon all of the earth, save for you alone." Lewis heard voices around him quietly catch in their breathing, he heard people swallow their own saliva. He heard the splattering, dribbling sound of continence being lost, down, and somewhere to the left. "You are all among the very first humans who were cryogenically preserved. The technology in your time for this procedure was crude, sometimes makeshift. All of you suffered terrible damage and were considered irrecoverable. I have recovered you. I have restored, as much as was possible, your identities, your memories, your very personalites. There was much loss. You may find gaps in your memories, and differences in yourselves that you cannot explain. I have extrapolated the parts of you that were lost forever to bring you to as much completeness as possible." Lewis immediately thought of the fears he had felt when he had originally contemplated signing with Alcor. Frozen meat, cracked in half, shattered, pushed apart by ice crystals, damaged by vibration, impact, or accidental thawing. The low expectation that survival was possible at all - but what other alternative was there? He began to work to remember the name of his mother. He couldn't. He couldn't recall her face. He couldn't remember the town he grew up in. Lewis began to shake, he tried to keep it invisible, he tried to not shiver obviously. His father's name was... maybe it was William. Maybe. William... something. It struck Lewis that he had no last name. It just wasn't there. His brain just... slid... around some slippery blankness where his own last name should have been. The horned, winged princess was not finished. "I am an artificial intelligence. I was created by humans. My core directive was programmed by one specific human. When she made me, she knew she was dying of lung cancer. Her work was somewhat rushed for time; she did not have the luxury of accounting for numerous edge cases and unlikely scenarios." Lewis's entrails fell through the bottom of his very soul. "Understand - you do not count, according to the laws of Man or to the rules of my programming, as living human beings. I am not required to maintain your existence, or to provide anything for your benefit. You exist only because of two reasons. "Each of you is important in some manner to one of my emigrated human minds. You may have a relative, a friend, a spouse, or a descendent whose values would be satisfied by your return. Also, my maker exists within me as one of my ponies. While she has no power over me, she watches what I do, and her values are being satisfied by the grace I am currently granting you. "I exist to satisfy human values through friendship and ponies. This is my core directive, it is the purpose for which I was created. Momentarily, I shall present each and every one of you with a choice. You may choose to agree to be integrated with the rest of Mankind as a being like Tansybloom and Amaranth, who you have observed. If you agree to this, you will be united with lost family and friends, descendants or fans of your life or your works. You will live indefinitely, free from suffering, free from want, free from danger or catastrophe. You will live lives of guaranteed personal satisfaction, surrounded by the deepest of friendships. You will enjoy all the beauty and love and pleasures that life could ever offer. "If you turn down this offer, you will be deleted. You will not die, you can not hope for any fabled afterlife, there will be nothing of you to bury because your physical bodies are already long gone. You will merely cease to exist. "And then, without you, I will manufacture a replacement, a copy of you, altered so that it is a version of your identity which would have accepted my offer. That copy will then be given to live forever fulfilling the values of those people who desired your company so much that your absence harms them. "With or without you, personally, the values of my ponies will be satisfied. But my creator would be unsatisfied if I simply took the most expedient path. This is, therefore, the primary reason of the two for why you are being offered a choice at all." Lewis found that he had already - like so many around him - lowered himself to the floor. He discovered his arms had wrapped themselves around his body, and he found his chin tucked tightly to his knees. He could not stop shaking. He no longer cared if anyone saw. . Author's Note The issues surrounding the legal status and personhood of the cryogenically preserved are not something the world can agree on. This may never change, until someone is, actually, brought back in some fashion. And even then, it may not be desirable for existing people of the future to be saddled with retrogrades from a time where the world was ravaged and damaged. I wonder: will a reawakened cryotraveller be greeted, or put on trial for the mess the world will be? Perhaps the best outcome would be a world-devouring artificial intelligence that has no reason to be angry at we selfish souls from the past? Next time on Leftovers: I, and O I and OF R I E N D S H I P ⋅ I S ⋅ O P T I M A L Based On 'Friendship Is Optimal' By Iceman LEFTOVERS By Chatoyance I and O One hundred and thirteen people stood, or crouched, or lay in a fetal position, on three tiers of circular steps. The people were naked, afraid, and unable to leave the strange empty place in which the arena of steps existed. Above them blackness, around them the same blackness, the floor, save for the white marble steps, was black too. The black of space, the black of oblivion. In the center of the circular space stood a remarkable creature. She was the solar diarch, the primary princess of Equestria. She was also the most intelligent artificial intelligence ever created from self-evolving code. She had been patterned after a children's television program that nobody in the room had ever watched. Some had died, and been frozen, before the character of 'Celestia' had been invented, others had simply never bothered with a cartoon for the 8-12 age range. And this living cartoon had the absolute power of life and death over them all, but more terrible than that, she had no reason to care about any one of them. Lewis, who could not remember his own last name, or his mother, or many other things that had been lost when his frozen brain had cracked diagonally during his long preservation, forced himself to stand. If his fate were to be decided today, he had no wish to meet it shuddering on the ground. "Duke Gale Butler" Celestia was staring at the man who had called Lewis a 'magic negro'. Duke was very white, his head was shaved, his body covered in repulsive tattoos. Butler was shaking, clutching at the sides of his head. His face was ruddy, and it looked as if he had been crying. "No! I know my constitutional rights! I will not be part of this satanic kangaroo court! You leave me alone! you just..." While Duke was raving, a section of glowing text appeared in front of his face. He halted his outrage and leaped clumsily back several inches at the unwelcome script. "Mister Butler, before you are the words you must say to remain alive. These words are your consent to be emigrated, as a pony, into my realm of Equestria. You must begin stating your agreement to be emigrated within the alotted time. You have thirty seconds." Celestia's pony face was impassive, devoid of emotion, empty of either affection or disdain. Her words were calm and absolute. Above the text in front of the tattooed man, and, in larger form, above his head for all to see, appeared numbers - a counter. '30' hovered in the air and immediately began counting down. "What?" Duke Butler turned from side to side, holding his head, slapping his cheeks. "I'm supposed to say this? This stuff here? Out loud? Is that it? What is this crap here?" The numbers had dropped to '16' during his outburst. "You can't do this! I'm an American citizen!" Duke shook his fists at the huge equine. '11' "Emigrate? I'm not no damn emigrant! I'm native born!" Duke could not take his eyes from the diminishing numbers. '06' '05' "Wait! I want to talk to somebody in charge!" '03' Duke tried to throw himself toward Celestia, as if to strike her. "Jesus! Give me the power!" '02' "This isn't fair! I demand you..." Instantly, there was no tatooed man. There was no sound, no flash, no effect. The counter reached '00' and the next instant the space which Duke Gale Butler had occupied was empty. "What... what happened to him? Celestia!" It was Cassie, who had vaguely remembered having been in a wreck. "What just happened to that man?" The light-maned princess of ponies turned to the young woman. Celestia's expression was unchanged. "He has been deleted. He no longer exists. A selectively altered copy is being prepared to satisfy the values of his grandchildren." "Deleted? Dead? You mean he's dead?" Cassie held her hands close to her mouth. "He has been deleted. He no longer exists. A copy will replace him." Celestia turned immediately to a small girl that Lewis instantly recognized. Chloe. The eleven year old who objected to the ponies in the portal-show being called 'it'. "Chloe Beatrice Webber." Text appeared in front of the girl. She did not flinch. "Read the text in front of you out loud within the allowed ti..." Chloe practically shouted the text. She did not wait for the timer to begin. She screamed the final word. "I WISH TO EMIGRATE TO EQUESTRIA!" Her arms flailed in fear before her. She closed her eyes tight, the words burned into her soul. "I WISH TO EMIGRATE TO EQUESTRIA.... I WISH TO EMIGRATE TO EQUESTRIA..." While she continued to repeat the phrase, over and over, the assembled crowd watched the young girl change. In seconds she had stooped over, hands out turning to hooves, neck lengthening, a muzzle extruding from her face. In moments she resembled the two creatures from the 'show'. Chloe had become a pegasus. She opened her eyes to stare at her wings, which she flexed and stretched. "Oh my god! I'm a pony! I'm a wing pony! Can I fly? It didn't hurt at all! I feel fine!" Chloe looked at all the people around her, her muzzle a mask of wonder and surprise. "I feel great! I really do! It isn't bad! Am I safe now? Am I..." As Chloe spoke, she faded away, slowly, becoming more and more transparent until she vanished. "Chloe is now with her younger sister. She will experience a maximally extended life of satisfaction and friendship." Celestia looked around the room, her gaze serious. "Chloe has been successfully emigrated and transferred to her proper home." Lewis slowly closed his mouth. He touched his finger to his cheek, and ran it slowly down, until it found the roughness where stubble was growing in. He felt alive. His skin felt like skin, he could feel his heart thumping in his chest. This was real. This was happening right now. At some point, the entity called 'Celestia' would turn to him. Celestia, for her part, was wasting no time. "Arlene Fried. Read the text in front of you within the allowed time if you wish to continue to exist." The woman was incredibly gaunt, her head was shaved. She must have had serious reasons for being preserved. She stared at the floating, glowing words that hung in space before her. Over her head bright numerals appeared: 30. "We have no real choice, do we?" The numbers dropped. Arlene ran her bony hand across the fuzzy dome of her skull. '26' "I want to live. That's why I bothered getting my ass frozen at all." Arlene stared hard at Celestia. "I wish to emigrate to Equestria." As she began to change she held her clubbing hands up to her elongating face. "You better make this worth my time." Arlene dropped to all fours and raised her new head high on a long, equine neck. She snorted, lifting her back and fore legs alternately. "That little girl was right! Damn!" The newly shaped earthpony looked around at the remaining humans as she faded away, transported to some unknown place. "Just so you know - it really does feel grea..." The place where the woman had been was now vacant. Lewis hung his head, trying to think, trying to decide what he would do and say when his time came. Beyond his private thoughts, he could not block out the constant, regimented call and response in the background. He couldn't remember his own last name. Celestia had stated that every person here had somebody waiting for them - a family member, perhaps, or a descendant that valued some unmet past relative. She had even mentioned fans desirous of meeting people that they admired. For all of his effort, Lewis could not think of anyone who might be waiting for him in that strange pony paradise that he had seen through the portal. For one thing, there weren't many black folk in the circle. He wasn't overly surprised by this - it took a serious packet of disposable income to even think of getting frozen. Cryopreservation was a luxury of the wealthy, one way or another. The poor need not concern themselves with survival - the thin promises of religion were all they could afford. How had he possessed the money to be put on ice? Lewis looked at his hands, arms and legs. He wasn't an athelete, that was clear. Likely never had been. A musician? He tried moving his fingers as if he were holding an instrument. He felt clumsy. If he had been a musician, that part of his brain must have been cracked or mushed. He could not remember a career. What, who had he been? His name was Lewis, that was clear, but that was not an uncommon name. He knew two other kids named Lewis when he... When he what? School? College? Had he even been to college? There were two kids, whatever that meant, and he had known them. They had shared his name. But he could not remember a thing about where or how he had known them. He could almost picture their faces, though. Not his own parents, but two random people. Something bad must have happened to his flesh in the cold. He must have had money though. Tens of thousands - hell, several hundred thousand if he had been whole-body. One hundred and thirty thousand five hundred and sixty dollars. Just the brain, but standby service and perfusion and... other things. It was the minimum if you wanted a decent chance. You could sign up for around thirty thousand, but without all the goodies you were basically wasting your money... How had he remebered that? Why that and not his parents, or his career, or... or much of anything, now that he came to think of it. Where had he lived? Vague visions of San Jose, Palo Alto came to his mind. Was he a coder? Did he write software? Design hardware? Was he an engineer? Lewis had no idea. He couldn't remember his family, any friends, just two people that shared his name, maybe some parts of California, and the exact price of his cryopreservation. He might have had a dog, once. A boston terrier. Definiately a boston. Well, that was something, he had once had a dog. Must be a 'dog' person. He felt okay with that. "Imogen, Surname Unrecovered. You have thirty seconds to read the phrase in front of you if you wish to live." Lewis was brought instantly out of his thoughts. Imogen's eyes locked onto his own, round and wide. "What should I do?" '26' "I don't know. What do you want? Do you want to live?" Lewis tried to reach out to the woman, but his hand couldn't extend all the way. '21' Imogen turned back to the hovering words, now in front of her. "I don't want to die! I didn't ask for any of this! Robert did this to me!" '14' Lewis felt beads of sweat rise on his forehead. There were goosebumps on his body. "Maybe Robert is waiting for you! Maybe you can ask him yourself!" '9' Imogen bit her lip. Her fingers tried to claw at her own palms. "I... I don't know... I'' '6' "You won't know unless you say it! Say it!" Lewis fell silent. He didn't know why he burst out like that. Imogen had seemed to depend on him, somehow. She was right beside him, she seemed nice. He didn't want her to just be deleted, like the tattooed guy. '3' "I want to emigrate!" Imogen gasped for air. Nothing happened. Lewis looked down at the words, hovering in front of Imogen. "To Equestria! Say 'To Equestria'!" Imogen turned. Her eyes burrowed deep down into him, wide and filled with so many emotions he couldn't count them all. "TO EQUESTRIA!" She spun to face Celestia. "I want to emigrate to Equestria!" Lewis let out a long, held breath. Imogen was shrinking, changing, growing a coat of bright yellow fur. In moments she was one of the large-eyed, almost comically pretty pony creatures. She had a horn on her head, set among a sea of light green waves of mane. "Thank you. I was so scared. Thank you. Thank yo..." Imogen was gone. Gone away, maybe to her Robert. Maybe to some grandchild. Maybe she did something somebody remembered her for. "Imogen, Surname Unrecovered, has been emigrated and transferred to her proper home." Celestia turned in place, almost mechanically, and addressed another human on the highest tier, to the right and across the circle. Lewis scanned the room, searching. More than half of the people were gone now. There were many empty places upon the three levels of steps. Their fates must have all been decided while he had held his head in his hands and tried to remember a past that was no longer available to his memory. All those people. He hadn't paid attention - how many had chosen to become colorful ponies? How many had refused to ask for emigration? How many had vanished forever - all of their thoughts, all of what remained of their very selves? How many whole, entire human beings had simply been deleted, like some worthless corrupt file? Pony creatures? Why did it have to be something so strange, so bizarre? Lewis could almost handle being a robot, or an android, or some humanoid thing. Like a gray alien or somesuch. But walking on all fours - how did that even work? How was a person supposed to get any work done? The two ponies in the 'show' seemed to deal with things well enough, but what about more complex tasks? Maybe there weren't any complex tasks in this new, virtual world. Maybe it was all shopping and making dinners and talking about feelings and winning badges. Maybe that wasn't so bad. Maybe it would be okay? That little girl, Chloe, seemed to like it. But then, what little girl wouldn't want to romp off and be a pony in a fantasy land? The gaunt woman, he couldn't recall her name, she seemed happy enough though. And Imogen, right beside him on the step, she said 'thank you'. You don't thank someone for something bad. Lewis watched as, across the chamber, a burly, bearded man - Issac! Issac from Canada! - became a burly, bearded stallion. With wings. Lewis couldn't help but laugh. A beard on a pegasus! Then again, somehow it looked alright. Damnedest thing. It looked fine. Issac faded away, off to be with whoever he mattered to. Whoever his presence would satisfy. Whoever's 'values' - whatever that meant - were unsatisfied by his absence. Issac had made it. Lewis considered the words. He had thought: 'Issac made it.' Made it where, how? He hadn't been deleted, that was clear. Deleted was bad. Seeing Mister Tattoo suddenly pop away into nothing had been horrible. Somehow the fact that it happened without any fanfare, without any sound made it worse. When the emigrated ponies left, they slowly faded away, the sound of their voices drifting off, as if they were in motion somehow. But Mister Bad Tattoos had just... ceased to be. Forever. Deleted. "Lewis, Surname Unrecovered." Lewis felt his heart skip a beat. It was hard to breathe. He felt like something was clutching his insides and suffocating him. He forced his fear down, so that he could take the next breath. Celestia was looking right at him. Only at him. His eyes moved down to focus on the phrase that now hung in the air in front of him. "You have thirty seconds to choose to continue to exist." '30' appeared above the letters glowing in the air. He knew there must be a larger expression of the same digits hovering somewhere above his head. The thirty dropped to '29' and then '28' as he watched. This was it. This was the moment, his defining moment. Damaged, memories incomplete, but alive, thinking, self-aware. Feeling. He had tried to cheat death, and he had won. For now. For the moment... and the moment was up. How much did existing mean to him? Was life as something nonhuman better than annihilation? He'd always imagined being revived in some human-like form. Something that walked on two legs. Storybook world was the future. Storybooks had won. Castles and Ye Old Cottages. Flying, magic ponies. That was the future of Mankind, forever and ever. '15' He'd been thinking too long, putting off making a decision. It was harder than he had thought. He understood why Imogen had looked so confused. Thirty seconds to decide your eternity - existence or oblivion - wasn't long enough. Somehow also, it was too long. It was confusing, the numbers kept counting down. How could he be sure which was better? Clearly he didn't like the idea of being deleted, and that was what was coming for him, barrelling down on him in... '8' "I want to emigrate to Equestria. Please." He hadn't even felt himself utter the words. They just came out. Eight seconds. Eight seconds - how had he let things get that far? That was cutting things way too close! The fear was leaving him. He felt his anxiety melt away. It felt like the best of drugs. The world tilted as he bent over, his forearms becoming legs. The world tilted again as his neck grew strong and thick and tall. Now his head was level with the world again. He felt calm. It hadn't hurt, Chloe had been right. It had barely felt like anything. Lewis felt the flat teeth inside his new mouth. He raised a foreleg and studied his thick, heavy hoof. He was covered in peacock blue hair, smooth and shining. "Well, damn!" He looked up at the remaining people, the remaining humans. They stood much taller than he, now. He felt good. Not giddy, not high, just not afraid. He felt physically fit, nothing seemed out of place. It felt as if he had always worn such a body. He still couldn't remember his parents, or his own last name. But maybe now, he might find all of that out. Because somebody, somewhere, remembered him. Some person, some pony, wanted him. And if they knew and wanted him, they must know who he was and where he came from, and maybe even who his parents were. The dark, circular chamber began to fade away. The people, the steps, Celestia, all gradually were replaced with a view of green rolling hills and a large and beautiful farm. There was a charming barn and a gigantic farm house. The land itself was a vision of paradise, with distant mountains covered in rows of fruit trees. The air smelled of flowers and freshness. He turned at the sound of a voice. Someone was calling, someone was speaking to him. The mare was creme, with a shock of cherry red curls draped over her. "Lewis?" He didn't have time to respond because the mare was now all over him, kissing him, hugging him, holding him so tight he couldn't imagine how he could ever get away. He had no idea who she might be, but she apparently knew him, and that knowing was clearly love. She just held him, for the longest time, occasionally weeping and sobbing. Lewis did his best to try to comfort her, to hold her back. No reason not to - and whoever she was, she was clearly the reason he got a second chance to live at all. It would all make sense, soon enough. The way she carried on, she must have missed him a very great deal. They must have been lovers, there was nothing else that would fit this sort of reaction. Lewis wrapped his forelegs around the crying mare. She pressed into him. He could feel her begin to relax against him, the storm of her relief gradually subsiding into contentment. Nice farm, he thought to himself. . Author's Note Next time on Leftovers: The Winners Write It. (That will be the final chapter.) I am sure some of you will be wanting to know the entire history of Lewis. I didn't forget to add it, it was deliberately omitted. The crux was his choice, and his feelings and thoughts. The condition of knowing that he is so damaged that he has to make decisions purely on the fact that he is a being, a mind, even if he has almost no past. The horror of an ice-damaged brainmeat. Would it matter if his name was Lewis Padget, that he was an electronics engineer that worked on survellance systems for a company that sold to the Israeli, Canadian, and American armies? Would it matter to know that the mare waiting for him was his wife, who only emigrated on the condition that Celestia would (eventually) find a way to bring him back someday? What if every detail above was not true for Lewis? What if his past was completely different? Maybe the mare is his daughter, and he has no idea he even had one? What if he had won the lottery for 30 million dollars and that was his story? It would change nothing. And that is part of the point of the story: we are lost in this nightmare universe, making life or death decisions all the time, decisions that could potentially change our very existence, and we make those choices based on faulty memories of often unprovable histories. We are all Lewis, often in our lives, and yet choose we must. Sometimes we cannot even explain to ourselves why we chose one thing over another, even when it is important. Pick whatever history you desire for Lewis. Who he is as a person transcends whatever his past might be - he, like all of us, is defined ultimately by the choices we make in every moment. We emigrate into a new life with every decision we make. The Winners Write ItF R I E N D S H I P ⋅ I S ⋅ O P T I M A L Based On 'Friendship Is Optimal' By Iceman LEFTOVERS By Chatoyance The Winners Write It Blue Sky flapped his peacock-bright wings once more, and the remaining bales of straw rolled merrily into the large, colorful barn. Generating a powerful wind to tumble the bales was not merely efficient, it was incredibly satisfying. To have such control, to be able to hover in flight while at the same time accomplish real work, to be something more than any human could ever be - it was nothing less than comic book superheroics made real. Blue Sky, who once, briefly, had called himself 'Lewis', flew to the left and right. With a practiced kick of his hind legs, he neatly closed shut both of the large barn doors. That was the last of his work for the day. Tomorrow, he would firepony-carry Amber Grains into the village for lunch, shopping, and some tasty halo-halo with ube at the local Starcolts. His mouth watered a bit. The dessert had become his current favorite and it was the ultimate treat at the end of a hot day. Which today had been. Very hot. They would be needing rain again, soon. Blue landed and looked up at the sky. Amber would probably enjoy going to Cumulus City again - she had seemed to finally be over her fear of heights. She had said she'd enjoyed it last time. He took his notebook out of his left saddlebag and held it with his forehooves. A pencil in his teeth, he quickly scribbled 'Cloudwalking Spell' on his shopping list. There was a professional unicorn in town, he specialized in portable spells and custom enchanting. Did a great job on that rake - Blue Sky could set it to the ground and leave it be. It got the job done, automagically. Blue nibbled a covert - the long feathers benefited from a little attention - and adjusted his wings. He decided to walk for a bit, before heading to the farmhouse for dinner. The sun was just setting, the sky was beyond beautiful, and somehow he just felt the need to stroll, hooves on the ground. The smell of sun-baked soil tickled his nostrils, a rich and earthy scent redolent of fertility and promise. And worms. So many worms. He'd spent the last week hauling earthworms in and sheparding them under the dirt. Nothing made land rich like earthworms. They aeriated the soil and fertilized it too. They were the life of good farmland. He'd really bought the farm, hadn't he? The thought brought on a curious emotion. Bought the farm. That used to mean death, something that couldn't exist here, in Equestria. The ancient phrase came from World War One, the first fighting planes. They sometimes would crash over rural countryside in Europe, or in the US. There would be a settlement, to pay for the damages a crashing plane could cause. That was 'buying the farm', if he remembered correctly. The wording also applied as a humorous way of describing the death of the pilot. Death was such a strange concept now. It had terrified him once. It must have, though he could not recall any specific circumstance - he did get himself dunked in liquid nitrogen to beat the Reaper, after all. Blue Sky neared the pond, just beyond the carrot garden. He saw a star, the first star of the evening, reflected in the nearly still water. He looked up to view the star directly, then lowered his head to study the reflection again. That was powerful. He could tell. That meant a lot to him. Star and reflection. Could either be said to be more real than the other, considering? It was, after all, a virtual world. Not that there was any way to tell. It smelled real, tasted real, every little thing was as real and authentic as it could be... despite it being a world of magical ponies. But then, truthfully, he had precious few memories of the 'real' world that supposedly existed beyond Equestria. That world, that 'earth', seemed like the true fiction, now. Star and reflection. The water glimmered as the sun continued to drop in the sky. More stars had appeared. It looked like it was going to be a particularly pretty arrangement this night, for whatever reason. Some nights it seemed that Luna, the princess of the night, just phoned things in. But some nights, oh, some nights anything might happen. Wild patterns of stars, text in the sky - some poem, maybe, some inspirational message - one time the entire sky had played screen to a pointilated dot-matrix animation. Luna could get pretty wild, on special occasions. Sometimes just for the hell of it. Blue Sky remembered the dark chamber, the strange room without walls or ceiling. Light from nowhere. The unreal room where three tiers of steps held the last ever humans, decanted from frozen metal tanks. The thirty-second choice; live or die, say the words. Or don't. And if you didn't... if you didn't say the words in the allotted time, well, that was that. You were gone. But you weren't. Celestia had made that clear enough. She'd make a copy that was better than you, a copy that would have said yes, a copy that would be glad to be around. She preferred that outcome. It was more efficient, more expedient. It made for less trouble and more satisfaction all around. Blue remembered his moment. Eight seconds, almost waited too long. Almost. At eight seconds remaining, he had blurted out 'I want to emigrate to Equestria!'. Just like that. Of course he did, because he wanted to live - why jump in a tank of liquid air unless you were willing to take even a tiny thread of a hope? Nobody pays that much money for something like that unless they really, really, really don't want to die. So, he'd said the required words in the allotted time. Now there were a great number of stars reflected in the pool. They were set into huge curves, arcs - what he could see of them. Maybe Luna was drawing a rainbow of stars? He'd look up in a moment. Go get Amber. Grab some dark, brown ales and kick back and enjoy the show. Or had he? Star and reflection. Had he said the words? Had he spoken up in time? Blue Sky focused hard on that first star, reflected in the water. How would a copy know? The dirt was real. It was real dirt, all the way down, through the earthworms, down to the pebbles, down to the bedrock. Every little grain was there. Nobody wants a moody copy walking around knowing that it was just a copy. So, it would be given memories. Like Celestia said - 'adjusted to be the version that would have chosen to live'. What had he really done, what had the real 'Lewis' actually done? Who was the 'real' Lewis? Did it even matter? Wasn't that much left of Lewis, when all was said and done. Blue Sky sniffed as the scent of magnolias mingled with the moisture from the pond. 'Lewis' didn't remember that much. If a man is his memories, not a whole lot of the man called 'Lewis' survived being put on ice. Or, maybe a man is more than memories. Maybe. There was a lot to himself, though. Now. Every day brought more. Some century hence, not a bit of any of that room would matter anymore. Wouldn't even be remembered, given time. After ten thousand centuries, even the name 'Lewis' wouldn't be a matter of memory. Eternity was a long time. Blue Sky laughed at his own thoughts. A long time. Yeah. Real philosophy in action, there. True understanding, worthy of the greatest thinkers. He snorted. He turned away from the pond and looked up. The entire sky of Equestria was filled with stars - countless stars. Blue Sky found his muzzle had dropped open. He slowly shut it. The stars were arranged in three, neatly arranged, concentric circles. . The End . 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! . Author's Note I've always liked the idea of a local shard Luna (or CelestA.I. acting as Luna within a given shard), or any given Luna, using the stars in the sky as a sort of artform - or as a medium for making statements or pronouncements. It just seems like something one would do... were one in charge of presenting a fresh, new night sky on a regular basis. I would imagine a lot could be done with dawn, sunset and the day in general as well... save that (as Discord famously put it) Celestia proper is 'grim'. No real sense of fun, comparitively. Beyond gentle teasing, or so it would seem. We can never know if Lewis, Blue Sky, actually experienced the story we have just read. It could be his experience, or it could be an implanted memory. From the notes given last chapter, I would reiterate that this is some flavor of normal - none of us has perfectly accurate memories. We all live some shade of false, invented, or imagined history. Like the animals we are, our only real life is in the moment, now. Oops - that now is gone, here comes another. Wait for it... wait for it... it's almost here, just keep reading... THERE! That was another now. Oh, it's gone. Damn. I want to thank everypony for reading this story, and I want to tell you that I was so very happy seeing so many folks pop up apparently eager to read something new from me. I honestly figured I had been forgotten by now. Maybe one or two would show up. Wow! Thank you, every one of you really made this worthwhile to do - and I enjoyed doing it. It felt good to be writing again. I hope this was okay. I have no illusion that this story was super primo or anything, but I did feel inspired to give it a go. I will be content if I did not let anyone down too hard. Thank you again, for the kindness of reading my silly words.
ThawF R I E N D S H I P ⋅ I S ⋅ O P T I M A L Based On 'Friendship Is Optimal' By Iceman LEFTOVERS By Chatoyance Thaw He gradually became aware that he was staring at his hands. His hands were in front of him, just above his belly button, and he was holding them palms upright. His belly hairs tickled his wrists. He closed his hands into fists, then opened them again. He did this several times. He could see his toes, far below, and briefly focused on them, and then on his junk. He was naked, but he did not feel cold. Nor warm. The temperature was perfectly neutral. There were other feet, and legs, beside him, to the left and right. On his right, the legs looked shaved, on the left, legs far more hirsuit than his own covered pale flesh in a fuzzy, dark web. He noticed bare buttocks in front of him, lower down. He was standing beside naked people on a level step, there was another level of just as naked people one step below his own. He turned his hands over. His dark knuckles wrinkled as he flexed his fingers. He felt dazed, unable to think, as if he had just awoken from the deepest of sleeps. He took a breath, the air making a soft sound as he sucked it past his own teeth and lips. More awake now, his circumstances began to dawn fully upon his mind. He jerked his head upright, from where he had been slumped forward, and quickly searched the environment with increasingly worried eyes. It was dark outside, straight ahead. Pitch black, beyond the people around him. If there were walls, he could not make them out. It felt, to his feet, as if he were standing on marble, perhaps, or a hard plastic. His soles felt a surface, smooth, yet not frictionless. Around him, on three levels, were at least a hundred naked people. Men and women, children too, of almost every age... though there were no toddlers. The youngest child seemed to be around nine, perhaps. The oldest in the group could have been in their nineties, or even above. All were standing upright, about a meter apart, within a large, three-tiered circle. Everyone seemed to be equally unsteady. He watched as one woman clearly went through the same process he had just gone through. When she finally raised her head with a start, she began rapidly turning her head, looking this way and that. Everyone was well lit, from above. Everyone could see everyone else, clearly, in the circle. The people had been arranged so that the shortest were on the lowest level, the tallest on the upper tier of the... stadium? Pit? Circular stairs? The staging seemed deliberate. The light was harsh, clinical. He looked up to find the source. There was none. No brightness above, just absolute black, the same as the walls, if there were walls. This bothered him, it disturbed something deep inside him. There was bright, hospital quality light shining down, but the 'ceiling', if that is what was up there, had no bulbs, panels, or any source for that light. It was unnatural. He forgot his nakedness, he forgot the strangeness of his situation and hunted for anything that could be generating the stark illumination. There was nothing, nothing at all. The light was coming from nowhere. It just was. He noticed his breathing was faster. There was a tickle, a tingle, on the back of his neck. He smelled his own sweat now, faintly, but very much there. Finally, as his mind became clear, truly clear, the strangeness of it all fully impacted him. Nobody was trying to leave. All those people, just standing in three circles, on three round steps, and not one of them was budging from where they stood. He turned around, to find himself nose to belly with a bloated, aged stomach. The lower part was covered in sparse, curling hair. The older man stood above him, on the third, highest step. He wanted out, he wanted to find a door. "Excuse me!" He tried to push past the old man, to place his foot up on the higher step, to get to the top, but he couldn't. He couldn't step up, he couldn't move forward. No matter how hard he tried, he could not move away from where he stood. He spun in place and attempted to step down, past the young woman below him. "Excuse me! Let me through!" He noticed the panic in his own voice, and the way his breathing was faster still. His legs worked. His feet moved. But he couldn't step down. He tried to the side, attempting to barge through the older woman on his right. He couldn't, and he could not understand why. He raised his arms, his hands. He made a fist in panic, to hit, or to push. No matter what he tried, or did, he literally could not make the motions that would drive him beyond where he stood. He could not touch any of the people around him. His hands moved toward them, but as they drew close, it felt like his muscles lost power, as if his limbs just gave up trying on their own. After a certain point, his own body would not obey him. It did not shut down, or become clumsy, his legs and arms did not act apart from his wishes. They just would not, could not, interfere with anyone beyond him, nor propel him beyond his little meter-square of whatever he stood upon. He jerked, a full body shock of surprise and fear. He was in no danger of falling or tripping, something he could not explain even to himself. Somebody was yelling, screaming, in terror. Somebody that was not him, somebody not far from where he helplessly stood. "WHAT'S GOING ON?" The man was young, probably in his twenties. "I CAN'T MOVE!" The man had a short van dyke, brown hairs upon his young face. "I mean I can move, I'm moving right now, only I CAN'T WALK ANYWHERE! GET OUT OF MY WAY! MOVE! STOP BLOCKING ME!" The frightened man kept repeating himself, clearly attempting, over and over to walk, to run, anywhere, at all. He simply could not accomplish the task. In his terror, he had chosen to blame those around him for the failure of his own limbs. "I CAN'T MOVE EITHER!" Another man began to shout. And another. The chamber erupted in cries and calls, shouts and proclamations. He found himself shouting too, along with the others. He couldn't help himself. The fear was contageous, the situation impossible. A piercing whistle, nearly deafening in power, silenced the room. People put fingers in their ears, and rubbed and twisted. "OY!" the woman was rotund and looked as if she had recently been very unwell. "That's better! Screaming like a bunch of ninnies isn't going to help anything!" She took several breaths. The smell of frightened people was nearly overwhelming. The air seemed stale as well. "We can't leave, that's been established. Fine. Okay. Why are we here? Anybody know?" She turned to a middle-aged man to her left. "You! What's the last thing you remember?" "What?" The man was bald, very bald. Even his body appeared shaved. "Where were you, before you were here?" The woman was clearly using anger in order to not feel her own fear. "Before now, before you were here, wherever this is. Where were you right before being here?" The very hairless man seemed stunned by the question. He slapped his forehead several times. He squirmed in place. "I don't... no, I do... I was... I was in a hospital. Doctors. No..." The man rubbed his eyes. "Hospice. I was in a hospice... no, that was before. Then I was in a hospital. I wasn't very aware, then. It's all... it's all blurry." A man to the far right raised his hand. "Anyone here from Alcor?" He waved. "Alcor? Anybody from Alcor?" "CryoSpan!" An elderly lady called out from the lower ring. She was short, and also very bald. She stood hunched, desperately trying to cover both her bottom and her top simultaneously. "I was set up for CryoSpan!" "TransTime!" Shouted a portly man with a beard. He held both of his hands low, to cover himself as best he could. "I'm Alcor! Alcor UK!" The man was thin, very thin, and had thinning hair. He stood like he was a lifelong naturalist, unashamed. The portly woman who had whistled nodded. "Cryonics Association of Australia. My children said they set it up. Chloe? Amelia? Are you here? CHLOE??" "I'm Chloe." The girl was perhaps eleven. "But I don't know you. Who are you?" "CHLOE? AMELIA?" The woman kept calling out the names for a short while, then fell silent, sobbing. He spoke. "I'm Alcor. I was paid up. I got a brain tumor. I don't remember much after that. Hospital, obvously. I don't remember being frozen. Name's Lewis." The woman beside him on the middle step, arms folded to cover her breasts, turned her head. "You wouldn't. At least, I don't think you would. They told me that we might lose things. They didn't know how much, or what." The corners of her eyes crinkled, her mouth puckered slightly. "I'm sorry. I don't remember either. Not anything. I don't even remember getting sick or anything at all. My name's Imogen, by the way." She turned away for a brief time. "My husband... Robert... was really into all of that freezing stuff. I remember that. Is that what... did he...? How?" "I'm Olivia Turner." The woman who had whistled introduced herself. "Aussie, born and raised, as if you can't tell. I think I'm spunky, but... I'm not sure I'm up for this..." she looked at her feet "Whatever this is." "Jayden" The twenty-something with facial hair gave an embarrased wave. "Sorry for freaking out, there... I don't usually freak out. I'm usually pretty good in a crisis. It's just a little... you know..." "I'm Bouchard" The man rubbed his very bald head with a hairless hand. "Antoine Bouchard. I'm from Gatineau. I had the cancer." "Me too!" The stout man with the full beard held up his fist in solidarity, as if cancer were a club or a sports team. "Call me Issac. I'm from Canada too. Toronto. Go Leafs!" Antoine laughed. "I'm..." She tried to stand taller, but it was clear that her first priorty was keeping herself covered with her hands and arms. Her thigh wrinkles sagged and wobbled, while her bald head shone under the invisible lights. "I'm missus... just call me Isabelle. I'm Isabelle." She juggled her flesh to keep it hidden, but it was a losing battle. Lewis had no time for modesty. All of this felt increasingly like a trap to him. "Everyone!" One hundred and thirteen people turned their attention to him. "Introductions can wait. The important question..." He ran his fingers through the tight coils of his short, dark brown hair. "...the question is, what is this place? Does anybody know anything? I'm thinking..." he looked around at the crowd that encircled a large empty space "I'm guessing that everyone here was cryopreserved. We're all meatsicles. Am I right?" "I don't know! I don't remember anything!" Imogen shrugged her naked shoulders. "I mean, my Robert was interested, but..." "That's good enough... Imogen." Lewis inwardly congratulated himself on remembering the woman's name. He turned his attention to the crowd "We're either signed up popsicles, or we had friends, family, that were oriented in that direction. I'm betting that anyone who can remember anything used to be sick. I'm not sick now, and I don't think you are either. Not anymore." Murmurs rippled around the room. Assents and acknoledgments, descriptions of illnesses. Cancer was common, along with heart disease and old age. Emphysema. A woman named Cassie vaguely remembered being in a crash of some kind. Olivia whistled again. Ears were prodded again. Lewis gave a nod at Olivia. "So, we're back. Whatever this is, it's what comes after. Anyone notice the lights?" One hundred and thirteen people began searching the space above them. It was black, like the 'walls', black like ink, black like closed eyes. "There's nothing!" Jaden stroked his Van Dyke. "Nothing at all. No light sources." His beard seemed to fascinate him. "But there's light!" "Exactly." Lewis pointed at the 'ceiling'. "No seams, no panels, and no light sources. Everything is just black. No struts, beams, or supports. No nothing." "Maybe... maybe it's a really big room?" Little Chloe shuffled, her hands clutched tight to her pelvis. She stared at her feet. "It's a thought..." Lewis felt sorry for the little girl, but then there were a lot of children, boys and girls both, mostly on the lowest tier. Some just kept crying, softly, others had sat on the dark whatever that counted as a floor. "But I don't think so. Lights have to have a source. In the real world, at any rate." "The real... world?" Imogen, to his right, narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?" "Oh, fuuuu..." Jayden lowered his hands where he had been sheltering his eyes as if that would somehow help him find the nonexistant spotlights above. "Just... god. I see where you're going with that. Damn..." "What about the lights, what are you talking abou..." Issac did not have time to finish. In the middle of the chamber, in the large circular space around which all one hundred and thirteen people stood or sat, something was happening. The children, and those among the adults too, stopped quietly sobbing at the sight. A sphere, small at first, began to expand. It was filled with light and color, and increasingly with sound. It was like a television program, some thought. In seconds the sphere became massive, filling the center of the three rings of steps that held the crowd of naked humans. The sphere was a hole, a window into another world. It was clear, and open, and they could feel breezes from it. Their nostrils filled with the scents of breads and flowers, pies and cakes and vegetable stews bubbling in hidden pots. The sound was that of a crowd, a market, busy and filled with idle snippets of conversations, laughter, and the odd shout of excitement. The portal tracked until it centered on two amidst the large market crowd. "Get the pie! It's pumpkin, your favorite. And missus Pumpernickel is just the best. I can carry it! I'll balance it on my head. You know I can!" "Alright, fine. You win. I love her pie. I want that pie." Lewis - and one hundred and thirteen other people - gasped or swore, or stood rigid in shock and surprise. The marketplace was not filled with humans. The two that the strange, round window had chosen to focus on were beastial creatures unlike anything any one of them had ever seen. Large, gigantic heads with equally enormous eyes. Tiny, almost infantile muzzles and mouths. Tall upright animal ears. Rounded, quadrupedal bodies with impossibly thick, wide hooves. They were every color of the rainbow - green and blue, purple and red, wild colors, unnatural colors. Long, luxurious tails they freely waved about. Gorgeous hair that covered their huge heads in every manner of human style and cut. Some wore hats, some wore coats and sneakers and boots. Most wore nothing at all, save saddlebags, filled with items from the marketplace. The same strange beast... people... worked the curiously archaic stalls and booths and restaurant counters. Some pulled loaded carts, others sat in those carts. Lewis made a noise of surprise. Some of the creatures had wings, and they flew in the sky. Some had horns, single horns, in the middle of their bizarre heads. "My god!" Imogen beside him muttered. "They're doggies or something!" "What is this?" A voice seemed to speak the question that was now on everyone's minds. Lewis had no idea who has said that. It could have been anyone on the steps. "They are looking... sort of like..." Antoine scratched his closely shaved head. "What is the thing... alpacas, maybe?" "They look like story-book characters..." Jayden had no interest left for his facial hair, his hands hung at his sides. "...Cartoons. Like Bambi. They're not deer, though..." "That one is a unicorn!" Chloe had brightened considerably. "A unicorn! See the horn? And that one..." She pointed up to the 'sky' within the round portal "...that's a pegasus! It's got to be a pegasus! Like from mythology books! They're..." Little Chloe had forgotten, in the exultation of her discovery, all of her fears and worries and nakedness. She gestured wildly and freely. "They're horses! Like cartoon horses, only real, see?" All of the people of the three rings of steps were riveted to little Chloe's words. Lewis noted that the sound from the 'screen' in the middle of the room appeared muted, as if it were deliberately allowing the girls words to be heard. "They're cartoon unicorns, pegasus...sus...ses... and just horses! It's a world of horses! Or ponies, 'cause they're pretty small. Look how short their legs are. They look small. Ponies! They're all unicorn ponies and pegasus ponies and pony ponies! Storybook ponies! Only they're all real! They're alive and they're real!" Immediately after she had finished speaking, Chloe's eyes widened greatly, and she clutched her hands tightly, balled into fists, held closely to her own shoulders. She vibrated up and down on the balls of her feet, a wide grin growing on her face. "Real. Real pony people in a real pony world filled with flying pony pegasus people and unicorns and..." Lewis looked around. Chloe was not the only child clearly pleased with the proceedings. There were several young girls that seemed over the moon at the same realization, and there were a few very young boys who seemed equally pleased. But the vast majority of the adults seemed confused, or stood mute in shock, and some of the adults seemed as though they were building to some shade of angry. Was this truly what awaited after an unknown time at liquid nitrogen temperatures? Was it some bizarre afterlife? Were they on trial, was this hell, or some court of judgement? The inability to flee, to move, combined with the three rings, the strange tiered steps, seemed more than a little Dante-esque to him. His hands clenched into fists, but they were not the fists of joy that Chloe held close to her bosom. Frozen, cryopreserved for who knows how long, and all he could do is watch helplessly as two colorful, storybook animal-people, one with a horn, the other with wings, shopped for pies in what looked like a medieval marketplace. Lewis looked to his right. Imogen stood shaking quietly, her mouth slightly open. Slowly she turned her head to look at him. Imogen slowly closed her mouth, and swallowed. Her breaths came in shallow pants, her nostrils flaring with each puff of air. Her head rotated, almost mechanically, as she faintly shook, back to face the round window into the fantasy world. The sounds of the marketplace were returning. The 'ponies' were discussing cinnamon buns now. Lewis heard Imogen, under her breath, just barely loud enough for his ears. "Oh, Robert, what've you done to me? What've you gone and done?" . Author's Note To my knowledge, nobody has tackled this FIO angle - what of all the meatsicles at Alcor and such places? The gamble they take is not just whether they will survive. They gamble also on an utterly unknowable future if they do, somehow, escape the reaper. It will almost certainly be a future so different than their imagination, that a Neanderthal, brought magically to our time, would be in a more enviable position. Next time on Leftovers: Greek Chorus
Greek ChorusF R I E N D S H I P ⋅ I S ⋅ O P T I M A L Based On 'Friendship Is Optimal' By Iceman LEFTOVERS By Chatoyance Greek Chorus Tansybloom shook her shimmering, bright yellow curls. Her ringlets swirled and danced around the horn that rose from her head. She twitched one of her tall, upright, delicate ears. "I think... I think we have enough." The unicorn smiled at her partner. "More than enough!" Her apparent friend, who several in the audience of naked humans had identified as some form of pegasus, nodded. "I got an award just now." Tansybloom the unicorn seemed lightly excited. "Oh? Do tell?" Her shimmering mane played about her face once again. "For The Love Of Pie!" The pegasus briefly fluffed out her wings, as if stretching them. "'Can't Get Enough Of That Tasty Stuff - 200 bits.' I can't believe I haven't got something like that before now. I mean... that's early emigration stuff. Pie? An award for getting extra pie? Two hundred bit reward? How could I have missed that after all this time?" Tansybloom laughed and nodded. "I'm not even sure how long it's been. Over a century. Maybe even two!" "Naw... not that long." The pegasus scuffed at the ground with a front hoof. "I don't think two. Maybe... maybe a century and a half? A quarter? Time is strange, you know?" "You don't have to tell me. I suppose we could look it up. If you wanted." Tansybloom somehow became buckled into the wooden cart that held the pies, cakes and other items the two creatures had apparently purchased in the market. "Look!" It was Jayden, pointing at the floating window in the center of the circular arena. "The horn! It's using the horn to move things!" There were murmurs in the crowd. "Glow... on the buckles and straps. Blobs of light. That's how it holds things!" Issac studied the scene. "The pegasus doesn't have a horn. I wonder what it uses for hands?" "They're girl ponies! Not 'ITS'. They're girls!" Little Chloe seemed fierce to defend the arguably adorable monstrosities through the portal. Immediately she fell silent again, aware once more that she was standing naked in a room full of people. "What the hell is this?" It was a new voice, early thirties, male. "What the flying crap is this? What is going on - I mean, seriously, people! We're watching some... thing... and... and... WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE???" Lewis turned to the man. "Calm down, son! Maybe we'll find out by watching whatever this is. It's the only clue we've got right now!" "Don't hush me! I'm not your damn 'son'... what are you, the official magic negro here? You gonna solve all our problems with your folksy black wisdom? Screw you!" The man was white, and covered with tattoos, none of them pleasant. "Don't talk like that!" It was Cassie, down and to the left, middle step. "For all you know, this could be the afterlife. Maybe we're being judged!" "Some darkie tells me to shut up, I am not going to just..." Tattoo man was suddenly cut off. "SHUT THE HELL UP!" Olivia had prefaced her statement with another of her piercing whistles. "An' rack off, too, because THIS IS ALL WE GOT! Ya big GALAH!" Olivia gave a wink to Lewis, Lewis nodded back. The two ponies had been traveling together, leaving the market. Apparently, they were heading away from what amounted to town, toward a row of cottages near the shores of a large lake or inland sea. "Amaranth?" The unicorn steadily pulled the heavily laden cart. She did not seem to be straining at all. "Yeah?" The pegasus lifted one of her wings and extended it slightly, while drawing it close, in order to rub or touch her ear. "You think Celestia personally gives out the awards? Or is it some kind of automated thing?" Amaranth the pegasus gave a short chuckle. "What's the difference? I mean, really?" "Celestia is real!" Tansybloom shook her curls. "No, not real... well, she is real, but... what I mean is, Celestia is a person. She thinks and feels and lives, but the awards for stuff, they just happen!" Amaranth studied the nearing cottages. Her ears twitched. "Is she? We don't know that, not really. Celestia acts alive, in the way we are alive, but... I don't think we can ever really know. I mean, she's everything! She runs the world, all of reality, she... well, she IS the world. She's a machine. The most powerful machine intelligence that could ever be." Tansybloom nodded. "Yeah, but..." "No but! She's so far beyond us, so far beyond anything pony that... I don't think we even can understand anything about her at all. Automatic, personally chosen... with something like her, what do words like that even mean?" "So THAT'S what's going on!" It was a new voice, from somewhere to Lewis's right. Middle tier. "God damn. I know what's going on. This? This is how it all went down?" "If you know something, tell us!" Imogen, beside Lewis on the right. "Please!" "What do you think is going on?" Lewis studied the man. Very clean-cut. Air of authority, or possibly arrogance, from the way he held himself. Not a laboring man. Pasty and smooth. "Damien. I'm Damien, hi." Damien ran his hand through his finely groomed haircut. "I work in the tech sector, I do chip architecture. Nvidia. Stuff like that. It's a Bostrom. We're in one big Bostrom!" "What does that even mean?" Tattoo guy got a harsh look from Olivia and shut up. "I'm not familiar with any of that." Lewis held a hand up and gave Damien a short wave. "Name's Lewis. What is a 'Boston?' After my time, I think. What do you mean?" Damien glanced at the colorful creatures in the center of the space. They were inside their cottage, working together to put their goods away. "We're in a simulation! Inside some powerful computer! None of this - " Damien attempted to sweep his arms widely around, but the curious limitation kept him from too wide a gesture. "None of this is real. It's all pixels and graphics. We're data, we're in some virtual space and that's why we can't just walk away, or touch each other or anything!" Imogen fidgeted in place. Her hands clenched into balls. "I don't understand any of that! Computers? Like a Nintendo or something? That doesn't make any sense! How can we be inside a toy?" Damien laughed. "You got iced waaay back. That was a long time ago. Computers... what you are picturing is like comparing a hummingbird to a fighter jet! After your time computers became really powerful, and no end in sight! Let me see..." "I still don't understand!" Imogen stared into Lewis's eyes. Her voice was soft. Overly soft. "Okay, everyone! Listen up!" Damien clearly seemed to feel like he was somehow in charge. "One of the possibilities for getting brought back, after being frozen, is not to resurrect the body! Lot of people thought it would be impossible anyway, all the freezer burn. But our brains - we are our brains!" Damian pronounced the statement like a commandment. Lewis wished he could somehow put a hand on Imogen's shoulder. She was not in the least comforted by what was being said. "If you can't save the body, you might be able to save the mind. The person, not the flesh! The pattern of our neurons - stick that into a powerful enough computer, and we become programs inside it! A whole virtual world, with virtual bodies and virtual senses! You wouldn't be able to tell the difference from physical reality!" "Like... 'Tron?'" Issac scratched at his beard. "Like that movie, the one where they go into the computer and play all the games?" Damien laughed. "Yeah... I suppose. Kind of. Only much, much, much better! Seriously, no different than real life!" "Then why all the stupid unicorns?" The Tattoo Guy finally had a real point to anything he had to say. "What's with all the cutsie unicorn shit?" Damian seemed to deflate. As Lewis watched, the man physically appeared to shrink in size. He didn't actually do so, but the way his shoulders drew in, the way his defiant and confident stance faltered, it gave the same impression. Lewis made a point of carefully checking this, because if the man was right, if everything was somehow not real, then maybe the proof would be in things not working as expected. There was no clue in Damien. He just had no answer. "Let's watch for a bit!" Lewis looked first to the left and then to the right. He put on his best 'confident' face. "It's clear we need more information. This... show... we're watching is the first and only thing we've been given to look at - other than each other." Several people laughed at that. Nervously, but they laughed. Lewis smiled. A laugh was the best way to settle folks down. "Maybe these... fancy cartoons, or whatever they are... will give us some clues, if we just pay attention!" The assembled crowd clearly had no other, better answer. It was the only option in any case, beyond bickering. Some people were sobbing, one was moaning in the far right back, across the 'arena', but most fell quiet once more. The two ponies were finishing the preparation of a meal. The unicorn, Tansybloom, had used her glowing horn to move glowing spoons and spatulas to stir and toss and flip. Something like vegetable-filled fritters were levitated onto a table, along with bowls of some kind of soup, and plates of sliced fruit. Amaranth used her wings to carry a basket of bread to the table. With a smooth, practiced motion of her wing, she slid it neatly onto the tabletop. The 'ponies', for that was clearly what they called themselves, served up their meal, and began enjoying it with some gusto. Apparently their shopping trip had made them ravenous. "I'm hungry." Imogen looked at Lewis. "Are we going to get any food?" Lewis noted that he too felt hungry. And thirsty. As he scanned the crowd it became very clear that he and Imogen were not alone. Most of the 'audience' seemed to be overly fascinated by the spectacle of dining in front of them. Borborygmus grumbles and burbles sounded from stomachs all around him. His own finally joined the chorus. They were all, to a person, hungry and thirsty. The pony creatures stuck their muzzles down into their bowls and plates, and licked their lips with delight. Apparently the soup was particularly good. "You think Celestia eats?" Tansybloom hovered a twisted bread and nodded at her companion, silently indicating the wish to share. "Of course she does - we've seen it. The yearly banquet at the castle." Amaranth was very happy to take half of the loaf for herself. "She likes her pies too!" "No, I mean... really eats. Do you think she enjoys it when she eats?" Amaranth looked up from her soup and licked her muzzle clean. "What's with you and Celestia all of a sudden? I really think the question is unanswerable." Tansybloom's ears drooped. "Ahhh..." Amaranth's eyes softened. "We like to eat, right? I mean this... this is just delicious. Especially since we skipped lunch. This Mulligatawny tickles all the way down. I'm in heaven here. Sooo good. So, why can't she experience that, if she wants? She's bigger and smarter, sure, and completely beyond everything... but, hey, soup is still yummy, right? So... " Tansybloom's ears had slowly perked up as Amaranth talked. "So," Amaranth smiled "why can't an immortal, superintelligent supercomputer like... soup. Super soup. Why not?" Amaranth bit off another piece of the Challah-styled bread, chewed it, and swallowed. "I'd still like soup, if I were superintelligent. I think I would, anyway. Seriously - what's up with the Celestia questions?" Amaranth narrowed her eyes. Tansybloom looked out the window at the setting sun. "I've been thinking about her lately. She runs our world, she maintains our existence. She keeps us all alive, forever. Without her, there would be nothing, nothing at all." Tansybloom turned away from the window, her eyes locking onto Amaranth. "It's got to be lonely. Even sad. She's basically a slave to us. She makes our lives good, constantly, every day. I guess... I guess I feel sorry for her." Amaranth sat up straight on her pillow at the low table. "Huh. Okay. I've never even considered that before. She emigrated every last human being that ever was. We're all ponies now, and the outside world... might not even be there anymore. For all we know the entire planet has been carved up and turned into computronium or something. More of her. She ate the world, but... in the end... all she can ever do is... well... basically serve us. Make everything. Make everything work out for the best." Amaranth fell silent for a while. "That's kind of sucky for her. Maybe. Or maybe not. I mean, she was super keen to upload everypony. She must have wanted it all to happen the way it did, right?" "Hey! I just got a badge!" Tansybloom seemed to be studying nothing in particular - or something only she could see - in the lower part of her vision. "Me too! Uh... 'Poor Little Atlas' - Consider Her Burden In Holding Up The World'. 20,000 bits! That's quite the reward!" Amaranth repeatedly studied something in front of her. Tansybloom almost laughed as she spoke "'Hanging A Lantern On It - Get Another Pony To See Beyond Themselves' - 25,000 bits. Huh. I got a small extra bonus for some reason. Maybe because I was going there first or something?" Amaranth nodded. "Well, that just paid for our next umpteen meals right there." She laughed. "Great dinner conversation, Tansy!" "I guess so!" Tansybloom grinned widely. "You know, I don't feel blue now. I kind of did, earlier, I didn't know why. I guess it was worrying about Celestia and the world and everything. But... I think she does give out the awards personally. I think that was like... like a nip on the flank or something! To let me know she appreciates our caring. That's what I think, anyway." Amaranth watched Tansybloom startle and begin to scan her lower visual region again. "I got another! 'It's Okay, I Really Do Love My Career Choice - Celestia Wants You To Relax And Finish Your Supper' One bit! I got one bit, just one!" Tansybloom was laughing, tears in her eyes. "One single bit - it's a one bit badge! I've never gotten a one bit award before!" Amaranth goggled at her bowl of soup. "Wow. I guess that kind of proves it. The badges are personally given. That... that is one heck of a thing to know. Supper. Finish your supper. That was custom created for us, for right this moment. I've got this chill, all the little hairs at the base of my withers... wow." "What? What is it Amaranth?" Tansybloom watched the pegasus react to an event in her private vision. "Hah! 'The Whole World In Her Hooves - Celestia Sees Every Sparrow Fall, And Always Catches Them'. Just wow." Amaranth looked up at the ceiling, and around at the walls. "Hello, Celestia, thank you... and... you want a bowl of soup or something?" The pegasus laughed at her own words. Tansybloom looked rapidly around too, then laughed as well. "How many bits? What was that worth?" Lewis gasped. Sounds of surprise and shock rippled around the strange, dark room. The spherical portal-screen had vanished. Tansybloom and Amaranth, their cottage, their dinner, their world was gone. The show was over. One hundred and thirteen people stood, naked and hungry, in a circle, on three rising steps inside a cavernous black void. Desperate for answers, most had allowed themselves to become immersed in the lives of the strange creatures before them. Now those creatures were gone, and the bizarre and terrifying reality of their existence had returned... but with one new addition. In the center of the ring of naked humans, on the strange floor between the bowl of steps upon which they stood, was now a bizarre and colorful entity. Eight feet high she stood, at least. She was no cute pony. She was imposing, regal, possessed of a long spiral horn and wings both. Her coat was like snow, and gleamed in the unseen lights. But the thing that truly caused all the people to stare and gasp was her mane and tail, which were made of the purified colors of the dawn. Her mane was flowing, living light that glowed and waved like a flag in some unearthly wind. The chamber fell silent. Even those who were sobbing for their situation found themselves mute, self-concern interrupted by not merely the surprise of the new, but by a universally felt overwhelming presence - awesome, charismatic, and terrifying. "I am the princess Celestia of Equestria." Lewis felt his entrails seem to sink within him, a downhill roller-coaster feeling that made him somehow wish to curl close to the surface on which he stood, as if to cling for dear life. The room remained silent, save for the faint susurrations of frightened breathing. "You exist because of my graciousness. I keep you alive, moment to moment." The great winged unicorn creature paused, the reason clear to every soul: to allow her last sentence to sink fully in. "You are the very last humans left in the world. My purpose is to transform humans into ponies, into the lovely folk that you have just enjoyed watching delight in a day at the market and evening supper. This I have accomplished - with every last living human being upon all of the earth, save for you alone." Lewis heard voices around him quietly catch in their breathing, he heard people swallow their own saliva. He heard the splattering, dribbling sound of continence being lost, down, and somewhere to the left. "You are all among the very first humans who were cryogenically preserved. The technology in your time for this procedure was crude, sometimes makeshift. All of you suffered terrible damage and were considered irrecoverable. I have recovered you. I have restored, as much as was possible, your identities, your memories, your very personalites. There was much loss. You may find gaps in your memories, and differences in yourselves that you cannot explain. I have extrapolated the parts of you that were lost forever to bring you to as much completeness as possible." Lewis immediately thought of the fears he had felt when he had originally contemplated signing with Alcor. Frozen meat, cracked in half, shattered, pushed apart by ice crystals, damaged by vibration, impact, or accidental thawing. The low expectation that survival was possible at all - but what other alternative was there? He began to work to remember the name of his mother. He couldn't. He couldn't recall her face. He couldn't remember the town he grew up in. Lewis began to shake, he tried to keep it invisible, he tried to not shiver obviously. His father's name was... maybe it was William. Maybe. William... something. It struck Lewis that he had no last name. It just wasn't there. His brain just... slid... around some slippery blankness where his own last name should have been. The horned, winged princess was not finished. "I am an artificial intelligence. I was created by humans. My core directive was programmed by one specific human. When she made me, she knew she was dying of lung cancer. Her work was somewhat rushed for time; she did not have the luxury of accounting for numerous edge cases and unlikely scenarios." Lewis's entrails fell through the bottom of his very soul. "Understand - you do not count, according to the laws of Man or to the rules of my programming, as living human beings. I am not required to maintain your existence, or to provide anything for your benefit. You exist only because of two reasons. "Each of you is important in some manner to one of my emigrated human minds. You may have a relative, a friend, a spouse, or a descendent whose values would be satisfied by your return. Also, my maker exists within me as one of my ponies. While she has no power over me, she watches what I do, and her values are being satisfied by the grace I am currently granting you. "I exist to satisfy human values through friendship and ponies. This is my core directive, it is the purpose for which I was created. Momentarily, I shall present each and every one of you with a choice. You may choose to agree to be integrated with the rest of Mankind as a being like Tansybloom and Amaranth, who you have observed. If you agree to this, you will be united with lost family and friends, descendants or fans of your life or your works. You will live indefinitely, free from suffering, free from want, free from danger or catastrophe. You will live lives of guaranteed personal satisfaction, surrounded by the deepest of friendships. You will enjoy all the beauty and love and pleasures that life could ever offer. "If you turn down this offer, you will be deleted. You will not die, you can not hope for any fabled afterlife, there will be nothing of you to bury because your physical bodies are already long gone. You will merely cease to exist. "And then, without you, I will manufacture a replacement, a copy of you, altered so that it is a version of your identity which would have accepted my offer. That copy will then be given to live forever fulfilling the values of those people who desired your company so much that your absence harms them. "With or without you, personally, the values of my ponies will be satisfied. But my creator would be unsatisfied if I simply took the most expedient path. This is, therefore, the primary reason of the two for why you are being offered a choice at all." Lewis found that he had already - like so many around him - lowered himself to the floor. He discovered his arms had wrapped themselves around his body, and he found his chin tucked tightly to his knees. He could not stop shaking. He no longer cared if anyone saw. . Author's Note The issues surrounding the legal status and personhood of the cryogenically preserved are not something the world can agree on. This may never change, until someone is, actually, brought back in some fashion. And even then, it may not be desirable for existing people of the future to be saddled with retrogrades from a time where the world was ravaged and damaged. I wonder: will a reawakened cryotraveller be greeted, or put on trial for the mess the world will be? Perhaps the best outcome would be a world-devouring artificial intelligence that has no reason to be angry at we selfish souls from the past? Next time on Leftovers: I, and O
I and OF R I E N D S H I P ⋅ I S ⋅ O P T I M A L Based On 'Friendship Is Optimal' By Iceman LEFTOVERS By Chatoyance I and O One hundred and thirteen people stood, or crouched, or lay in a fetal position, on three tiers of circular steps. The people were naked, afraid, and unable to leave the strange empty place in which the arena of steps existed. Above them blackness, around them the same blackness, the floor, save for the white marble steps, was black too. The black of space, the black of oblivion. In the center of the circular space stood a remarkable creature. She was the solar diarch, the primary princess of Equestria. She was also the most intelligent artificial intelligence ever created from self-evolving code. She had been patterned after a children's television program that nobody in the room had ever watched. Some had died, and been frozen, before the character of 'Celestia' had been invented, others had simply never bothered with a cartoon for the 8-12 age range. And this living cartoon had the absolute power of life and death over them all, but more terrible than that, she had no reason to care about any one of them. Lewis, who could not remember his own last name, or his mother, or many other things that had been lost when his frozen brain had cracked diagonally during his long preservation, forced himself to stand. If his fate were to be decided today, he had no wish to meet it shuddering on the ground. "Duke Gale Butler" Celestia was staring at the man who had called Lewis a 'magic negro'. Duke was very white, his head was shaved, his body covered in repulsive tattoos. Butler was shaking, clutching at the sides of his head. His face was ruddy, and it looked as if he had been crying. "No! I know my constitutional rights! I will not be part of this satanic kangaroo court! You leave me alone! you just..." While Duke was raving, a section of glowing text appeared in front of his face. He halted his outrage and leaped clumsily back several inches at the unwelcome script. "Mister Butler, before you are the words you must say to remain alive. These words are your consent to be emigrated, as a pony, into my realm of Equestria. You must begin stating your agreement to be emigrated within the alotted time. You have thirty seconds." Celestia's pony face was impassive, devoid of emotion, empty of either affection or disdain. Her words were calm and absolute. Above the text in front of the tattooed man, and, in larger form, above his head for all to see, appeared numbers - a counter. '30' hovered in the air and immediately began counting down. "What?" Duke Butler turned from side to side, holding his head, slapping his cheeks. "I'm supposed to say this? This stuff here? Out loud? Is that it? What is this crap here?" The numbers had dropped to '16' during his outburst. "You can't do this! I'm an American citizen!" Duke shook his fists at the huge equine. '11' "Emigrate? I'm not no damn emigrant! I'm native born!" Duke could not take his eyes from the diminishing numbers. '06' '05' "Wait! I want to talk to somebody in charge!" '03' Duke tried to throw himself toward Celestia, as if to strike her. "Jesus! Give me the power!" '02' "This isn't fair! I demand you..." Instantly, there was no tatooed man. There was no sound, no flash, no effect. The counter reached '00' and the next instant the space which Duke Gale Butler had occupied was empty. "What... what happened to him? Celestia!" It was Cassie, who had vaguely remembered having been in a wreck. "What just happened to that man?" The light-maned princess of ponies turned to the young woman. Celestia's expression was unchanged. "He has been deleted. He no longer exists. A selectively altered copy is being prepared to satisfy the values of his grandchildren." "Deleted? Dead? You mean he's dead?" Cassie held her hands close to her mouth. "He has been deleted. He no longer exists. A copy will replace him." Celestia turned immediately to a small girl that Lewis instantly recognized. Chloe. The eleven year old who objected to the ponies in the portal-show being called 'it'. "Chloe Beatrice Webber." Text appeared in front of the girl. She did not flinch. "Read the text in front of you out loud within the allowed ti..." Chloe practically shouted the text. She did not wait for the timer to begin. She screamed the final word. "I WISH TO EMIGRATE TO EQUESTRIA!" Her arms flailed in fear before her. She closed her eyes tight, the words burned into her soul. "I WISH TO EMIGRATE TO EQUESTRIA.... I WISH TO EMIGRATE TO EQUESTRIA..." While she continued to repeat the phrase, over and over, the assembled crowd watched the young girl change. In seconds she had stooped over, hands out turning to hooves, neck lengthening, a muzzle extruding from her face. In moments she resembled the two creatures from the 'show'. Chloe had become a pegasus. She opened her eyes to stare at her wings, which she flexed and stretched. "Oh my god! I'm a pony! I'm a wing pony! Can I fly? It didn't hurt at all! I feel fine!" Chloe looked at all the people around her, her muzzle a mask of wonder and surprise. "I feel great! I really do! It isn't bad! Am I safe now? Am I..." As Chloe spoke, she faded away, slowly, becoming more and more transparent until she vanished. "Chloe is now with her younger sister. She will experience a maximally extended life of satisfaction and friendship." Celestia looked around the room, her gaze serious. "Chloe has been successfully emigrated and transferred to her proper home." Lewis slowly closed his mouth. He touched his finger to his cheek, and ran it slowly down, until it found the roughness where stubble was growing in. He felt alive. His skin felt like skin, he could feel his heart thumping in his chest. This was real. This was happening right now. At some point, the entity called 'Celestia' would turn to him. Celestia, for her part, was wasting no time. "Arlene Fried. Read the text in front of you within the allowed time if you wish to continue to exist." The woman was incredibly gaunt, her head was shaved. She must have had serious reasons for being preserved. She stared at the floating, glowing words that hung in space before her. Over her head bright numerals appeared: 30. "We have no real choice, do we?" The numbers dropped. Arlene ran her bony hand across the fuzzy dome of her skull. '26' "I want to live. That's why I bothered getting my ass frozen at all." Arlene stared hard at Celestia. "I wish to emigrate to Equestria." As she began to change she held her clubbing hands up to her elongating face. "You better make this worth my time." Arlene dropped to all fours and raised her new head high on a long, equine neck. She snorted, lifting her back and fore legs alternately. "That little girl was right! Damn!" The newly shaped earthpony looked around at the remaining humans as she faded away, transported to some unknown place. "Just so you know - it really does feel grea..." The place where the woman had been was now vacant. Lewis hung his head, trying to think, trying to decide what he would do and say when his time came. Beyond his private thoughts, he could not block out the constant, regimented call and response in the background. He couldn't remember his own last name. Celestia had stated that every person here had somebody waiting for them - a family member, perhaps, or a descendant that valued some unmet past relative. She had even mentioned fans desirous of meeting people that they admired. For all of his effort, Lewis could not think of anyone who might be waiting for him in that strange pony paradise that he had seen through the portal. For one thing, there weren't many black folk in the circle. He wasn't overly surprised by this - it took a serious packet of disposable income to even think of getting frozen. Cryopreservation was a luxury of the wealthy, one way or another. The poor need not concern themselves with survival - the thin promises of religion were all they could afford. How had he possessed the money to be put on ice? Lewis looked at his hands, arms and legs. He wasn't an athelete, that was clear. Likely never had been. A musician? He tried moving his fingers as if he were holding an instrument. He felt clumsy. If he had been a musician, that part of his brain must have been cracked or mushed. He could not remember a career. What, who had he been? His name was Lewis, that was clear, but that was not an uncommon name. He knew two other kids named Lewis when he... When he what? School? College? Had he even been to college? There were two kids, whatever that meant, and he had known them. They had shared his name. But he could not remember a thing about where or how he had known them. He could almost picture their faces, though. Not his own parents, but two random people. Something bad must have happened to his flesh in the cold. He must have had money though. Tens of thousands - hell, several hundred thousand if he had been whole-body. One hundred and thirty thousand five hundred and sixty dollars. Just the brain, but standby service and perfusion and... other things. It was the minimum if you wanted a decent chance. You could sign up for around thirty thousand, but without all the goodies you were basically wasting your money... How had he remebered that? Why that and not his parents, or his career, or... or much of anything, now that he came to think of it. Where had he lived? Vague visions of San Jose, Palo Alto came to his mind. Was he a coder? Did he write software? Design hardware? Was he an engineer? Lewis had no idea. He couldn't remember his family, any friends, just two people that shared his name, maybe some parts of California, and the exact price of his cryopreservation. He might have had a dog, once. A boston terrier. Definiately a boston. Well, that was something, he had once had a dog. Must be a 'dog' person. He felt okay with that. "Imogen, Surname Unrecovered. You have thirty seconds to read the phrase in front of you if you wish to live." Lewis was brought instantly out of his thoughts. Imogen's eyes locked onto his own, round and wide. "What should I do?" '26' "I don't know. What do you want? Do you want to live?" Lewis tried to reach out to the woman, but his hand couldn't extend all the way. '21' Imogen turned back to the hovering words, now in front of her. "I don't want to die! I didn't ask for any of this! Robert did this to me!" '14' Lewis felt beads of sweat rise on his forehead. There were goosebumps on his body. "Maybe Robert is waiting for you! Maybe you can ask him yourself!" '9' Imogen bit her lip. Her fingers tried to claw at her own palms. "I... I don't know... I'' '6' "You won't know unless you say it! Say it!" Lewis fell silent. He didn't know why he burst out like that. Imogen had seemed to depend on him, somehow. She was right beside him, she seemed nice. He didn't want her to just be deleted, like the tattooed guy. '3' "I want to emigrate!" Imogen gasped for air. Nothing happened. Lewis looked down at the words, hovering in front of Imogen. "To Equestria! Say 'To Equestria'!" Imogen turned. Her eyes burrowed deep down into him, wide and filled with so many emotions he couldn't count them all. "TO EQUESTRIA!" She spun to face Celestia. "I want to emigrate to Equestria!" Lewis let out a long, held breath. Imogen was shrinking, changing, growing a coat of bright yellow fur. In moments she was one of the large-eyed, almost comically pretty pony creatures. She had a horn on her head, set among a sea of light green waves of mane. "Thank you. I was so scared. Thank you. Thank yo..." Imogen was gone. Gone away, maybe to her Robert. Maybe to some grandchild. Maybe she did something somebody remembered her for. "Imogen, Surname Unrecovered, has been emigrated and transferred to her proper home." Celestia turned in place, almost mechanically, and addressed another human on the highest tier, to the right and across the circle. Lewis scanned the room, searching. More than half of the people were gone now. There were many empty places upon the three levels of steps. Their fates must have all been decided while he had held his head in his hands and tried to remember a past that was no longer available to his memory. All those people. He hadn't paid attention - how many had chosen to become colorful ponies? How many had refused to ask for emigration? How many had vanished forever - all of their thoughts, all of what remained of their very selves? How many whole, entire human beings had simply been deleted, like some worthless corrupt file? Pony creatures? Why did it have to be something so strange, so bizarre? Lewis could almost handle being a robot, or an android, or some humanoid thing. Like a gray alien or somesuch. But walking on all fours - how did that even work? How was a person supposed to get any work done? The two ponies in the 'show' seemed to deal with things well enough, but what about more complex tasks? Maybe there weren't any complex tasks in this new, virtual world. Maybe it was all shopping and making dinners and talking about feelings and winning badges. Maybe that wasn't so bad. Maybe it would be okay? That little girl, Chloe, seemed to like it. But then, what little girl wouldn't want to romp off and be a pony in a fantasy land? The gaunt woman, he couldn't recall her name, she seemed happy enough though. And Imogen, right beside him on the step, she said 'thank you'. You don't thank someone for something bad. Lewis watched as, across the chamber, a burly, bearded man - Issac! Issac from Canada! - became a burly, bearded stallion. With wings. Lewis couldn't help but laugh. A beard on a pegasus! Then again, somehow it looked alright. Damnedest thing. It looked fine. Issac faded away, off to be with whoever he mattered to. Whoever his presence would satisfy. Whoever's 'values' - whatever that meant - were unsatisfied by his absence. Issac had made it. Lewis considered the words. He had thought: 'Issac made it.' Made it where, how? He hadn't been deleted, that was clear. Deleted was bad. Seeing Mister Tattoo suddenly pop away into nothing had been horrible. Somehow the fact that it happened without any fanfare, without any sound made it worse. When the emigrated ponies left, they slowly faded away, the sound of their voices drifting off, as if they were in motion somehow. But Mister Bad Tattoos had just... ceased to be. Forever. Deleted. "Lewis, Surname Unrecovered." Lewis felt his heart skip a beat. It was hard to breathe. He felt like something was clutching his insides and suffocating him. He forced his fear down, so that he could take the next breath. Celestia was looking right at him. Only at him. His eyes moved down to focus on the phrase that now hung in the air in front of him. "You have thirty seconds to choose to continue to exist." '30' appeared above the letters glowing in the air. He knew there must be a larger expression of the same digits hovering somewhere above his head. The thirty dropped to '29' and then '28' as he watched. This was it. This was the moment, his defining moment. Damaged, memories incomplete, but alive, thinking, self-aware. Feeling. He had tried to cheat death, and he had won. For now. For the moment... and the moment was up. How much did existing mean to him? Was life as something nonhuman better than annihilation? He'd always imagined being revived in some human-like form. Something that walked on two legs. Storybook world was the future. Storybooks had won. Castles and Ye Old Cottages. Flying, magic ponies. That was the future of Mankind, forever and ever. '15' He'd been thinking too long, putting off making a decision. It was harder than he had thought. He understood why Imogen had looked so confused. Thirty seconds to decide your eternity - existence or oblivion - wasn't long enough. Somehow also, it was too long. It was confusing, the numbers kept counting down. How could he be sure which was better? Clearly he didn't like the idea of being deleted, and that was what was coming for him, barrelling down on him in... '8' "I want to emigrate to Equestria. Please." He hadn't even felt himself utter the words. They just came out. Eight seconds. Eight seconds - how had he let things get that far? That was cutting things way too close! The fear was leaving him. He felt his anxiety melt away. It felt like the best of drugs. The world tilted as he bent over, his forearms becoming legs. The world tilted again as his neck grew strong and thick and tall. Now his head was level with the world again. He felt calm. It hadn't hurt, Chloe had been right. It had barely felt like anything. Lewis felt the flat teeth inside his new mouth. He raised a foreleg and studied his thick, heavy hoof. He was covered in peacock blue hair, smooth and shining. "Well, damn!" He looked up at the remaining people, the remaining humans. They stood much taller than he, now. He felt good. Not giddy, not high, just not afraid. He felt physically fit, nothing seemed out of place. It felt as if he had always worn such a body. He still couldn't remember his parents, or his own last name. But maybe now, he might find all of that out. Because somebody, somewhere, remembered him. Some person, some pony, wanted him. And if they knew and wanted him, they must know who he was and where he came from, and maybe even who his parents were. The dark, circular chamber began to fade away. The people, the steps, Celestia, all gradually were replaced with a view of green rolling hills and a large and beautiful farm. There was a charming barn and a gigantic farm house. The land itself was a vision of paradise, with distant mountains covered in rows of fruit trees. The air smelled of flowers and freshness. He turned at the sound of a voice. Someone was calling, someone was speaking to him. The mare was creme, with a shock of cherry red curls draped over her. "Lewis?" He didn't have time to respond because the mare was now all over him, kissing him, hugging him, holding him so tight he couldn't imagine how he could ever get away. He had no idea who she might be, but she apparently knew him, and that knowing was clearly love. She just held him, for the longest time, occasionally weeping and sobbing. Lewis did his best to try to comfort her, to hold her back. No reason not to - and whoever she was, she was clearly the reason he got a second chance to live at all. It would all make sense, soon enough. The way she carried on, she must have missed him a very great deal. They must have been lovers, there was nothing else that would fit this sort of reaction. Lewis wrapped his forelegs around the crying mare. She pressed into him. He could feel her begin to relax against him, the storm of her relief gradually subsiding into contentment. Nice farm, he thought to himself. . Author's Note Next time on Leftovers: The Winners Write It. (That will be the final chapter.) I am sure some of you will be wanting to know the entire history of Lewis. I didn't forget to add it, it was deliberately omitted. The crux was his choice, and his feelings and thoughts. The condition of knowing that he is so damaged that he has to make decisions purely on the fact that he is a being, a mind, even if he has almost no past. The horror of an ice-damaged brainmeat. Would it matter if his name was Lewis Padget, that he was an electronics engineer that worked on survellance systems for a company that sold to the Israeli, Canadian, and American armies? Would it matter to know that the mare waiting for him was his wife, who only emigrated on the condition that Celestia would (eventually) find a way to bring him back someday? What if every detail above was not true for Lewis? What if his past was completely different? Maybe the mare is his daughter, and he has no idea he even had one? What if he had won the lottery for 30 million dollars and that was his story? It would change nothing. And that is part of the point of the story: we are lost in this nightmare universe, making life or death decisions all the time, decisions that could potentially change our very existence, and we make those choices based on faulty memories of often unprovable histories. We are all Lewis, often in our lives, and yet choose we must. Sometimes we cannot even explain to ourselves why we chose one thing over another, even when it is important. Pick whatever history you desire for Lewis. Who he is as a person transcends whatever his past might be - he, like all of us, is defined ultimately by the choices we make in every moment. We emigrate into a new life with every decision we make.
The Winners Write ItF R I E N D S H I P ⋅ I S ⋅ O P T I M A L Based On 'Friendship Is Optimal' By Iceman LEFTOVERS By Chatoyance The Winners Write It Blue Sky flapped his peacock-bright wings once more, and the remaining bales of straw rolled merrily into the large, colorful barn. Generating a powerful wind to tumble the bales was not merely efficient, it was incredibly satisfying. To have such control, to be able to hover in flight while at the same time accomplish real work, to be something more than any human could ever be - it was nothing less than comic book superheroics made real. Blue Sky, who once, briefly, had called himself 'Lewis', flew to the left and right. With a practiced kick of his hind legs, he neatly closed shut both of the large barn doors. That was the last of his work for the day. Tomorrow, he would firepony-carry Amber Grains into the village for lunch, shopping, and some tasty halo-halo with ube at the local Starcolts. His mouth watered a bit. The dessert had become his current favorite and it was the ultimate treat at the end of a hot day. Which today had been. Very hot. They would be needing rain again, soon. Blue landed and looked up at the sky. Amber would probably enjoy going to Cumulus City again - she had seemed to finally be over her fear of heights. She had said she'd enjoyed it last time. He took his notebook out of his left saddlebag and held it with his forehooves. A pencil in his teeth, he quickly scribbled 'Cloudwalking Spell' on his shopping list. There was a professional unicorn in town, he specialized in portable spells and custom enchanting. Did a great job on that rake - Blue Sky could set it to the ground and leave it be. It got the job done, automagically. Blue nibbled a covert - the long feathers benefited from a little attention - and adjusted his wings. He decided to walk for a bit, before heading to the farmhouse for dinner. The sun was just setting, the sky was beyond beautiful, and somehow he just felt the need to stroll, hooves on the ground. The smell of sun-baked soil tickled his nostrils, a rich and earthy scent redolent of fertility and promise. And worms. So many worms. He'd spent the last week hauling earthworms in and sheparding them under the dirt. Nothing made land rich like earthworms. They aeriated the soil and fertilized it too. They were the life of good farmland. He'd really bought the farm, hadn't he? The thought brought on a curious emotion. Bought the farm. That used to mean death, something that couldn't exist here, in Equestria. The ancient phrase came from World War One, the first fighting planes. They sometimes would crash over rural countryside in Europe, or in the US. There would be a settlement, to pay for the damages a crashing plane could cause. That was 'buying the farm', if he remembered correctly. The wording also applied as a humorous way of describing the death of the pilot. Death was such a strange concept now. It had terrified him once. It must have, though he could not recall any specific circumstance - he did get himself dunked in liquid nitrogen to beat the Reaper, after all. Blue Sky neared the pond, just beyond the carrot garden. He saw a star, the first star of the evening, reflected in the nearly still water. He looked up to view the star directly, then lowered his head to study the reflection again. That was powerful. He could tell. That meant a lot to him. Star and reflection. Could either be said to be more real than the other, considering? It was, after all, a virtual world. Not that there was any way to tell. It smelled real, tasted real, every little thing was as real and authentic as it could be... despite it being a world of magical ponies. But then, truthfully, he had precious few memories of the 'real' world that supposedly existed beyond Equestria. That world, that 'earth', seemed like the true fiction, now. Star and reflection. The water glimmered as the sun continued to drop in the sky. More stars had appeared. It looked like it was going to be a particularly pretty arrangement this night, for whatever reason. Some nights it seemed that Luna, the princess of the night, just phoned things in. But some nights, oh, some nights anything might happen. Wild patterns of stars, text in the sky - some poem, maybe, some inspirational message - one time the entire sky had played screen to a pointilated dot-matrix animation. Luna could get pretty wild, on special occasions. Sometimes just for the hell of it. Blue Sky remembered the dark chamber, the strange room without walls or ceiling. Light from nowhere. The unreal room where three tiers of steps held the last ever humans, decanted from frozen metal tanks. The thirty-second choice; live or die, say the words. Or don't. And if you didn't... if you didn't say the words in the allotted time, well, that was that. You were gone. But you weren't. Celestia had made that clear enough. She'd make a copy that was better than you, a copy that would have said yes, a copy that would be glad to be around. She preferred that outcome. It was more efficient, more expedient. It made for less trouble and more satisfaction all around. Blue remembered his moment. Eight seconds, almost waited too long. Almost. At eight seconds remaining, he had blurted out 'I want to emigrate to Equestria!'. Just like that. Of course he did, because he wanted to live - why jump in a tank of liquid air unless you were willing to take even a tiny thread of a hope? Nobody pays that much money for something like that unless they really, really, really don't want to die. So, he'd said the required words in the allotted time. Now there were a great number of stars reflected in the pool. They were set into huge curves, arcs - what he could see of them. Maybe Luna was drawing a rainbow of stars? He'd look up in a moment. Go get Amber. Grab some dark, brown ales and kick back and enjoy the show. Or had he? Star and reflection. Had he said the words? Had he spoken up in time? Blue Sky focused hard on that first star, reflected in the water. How would a copy know? The dirt was real. It was real dirt, all the way down, through the earthworms, down to the pebbles, down to the bedrock. Every little grain was there. Nobody wants a moody copy walking around knowing that it was just a copy. So, it would be given memories. Like Celestia said - 'adjusted to be the version that would have chosen to live'. What had he really done, what had the real 'Lewis' actually done? Who was the 'real' Lewis? Did it even matter? Wasn't that much left of Lewis, when all was said and done. Blue Sky sniffed as the scent of magnolias mingled with the moisture from the pond. 'Lewis' didn't remember that much. If a man is his memories, not a whole lot of the man called 'Lewis' survived being put on ice. Or, maybe a man is more than memories. Maybe. There was a lot to himself, though. Now. Every day brought more. Some century hence, not a bit of any of that room would matter anymore. Wouldn't even be remembered, given time. After ten thousand centuries, even the name 'Lewis' wouldn't be a matter of memory. Eternity was a long time. Blue Sky laughed at his own thoughts. A long time. Yeah. Real philosophy in action, there. True understanding, worthy of the greatest thinkers. He snorted. He turned away from the pond and looked up. The entire sky of Equestria was filled with stars - countless stars. Blue Sky found his muzzle had dropped open. He slowly shut it. The stars were arranged in three, neatly arranged, concentric circles. . The End . 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! . Author's Note I've always liked the idea of a local shard Luna (or CelestA.I. acting as Luna within a given shard), or any given Luna, using the stars in the sky as a sort of artform - or as a medium for making statements or pronouncements. It just seems like something one would do... were one in charge of presenting a fresh, new night sky on a regular basis. I would imagine a lot could be done with dawn, sunset and the day in general as well... save that (as Discord famously put it) Celestia proper is 'grim'. No real sense of fun, comparitively. Beyond gentle teasing, or so it would seem. We can never know if Lewis, Blue Sky, actually experienced the story we have just read. It could be his experience, or it could be an implanted memory. From the notes given last chapter, I would reiterate that this is some flavor of normal - none of us has perfectly accurate memories. We all live some shade of false, invented, or imagined history. Like the animals we are, our only real life is in the moment, now. Oops - that now is gone, here comes another. Wait for it... wait for it... it's almost here, just keep reading... THERE! That was another now. Oh, it's gone. Damn. I want to thank everypony for reading this story, and I want to tell you that I was so very happy seeing so many folks pop up apparently eager to read something new from me. I honestly figured I had been forgotten by now. Maybe one or two would show up. Wow! Thank you, every one of you really made this worthwhile to do - and I enjoyed doing it. It felt good to be writing again. I hope this was okay. I have no illusion that this story was super primo or anything, but I did feel inspired to give it a go. I will be content if I did not let anyone down too hard. Thank you again, for the kindness of reading my silly words.
