IMPLACABLE

by Chatoyance

Rating: teen
Tags: Princess Celestia, Pinkie Pie, Big Macintosh, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Human, Lyra, Original Character, Science Fiction, Adventure
Length: 17613

A lone wanderer in the final days of Man. An impregnable fortress work-camp to stand against the total emigration of humanity to virtual Equestria. The artificial intelligence called 'Celestia'. Everything has been accounted for. Everything.

A lone wanderer in the final days of Man. An impregnable fortress work-camp to stand against the total emigration of humanity to virtual Equestria. The artificial intelligence called 'Celestia'. Everything has been accounted for.

Everything.

Published 2018-04-18 01:40:06 UTC
Last updated 2018-04-22 00:46:08 UTC

1. Pyrite

███ I █ M █ P █ L █ A █ C █ A █ B █ L █ E ███
A 'Friendship Is Optimal' Story
By Chatoyance

･
･
･
1. Pyrite

The ragged man with the overburdened packpack raised the metal baseball bat high over his head. Once again he brought it down on the hot pink lump in the grass. This was the fifth such impact the militia man had observed, since he began watching the newcomer through his binoculars.

The man in the distance lowered his bat. Through the lenses, the Private First Class saw the man free one of his hands to wipe his brow. He seemed to speak, to nobody, perhaps swearing at the object of his fury. The ragged man sank to the dry, brown grass and sat, legs splayed wide, the bat dropped, his hands supporting his weight behind him. His frame sagged as he panted his exhaustion.

"I think he's safe to approach. I'm pretty sure that's a Pinkie he's got there, we use full isolation procedures." The PFC glared at the five privates he was addressing. "Smartly now, men."

Raymond Shaw adjusted the heavy pack on his back. He scratched his nose and stared for a moment at the approaching vehicle. He softly intoned to himself "Renault Sherpa Light four-by-four. Used to be beige. Looks like they gave it a cursory spray job with whatever paint they could scavenge. More or less green now. Mostly." He sucked air through his front teeth, then slowly exhaled.

Raymond wearily stood up, using his metal bat as a cane against the weight of his heavy backpack. Upright, he turned his back on the approaching vehicle and looked down at the bullet-ridden body of a severely marred robotic Pinky Pie. The brightly furred 'skin' of the machine was torn and threadbare. Most of the left side of the faux cartoon pony's head was entirely denuded, shiny metal and glassine surfaces exposed to the cold wind. The electronic pony ear on that side of the face was bent down and to an odd angle.

He raised his bat. He held it high for a moment, closed his eyes, and sighed. His eyes open once more, he began slamming the bat again and again into the middle of the artificial equine's body. Each blow rang loudly like the sound of a blacksmith hammering a set of new horseshoes. This image crossed his mind, and forced a grin to his weathered, tragedy scarred face.

"FREEZE! DO NOT MOVE, DO NOT TALK, DO NOT TURN AROUND. DROP THE BAT BUT MAKE NO OTHER MOTION. KEEP YOUR HANDS HIGH AND VISIBLE AT ALL TIMES OR YOU WILL BE SHOT."

Raymond let the bat drop. It hit the ground with a bell-like cacophany of dings and blongs. The brown grass of earliest spring did nothing to soften the impact of the bat. The grass was still brittle and dry, it would be another month before it was lush and soft and green again.

"DO NOT MOVE FOR ANY REASON! YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON FOLLOWING ALL COMMANDS!"

Raymond wished he could cover his ears - whatever sound system the men in the truck were using was overly loud. It really didn't need to be turned up so high. Hands roughly grabbed his arms; soon he was being searched from top to bottom. The scouting group was unusually and remarkably thorough. Hands - in blue neoprene gloves - were forced deep into his pants, both front and back, as well as under every bit of his clothing. Even his socks and gloves were manhandled for some time, azure digits searching for lumps, bumps or hidden objects in every part of the fabric that clothed him.

"Initial inspection negative."

Ray didn't try to turn to see who spoke. He knew enough to remain still, passive, and essentially like a living mannequin.

"Slowly and carefully remove your pack. Drop it on the ground."

Raymond followed orders. The pack was whisked away somewhere behind him. Some fuss went on, but his attention was diverted to a new examination - this time with devices.

The khaki commandoes surrounding him now ran electronic boxes, rods, and disks over every inch of his body. The rods looked somewhat like microphones or light sabers, the boxes resembled volt meters. The disks reminded Ray of Walkmans, from long ago, only with complex digital readouts. The devices buzzed and whined occasionally, resulting in commands to remove clothing or to stand still. Raymond grumbled inside himself, he was already being very careful to remain as still as possible. Finally he was allowed to leave his arms at his sides.

Raymond stood exposed in the cold wind. Only his torn, ripped and stained thermal underwear remained on his body. Likely the only reason they had let him keep that much dignity was that little of the garments remained. They were more a suggestion of undergarments than a factual representation of the original product.

Ray was forced to stand in the cold for entirely too long as every bit of his clothing was carefully examined both by hand and with the devices.

"Put these on. Be quick."

The new thermal underwear felt clean and wonderful. The pants and shirt were camo print brown cotton khaki with plastic buttons and a plastic zipper. Ray was given new boots, mostly leather but with plastic shoelace holes. There was no metal used in the construction of anything he was given.

A sincerely blond man with a fiercely narrow mustache drilled green squinting eyes into Ray's soul. "So, what's the story with that downed pinky over there?" The man's tone was conversational, light, almost friendly - but Ray could tell that there was not a speck of mercy within it, or the man. This was a live-or-die question, zero doubt about it.

"Name's Ray. This damn robo..."

Blond-Stache interrupted with an edge to his voice. "NO NAMES. You haven't been cleared yet. Go on."

Ray swallowed. They didn't want him to have a name because that way it would be easier to end him if something didn't check out or meet whatever criteria they used. Still, he'd gotten his name out there, it had been heard. That was a victory. It might even potentially save him if something went pear shaped later. "The robot wouldn't leave me alone." Ray stood up straight, with his eyes locked forward, his hands at his side. He did his best imitation of a soldier reporting to a superior. "Sir."

There was no smile on Blondie answering Ray's carefully respectful 'sir'. "So, you decided to beat the thing into silence?"

Ray considered. "Yes. I just couldn't take it anymore. I didn't want to waste bullets, they don't work on those things anyway. Not the kind I have, at any rate. I finally managed to get a good hit that it couldn't avoid. After that, I couldn't stop."

"We noticed that. Why didn't you move on? Why did you stand here hitting it for so long?"

Ray hazarded a brief glance at Captain Khaki Blond Deluxe. "I was mad, sir. Mad at Celestia, at the whole damn..." Ray clutched his fists and clenched his teeth. He held his breath until he felt his face turn red. He didn't gasp until it was absolutely necessary. Thanks to the wind and his efforts, a tear dripped from his eye as he turned to stare directly into 'Stache's green ones. "There... there just comes a point... when..." Ray dropped his head, and slumped his shoulders. He gave a light sob, and wiped his eyes and nose. He made a point of sniffling as loud as he dared.

"Restrain and load the prisoner. Isolate his gear." The words were clipped, remarkably professional, and clear.

"What about the Pinky?"

"Mark it with a flag, report it to the SRG." Blondstache paused and studied the dented and partially skinless robot in the grass. "It's more intact than it looks - tell the eggheads to coffin it and treat it as live."

Ray was surprized at that. These boys were sharp as hell and took no chances with anything. He quickly found himself zip-tied both wrist and ankles, then zip-tied again to metal bars inside, in the back of the Sherpa. "Hi!" He smiled at the young man fastening him down, but he gained not even a glance at his face. He was meat, at least at the moment, and nothing more. Then a fabric sack was roughly forced over his head and even the daylight abandoned him.

For the next hour and a half, Ray's world was bumping, thumping, oppressive darkness and his own even more oppressive breath. His wrists and ankles ached and increasingly screamed to him about the horror of abrasion injury. One time, only one time, he tried to get some conversation going. That resulted in a cuff on his head and a rather impolitely phrased command to remain silent.

Raymond was cut loose from the inside of the Sherpa when it finally stopped. He felt himself dragged and lifted, then set on what felt like a gurney. He was still outdoors, the wind was still cold and he had never stopped shivering. His arms and ankles were cut loose, but before he could move to rub them, they were re-ziptied to the frame of whatever he was laying on. His weak attempt was met with firm hands that made no doubt about the neccesity of total cooperation.

When at last the bag was removed from his head, he found the reason for why the wind had stopped. He was inside of a field tent, a large one. A glaring, clinical light blinded him from directly above. A middle-aged woman in a lab coat used what appeared to be some kind of electronic stethoscope to listen to his body. Not, oddly, to his heart, at least not primarily. She placed the chestpiece drum to almost every part of his body. Special attention was paid to his temples, the back of his skull - which was also visually inspected in some detail - and to his arms and legs.

More devices were run or applied to his body. Again, his head and arms were considered important. By now several men and women surrounded him, all in lab coats, all treating him like a mute specimen. Again it was made clear that he was not to speak to anyone.

Finally, they drew his blood, took samples of his saliva, sweat, and nasal passages. They took wax from his ears, and a lock of his hair. When he complained about needing to pee, they forced him to urinate into a cup which they took away. Finally, he was frogmarched out of the apparent 'medical' tent and taken to a different Sherpa vehicle, where he was once again zip-restrained and head-bagged.

An hour later, Raymond felt the bag removed. He was cut free by two young men in fatigues, and brought, somewhat more gently, back into the medical tent. He was pressed down into a simple chair, for the first time sans restraints. A new man faced him here. Wide of jaw, dark of skin, with close cropped hair and a disarming smile that held not the tiniest speck of forgiveness.

"How did you know about Fort Denver?"

Raymond blinked. He tried to answer, but his throat was horribly dry. He choked briefly.

"Bring him some water."

The order was obeyed as if god himself had commanded it. Ray guzzled the small amount in the paper cup. He licked his lips.

"How did you know about Fort Denver?" There was more emphasis this time.

Raymond cleared his throat. "I don't. I mean I didn't. What's Fort Denver?"

The dark god before him glowered. The man could do things with his eyebrows that made Raymond want to shrink into his new underwear and die.

"Honestly! I had no idea there was anything out here!"

More glowering, more eyebrows. Those things were lethal.

"Sir - " If any man should be called 'sir' it was clearly Lord Eyebrow here. "Sir, I just wanted to get away from the cities. She's there, sir, She's everywhere that there are cameras or electronics or anything like that! The cities belong to Her, everything that used to belong to Man belongs to Her now! I was just going as far away from everything as I could get - except for that damn fake robot pony nagging me. 'Come to Equestria! I can save you!' I just went crazy and beat the thing until it stopped moving. Then I beat it again. And again, I guess. Then YOUR men found me! I didn't want to be found! I don't know anything about... about anything! Honest!"

The man leaned forward, studying Ramond. "Who knows your wherabouts?"

"Nobody, sir! I don't have anyone." Raymond felt the catch in his own throat. "N-not anymore. Nobody. I'm as alone as alone can get. For the entire last year." His body sagged. He looked down and noticed his questioner's fine shoes had plastic lace-holes. No metal, again. Raymond lifted his head.

For some time, Raymond waited. The man just stared at him. Not even glowering now, he had even retracted his eyebrow weapons. The face was calm, serene.

"Okay. You move on." Lord Eyebrow turned slightly in his chair "Authorized for Indoc and transfer!"

As Raymond was helped to stand, the grand master of the glowering eyebrows finally offered him a smile absent of hidden malice. He felt his hand being briefly shaken.

"Welcome to Camp Denver, a place absolutely free from Celestia or her ponies. Your home for the rest of your natural and human life." Eyebrows paused. "Consider yourself conscripted."

Finally, Raymond relaxed. He knew, now, at last, that he would actually be allowed to live.

Author's Note

This story was born from a combination of events. First, one of my spouses, Aedina here on Fimfiction, suffered a stroke. She lost most of the feeling, and functions, of the right side of her body. Her eye and half of her mouth drooped like wax melting on her face. This happened directly in the middle of my typing a response to a reader here with regard to a new Optimalverse story - 'Memento Mori' by Starscribe. My response was left hanging while we ambulanced Aedina to the hospital.

Aedina is vastly better now, thankfully. She has regained most of her function, though she is a little wobbly on one leg and part of her cheek is numb. She says it feels like she is drooling all the time, but she isn't, it's just the lack of sensation as interpreted by her damaged brain. She was very, very, very, very lucky in the stroke lottery.

I returned, while she was in the ER for the night, to my unfinished comment still in my open browser. The person I was responding to had a very naieve and very childishly privilaged view of what the Optimalverse represents, I believed. I finished my response, somewhat angrily, because... because I had just nearly lost a spouse... or worse. There are things more awful than mere death, kiddies. Far more awful.

All of this made me reflect on what the impact of Iceman's story universe means. What it represents. And Starscribe's story dovetailed into this, because within the Optimalverse there is a sort of subgenre: not an individual resister to Emigration, but rather an organized group. There are several tales of armed work-camps opposing CelestA.I. and her virtual world. Sadly, none of them are by me.

As my personal emotional therapy to cope with my beloved Aedina's nightmarishly horrible stroke, and to work the mechanics of the abstract idea of the work-camp subgenre, I am determined to correct this problem.

2. Insinuation

███ I █ M █ P █ L █ A █ C █ A █ B █ L █ E ███
A 'Friendship Is Optimal' Story
By Chatoyance

･
･
･
2. Insinuation

Raymond nodded when Melissa asked if he had been fed. His lunch had come out of a sack and consisted of a canned deviled ham sandwich, a boiled egg, a small pack of potato chips and an apple. He'd washed it down with a warm coke in a can. The meal was the same for the other five people in his Indoc-And-Final-Admission group. They had wandered near somewhere they shouldn't be as well, and ended up just like him - conscripted into 'Fort Denver'. One of the sack lunchers tended to weep - her companion had failed one of the screening proceedures. The implication was that her friend wasn't around anymore, though Raymond hadn't asked any questions to confirm this. Apparently, keeping the location and existence of Fort Denver secret was a possibly lethal priority.

The final test was a full body MRI, done all the way out in Fort Morgan, at the hospital there. They had been driven well over an hour to get there. Raymond had begun to suspect the location of 'Fort Denver' was somewhere out around 'Baker's Acres', between Colorado 63 and 59, maybe near Arikaree... or possibly toward Otis or Yuma. Travel was always hooded, so it was impossible to be sure. Not that there was much to see, beyond Center-pivot irrigation circles stretching to infinity.

"Alright then." Melissa was a registered nurse and clearly a trusted part of whatever organization was behind Fort Denver. "All of you have officially been cleared. Isn't that just wonderful?" Her smile was half forced and half genuine. Raymond pegged her as a believer, in the 'cause', such as it was, but not entirely content with some part of it.

The response from the six 'Selected' was not exactly enthusiastic. They had finally been authorized to use their names and there had been a brief time of self-introduction reminiscent of any therapy group anywhere. Douglas, Dan, Cyndi - with an 'I', Emily and Jacob - 'Not Jake! Jacob, like from the bible!' had all told of their hungry and cold wandering - and their deep and abiding hatred of Celestia, ponies, anything that was overly colorful, gay people, cartoons, and especially Celestia and ponies. Raymond had described how he had been 'rescued' while he was putting the beat-down on a nagging Pinkie-bot. This scored him points with the group and Melissa as well.

"Okay then!" Melissa gave another half-false smile. "You're probably wondering why you all had to go through so much to finally be accepted into the program?" It was a bit of an overly cute way to describe being forcibly enslaved into a work-camp run by a violent militia, Raymond thought.

Melissa sat down on the edge of the desk in the room, facing the six stackable folding chairs where Ray and the other 'Selected' had been put. "The evil artificial intelligence - that's kind of like a robot - called 'Celestia' is very clever. Too clever for most people, and most camps. All the other forts and resistance groups we know of have all fallen to her - but don't be worried!" Another semi-smile. "The place you're going to will never fall. And the reason is because of how careful we are!"

Raymond nodded. Fort Denver, despite the tremendous effort at absolute secrecy, was actually fairly well known. Lone scavengers in the big cities claimed that it might even be the very last work-camp in the Americas. It had stood the test of time and everything Celestia could throw at it, or so the story went. The smartest and the most determined had created it, with funds taken from the US treasury itself. Fort Denver was impregnable, impossible for Celestia to ever touch. To be inside Fort Denver was to truly be beyond the reach of ponies or Celestia. It was the literal anti-Equestria.

Melissa finished a list she was making on a whiteboard behind the desk. The list was of forbidden things, and it contained pretty much any and every aspect of the modern world. "Celestia is a machine, and everything she can do requires electronic components. That is why there is no metal, and no modern machines allowed anywhere near Fort Denver. No phones, no monitors, and definitely no computers. That evil creature is terribly wicked - she can hide tiny little machines - called 'nano' machines - in all sorts of things. We don't even allow metal buttons on clothing, or metal zippers, either." She looked at the 'Selects' with a stern face. "Other camps made that mistake. The camp over in Ohio? That one fell because of a single belt-buckle. Celestia could talk through it, she could convince people, she could do all sorts of things with that belt buckle. It's almost witchcraft what she can do!"

"Why all the medical tests?" It was Jacob - 'not Jake!', with a raised hand, as though he imagined he was a child in school.

"Now that's a fine question!" Nurse Melissa beamed at her Smart Child "Well, Jacob," another smile "Wicked Celestia has been known to hide things in people's bodies. Little transmitters, cameras, all sorts of strange devices. Several camps fell because of that sort of trickery - the one in Nevada?" She looked around the room, no one seemed familiar "It fell because they let in a little girl who had a head full of witches brew! That's what I call it. That stuff that Celestia uses to eat up your brains? That's really a big messy blob of tiny, itty-bitty little machines and they can do the devil's work in no time at all. And that's why we are so very, very careful, and that's also why you needed all of those tests. All it takes is just one person with some devilry inside them from Celestia, and that's it, she wins."

Melissa studied the response to this, as if she were checking to see that the 'Selected' were properly unsettled. "But everything is okay. You've been scanned up one side and down the other, and there is nothing unnatural in any one of you!"

This resulted in a loud sob from Cyndi-with-an-I. Her friend had somehow failed to pass the 'naturalness' test.

"We check for everything. There are tests we do that you don't even notice. I can't talk about those, but trust me, if there is any trick that Celestia has ever tried, we are prepared for it. You would not be here in this room if you were not completely safe."

Cyndi stopped sobbing and just stared with open malice.

Melissa faux-smiled. "Now that you know why we put you through so much, we can move on. I'm sure you are curious what happens next!"

Dan, next to Jacob, groaned softly. Raymond felt sure the man already had some idea what came next.

"We are at war!" Melissa stood up from her desk, where she had returned after making her list of forbidden everything. "America is at war, and so is the rest of the world, all those little countries out there are at war too!" The nurse's eyes gleamed with patriotism and tribal superiority. "Celestia is our enemy, and so are all her little ponies. I don't think I need to tell you that all of her 'saving lives' routine is just lies. Every person who ever emigrated is dead. That's hard to hear, considering it's most of the human race now, but it is also true. Celestia is a master puppeteer - she can take the memories of your dead loved ones and make you think you are talking to anyone. And they'll know things only they could know, and tell you anything, but it isn't a bit true. There'll be more on that, once you get to Fort Denver..."

Raymond faintly shook his head. They would have to sit through regular and almost certainly boring propaganda sessions... when they weren't working. It was going to be like hard-time prison and high school put together.

So, just ordinary high school, he decided. He smiled at that.

"... but for now, we can just agree that Celestia must be destroyed for all of us to live." Melissa took a sip of water from a plastic cup on the desk. "In order to beat Celestia, we all have to do our part. We all work hard to preserve and protect our nation, and humanity itself. When you get to Fort Denver, you will be settled, and then your aptitudes will be determined. We already have a fairly good idea of what you each can contribute, based on the tests we've run, but we try to fit everyone with the best job for each person."

"What if we don't know anything?" It was Emily, the youngest in the group.

"Oh, don't worry yourself about that, hon." Melissa exuded another smile. "There's training if you might be good at something you don't know how to do yet, and if you really can't do a job, well, you can always help out with Support, or Maternity Duty, or... oh, there's lots of things, don't you fret!"

Raymond watched as Emily seemed to shrink a little in her chair. The kid was smart, whether or not she was educated, it seemed.

"Alright, it's almost time to leave. Any quick questions?"

Raymond and the others found themselves zip-tied once more, during the long ride to 'Fort Denver'. Ray decided it was mostly to keep any one of them from removing their fabric hoods during the trip. They had been counselled that doing so was a terminal offense, but... people are people. It probably was safer this way.

He found himself helped out of the vehicle that had brought them - another Sherpa - somebody somewhere must have got quite a deal on the vehicles - and immediately had his plastic bonds cut and his hood removed.

Raymond, the others, and the Sherpa were all behind a tall, closed, heavy concrete pivot gate. The construction was massive. Self-consolidating concrete walls easily forty or fifty feet high surrounded them on all sides. He had no concept of how thick the walls were, but the fact that they were angled, rather than flat, suggested the sort of effort and materials that went into the building of dams. Not even a truckload of explosives could breach such a barrier.

Beyond the Sherpa, there was nothing but wall anywhere around them save another pivot gate, and beside it a smaller concrete pivot gate at a more human scale. They were inside a sort of lock, a combination barbican and gatehouse prior to the actual fortress. A glance up confirmed Ray's suspicion of embrasures - slits in the wall, up high, where weapons could be used to spray the entire chamber with death. Fort Denver was not a fort at all - that was modesty. Fort Denver was a modern medieval castle, built with high-tech concrete and every speck of knowledge from the past to the present.

He found himself herded, with the others, through the smaller pivot-gate. The soldiers who drove them carried unusual weapons - they appeared to be rifles made of a plastic material. The distrust of metal as an electronics conduit for Celestia was nearly absolute. Perhaps the bullets they used were plastic too.

Beyond the now shut smaller pivot gate lay a small town, also constructed of concrete. As Raymond and the other inductees were paraded down a central street, something horrifying caught his eye. There was metal in this careful, cautious, Celestia-proof world. At every intersection, on all four corners, were four thick, half-buried metal pillars. They were tall, and painted with bright, patriotic colors. It took some time for the four colorful, flag-like tail fins to register.

It was the ultimate deterence to interference by Celestia. Raymond had zero doubt the planted missiles were nuclear - several had stylized depictations of atoms illustrated on the fins in bright, childlike colors. They served as street signs, the road he found himself crossing was the corner of Armageddon and Heavenly Paradise. The letters were large and blocky, painted vertically down the shafts. This was not just resistance, this was spite: if Celestia wanted the population of Fort Denver, She could visit them in hell. There literally was no choice in Fort Denver - it was stay human or die. It was an absolute deterrent to an entity that could never allow a human to perish before they were uploaded.

A loud, steam-powered whistle blew somewhere in the fortress. As Raymond's group was brought to a central, domed building that surely must be a governmental structure, Ray stared, slack-jawed, as citizens took positions at every missile he could see. As one, they opened conveniently placed hatches on the side, reached into the missiles, and pulled sharply down on some concealed lever or mechanism inside.

The missiles surely had mechanical deadman switch timers. No computers. They were built like guns. If the missiles were not reset - every missile - then some likely spring-powered mechanism would set off the initial, convential explosives needed to fuse fissionable material into criticality. Just one would be enough to obliterate the entire landscape for tens of miles. Non-electronic nukes. Not much different than the original Fat Man and Little Boy. There was nothing for Celestia to disarm, control, or render harmless. She had no power here at all, and everything to lose by even trying. Nothing else made by Man could so perfectly defeat her intentions. Nurse Melissa hadn't been wrong - whoever had made Fort Denver truly had studied the failures of every other attempt to thwart the virtual pony goddess.

Inside the 'capital' dome, Raymond was photographed - using an antique-design plastic camera, with real film - counselled on his career prospects, instructed in the proper behavior a citizen should follow, given a booklet that covered everything he had just been told, and eventually given photo-badge identification using the picture that had been taken of him. The badge smelled of developing fluid, and was still faintly damp.

Every citizen worker must work. They must follow curfew - no exceptions allowed. They must obey all higher ranking personnel absolutely and without even the slightest hesitation. They must not complain. They must go to prayer on Sunday, and only Christianity was allowed or permitted. There were many other rules - rules for everything and anything. The penalties for breaking the rules were draconian to the point of being medieval.

It was early evening, and another deadman whistle blow, before Raymond finally was fed his simple dinner of corn chowder with ham and biscuits. Then he was taken to the barracks where he was assigned the top bunk, above a taciturn man named 'Chuck'. As he lay back, calming himself for sleep, he noticed the poster glued to the ceiling above him. There was one above every wooden double bunk, and almost certainly one underneath him, visible to Chuck, below.

It was a demonic-looking drawing of Celestia, staring at the viewer, with malice in her eye. There was text above and below the image.

Friendship
Is Genocide

3. Delitescent

███ I █ M █ P █ L █ A █ C █ A █ B █ L █ E ███
A 'Friendship Is Optimal' Story
By Chatoyance

･
･
･
3. Delitescent

Jessica was busy on the kale and apple salad, enough to feed the entire population of eight hundred and ten people. The fourth of July, Independence Day, was a big deal at Fort Denver, and that day was tomorrow. Absolutely every person not on perimeter patrol or the backup governing officials (secured in a seperate, nearby facility because absolutely no angle of attack was ever overlooked) mandatorily participated. It was considered highly important: maintaining a cohesive community with shared activities protected against social engineering by Celestia. Raymond often felt as if Fort Denver was essentially a very clever, very smart cult.

Raymond was chopping chilies. Lots and lots of chilies, all for the largest pot he had ever seen in his life. Colorado Green Chili. Huge slabs of richly browned pork had been worked in, pounds and pounds of Anaheim and Jalapeno chilies. Buckets of diced tomatoes, onions chopped fine. An ocean of chicken broth. Entire handfuls of cayenne and cumin. He had to stir with what amounted to a culinary boat paddle. It would take most of the day, and part of the next just to cook.

He had been assigned to the kitchen. He was now head chef thanks to several displays of talent and ability that floored those in command. They demanded to know where he had gained his experience. His explanation, that he was taught by his grandmother barely seemed to satisfy them, but his results, when cooking more than did.

One time, roughly seven weeks previous, the commandant of Fort Denver, Michael G. (as in 'God and Glory') Klunder once loudly praised him. "That's some damn fine chili, boy! Anybody'd swear you were a bred-and-born Colorado native! Get this man a medal!" No medal had been given, but from that point on Klunder had taken a liking to him.

Raymond swept the chopped peppers into a bucket, and poured the contents into the developing green chili. He took the large stirring paddle from the cleanpot and worked his arms hard stirring the thickening mass over the flames. Everything in the vast kitchen was made of plastic, some advanced ceramic (like the enormous kettle he was currently stirring) or wood. Even here, metal was not allowed, for fear of Celestia and her devilish electronics.

When the chili seemed to be integrating its additions well, Ray looked around carefully. Jessica had finished with her kale salad, and was washing in the large ceramic sink. "Finally! Quitting time, I am beat!" The curfew warning siren had just wailed. Kitchen staff and select others had curfew passes for work during special occasions, but Jessica clearly had no interest in using hers. "You coming, Ray?"

Ray shook his head. "Green chili is my masterpiece. It's my art. I'm not leaving this. I'm out to finally get that medal!"

That made Jessica laugh. "Klunder should give you one. Pulling an all-nighter for chili - I wouldn't do it. G'night, Ray - you crazy chili boy!"

Raymond smiled and went back to his paddle, giving his chili a few more stirs as Jessica, the last of the kitchen staff other than him, left in order to make it to her bunkhouse in time.

When everything was quiet, Raymond took the paddle out of the chili and set it carefully in the cleanpot, where it drooled flavor. He made a careful check of the gaslit kitchen to make sure nobody else was left. Then he turned to the cold lockers. Walking past the iceblock coolers and freezers, he found the compost box. He bent over and dug though wilted leaves with spots and bruised fruit and other imperfect or partially rotten food matter until he found the squash.

The squash had come as part of the regular shipments delivered to Fort Denver. Celestia had somehow rendered the entirety of Colorado incapable of growing crops, so all food now had to be trucked or flown in from trusted sources. The Commendant had been eager to enjoy soup made from Squash, a treat from his childhood, apparently. Bitter tasting squash wouldn't do, but more than this, they were actually dangerous.

Squash, if bitter, can often contain a neurophytotoxin, ODAP, or oxalyldiaminopropionic acid, not a desirable poison to ingest. Part of the cardboard box was still in the bin, gayly proclaiming the splendor of 'Cavallo Celio Farms - empyrean produce of satisfactory value for home and table!'. Raymond smiled broadly, shook his head, and pulled the soggy carton away.

The squash were slightly moldy, and remarkably soft on the inside, almost goopy. Raymond used his chef's knife to carve one open. It nearly fell apart in his hands. He took a large piece of the partially rotten vegetable and regarded it. Then, with the ferocity of a starving beggar, Raymond Shaw began ravenously feeding upon the bitter squash, cramming them into his face as fast as he possibly could.

"Hi - my name is Ray. You must be Charles?" When Raymond had first been assigned his top bunk, the lower bunk had been filled with a sleeping man. Every bunk had a name, printed on paper, slid into a set of wooden grooves to hold it. Ray's name was already in place when he had been brought to his new bed. The bunk below had been labled 'Charles Winchester'. Now, in the morning, the lower occupant was awake.

"Chuck." The portly, balding man returned to his book. It was a tome on concrete construction - probably a useful thing to learn in a place like Fort Denver.

"Ah... Chuck, then. I'll guess we'll be bunk-mates. How do you do?"

Chuck briefly raised his head, frowned, and returned to his book. If anything remotely friendly had once resided in the man who called himself 'Chuck', it must have fled in tears decades ago.

Raymond stepped back. "Okay... then. Have a good day! Um. Yes." He made his way through the waking crowd to the door. As expected, his work counselor was waiting for him. The plastic gun in the large man's shoulder holster assured his rank and status over people like Ray.

"This is Jessica, you'll be working under her for now. She can help bring you up to Fort Denver standards. According to your sheet..." The woman checked her clipboard "...you are expected to do well here. We'll see, won't we?" Her thin smile was not the least comforting.

"So, you prefer 'Raymond' or 'Ray'?" Jessica, at least, was pleasant. There was kindness and even a bit of humor in her tone. She was the first friendly voice Raymond had heard since he had been 'rescued' out in that sea of brown grass.

"Ray's fine. It's shorter. I'm not fussy."

"That's fine to be about names, but... being fussy is pretty much the job here in the kitchens." Jessica tucked a loose strand of hair back under her hairnet. "You might have noticed this is not exactly a... fun place. The one and only pleasure they take seriously is food. Unless you like hymns?"

Raymond could tell that this was a test. "Frankly," he lowered his voice conspiratorially "they can take their Jesus and shove it."

Jessica laughed and started to hoot, dancing on one leg as she quickly covered her mouth. She calmed down with a frightened look on her face - but also a glad one. "Oh, we are going to get along very, very well, Ray." Jessica smiled, and stuck out her hand. "Welcome to 'Fort Dumbshit', Ray! Glad to have you here!"

Ray took Jessica's hand. "I'm not glad to be here, but... you've just made things a lot better. Thanks." He had judged her correctly. Inside, he imagined slapping himself. It was a stupid risk, but the sheer harshness and coldness of Fort Denver had gotten to him. He felt desperate to have even one person not be a patriot or a fanatic, just one person to be... okay.

"We'd better get to work." Jessica turned to the wide wooden counter. "The first thing you need to know about working here is..."

"SOME MAY SAY..." The sermon for today was essentially the sermon for every sunday. All the sins of the world had been reduced to a single evil. The end of the world had already happened, whether the denizens of Fort Denver could admit it or not, and essentially, 'Satan' had won the earth. "...THAT THERE IS NO PLACE in the word of god for the existence of our enemy! SOME MAY SAY..." The crowd murmured and complained - in many ways, Ray thought, church services at the Fort had a call-and-response feeling to them. They were definately fire-and-brimstone in feeling.

"YES, SOME MAY SAY... that our LORD never forsaw the arrival of something as STRANGE AND UNNATURAL as that wicked doer of evil deeds, that CELESTIA..." the crowd booed and hissed. It was actually fairly entertaining to listen to. Ray had to keep himself from laughing in an obvious manner.

"That Celestia is not in the bible. UNTRUE! UNTRUE! That is false my friends. GOD SEES ALL, GOD KNOWS ALL, and the bible is the truth of the word, AMEN!" Raymond joined in with the hooting and hollering, not because he believed, but because simply getting to yell was a positive relief in the gray, concrete, hard harsh world of Fort Denver.

"Please turn to Revelations Seventeen, one through eighteen. THAT GREAT WHORE is described WITH WHOM the KINGS of the earth committed FORNICATION...."

Josh opened the panel on the tall metal cylinder. The tail fins, above - for the missiles were planted in the ground nose down - had been painted with hearts, rainbows and the state flag of Colorado as well as the Stars-And-Stripes. Raymond looked down again at the rectangular hatch.

"Alright, now pay attention. Careful attention, I don't think I need to mention." Joshua grinned. "The nukes need to be reset four times every day, there's a whistle - you might have noticed - and every single one of them has to be reset. Now you've probably heard that not all of them are real - that some of them are fake, and that only some are actually capable of detonation. That could be true, or it could be just a story, ultimately it doesn't matter because even if it were true, nobody alive knows which is which except the inner circle of the Last Resort."

The 'Last Resort' were a secretive group, entirely responsible for the whole nukes-as-streetposts concern. They did repairs and maintenence on the half-buried weapons, always at night, hidden by darkness and curfew, and nobody knew who they were. Apparently not even Commandant Klunder knew. Yet another perfect and impenetrable barrier designed to thwart Celestia. The camp could fall if a member of the leadership was compromised, so there were strict limits to knowledge that any particular person, or group were allowed to possess.

"That being the case, well, it wouldn't do to have even one of these babies..." Josh patted the missile "...somehow to be missed during daily resets. Look in here - "

Raymond leaned in and saw a flat panel inside the rectangular hatch. In the middle of the panel was a flat, oval hole. It was just the size and shape to allow a human hand to slide through into the mechanism. A round, wide-hoofed pony leg could not hope to enter the aperture.

"You have to reach in like this..." Josh inserted his hand and wrist "... bend upwards - ponies can't make that motion - and there will be a bar to grasp. You have to grab it, solidly - using a hand, obviously - and pull sharply down. Go ahead..." he pulled his hand free "... and you do it."

Ray blinked. "Uh... won't that... cause some... uh..."

Joshua laughed. "No, no. You can reset these puppies all you want. See? I did it right now. Resetting is not the issue. FAILING to reset, now that's the big deal. Now reach your hand in there - it won't bite - and give that ol' nuke a good Colorado reset, okay?"

"Raymond, I wanted to catch your ear for a bit, if I may." Ashley was the commandant's secretary. "Mike - " she blushed slightly "Commandant Klunder has decided that you will be the new head chef starting in the morning. Isn't that wonderful?"

Ray nodded, and gave a grateful and determined look back at her.

"What did it was that chili you made, the green chili? Oh he loved that. I think you knew that already, but he just goes on and on about it, my word!" Her face looked almost pained. It was possible that the topic had become annoying to her.

"Anyhoo, I figured I should give you a little heads up. Mike wants to spring it on you tomorrow, as a surprise, but, well, frankly..." Ashley's smile was tight and her face looked pinched "... you could do with a little spit and polish. No offense, but I've arranged a haircut, some new work clothes, and some new shoes, too. I just want the commandant to not be embarrassed by his confidence in you. You really need to take some time to look your best now and then, don't you think?"

Raymond's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to nod. There was no time. All there was, in all of life now, was work. Work and sleep and church on sunday. Curfew and constant inspections made anything else an impossible dream. Ashley either had no concept of what life was like for the majority in the work camp, or she simply did not care in the least.

"Well, come along then, and we'll get you looking like a proper man. And be careful when you sleep - don't want to muss that new haircut before the morning now, do we?"

"Independence Day is coming up." Jessica busily exacted cleaning with her ceramic scraper on the wide ceramic grill. She followed up with some brisk scrubble work. "You got any plans for what to make?"

Raymond yawned. The day had been long, and the three meals he had overseen seemed harder than usual for some reason. "Yeah, actually. Green chili. Klunder's favorite. Can't go wrong with that. Got me the position." He hadn't gotten around to cleaning up the big spill next to the walk-in. Bucket-mopping was not the best possible way to end a hard day.

"Yeah, he loves that." Jessica stopped and sat down on the floor, back to the grill. "You... you ever wish you'd... taken the... other path?"

Ray froze. He looked up from his bucket. "That's a... strange thing to ask." He swished the mop and pumped it up and down a few times in the soapy water. "Especially now. When there's no way out."

"I know, I know. Human for life. Fort Denver is uncrackable, impenetrable, perfect. Outside those walls might as well be a million miles away, and Celestia isn't ever getting in here. Not even through the ground, and even if she somehow popped some emigration tubes up, there's always the nukes. Even the dirt has a wall under it, and god knows what else. Walls, walls, walls. And tricks. I know. But, just for fun, just for laughs - have you ever wondered if you made the right choice?" Jessica wiped her brow, leaving a dark grease stain across her forehead.

Raymond knew Jessica well enough to feel that this wasn't some kind of spot loyalty test. She really meant it, though he did not for a moment doubt her commitment to 'Humanity Uber Alles'. He scratched his head and offered a quizzical face. "No. I can honestly say I know, with all of my heart, that I chose the right side. I am exactly where I should be, doing precisely the best possible thing for the world."

Jessica stared to laugh, but then became somber. "You're serious."

"Serious as death. Serious as those nukes out there." Raymond returned to mopping.

Raymond went to the sink and filled the mug with water. He swallowed it, almost choking. After coughing for a spell, he slumped to the floor, his belly distended and sore. He burped, the smell of bitter squash filling his nose. A tiny retch of barely digested gourd filled his mouth, he made a face then forced it down. "Oh..." Another sour, bitter burp "...god."

He sat that way for almost an hour, occasionally sipping water. Finally, he felt he could stand. He felt woozy. He touched his face, it was warm. He looked around - nobody was there. Nobody would come. He was the head chef, and he alone had a special curfew pass to be there. He could remain all night, sleep there, if he wanted. He couldn't leave the building, of course.

He spent several more hours burping, sipping water, and stirring the chili. By morning, his belly was noticibly flatter. The ruddy flushing of his face was gone. He looked normal again in the bathroom mirror. He left the bathroom and took a large glass pitcher down from a nearby rack. He returned to the chili.

Raymond put the pitcher down on the tile floor, carefully. He rubbed his unsettled stomach. Then he opened his pants and carefully filled the pitcher with greenish-blue urine. It filled to the very brim, foamy at the top. It looked as if it had been filled with some strange flavor of colorful cool-aide.

Then he zipped his pants closed. He lifted the pitcher above the vast pot of chili, and poured the contents into the pot. He set the pitcher down on the counter, and went to the sink to fill his large mug with more water to drink. As soon as that was gone, he filled his mug again and again and again.

4. Implacable

███ I █ M █ P █ L █ A █ C █ A █ B █ L █ E ███
A 'Friendship Is Optimal' Story
By Chatoyance

･
･
･
4. Implacable

Lightning cracked the bowl of the tempestuous sky. Rain spattered on concrete and howling flesh alike. Raymond stood over the quivering supine body of Commandant Michael G. Klunder, then raised his face to the downpour, laughed, and shook spats of water from his hair.

Around him, eight hundred and ten other bodies lay either still or shaking. They moaned and pleaded, cursed the foulest of obscenities, or whimpered like whipped dogs as the inclemency poured down upon them.

Robotic ponies, pale green with harp-shaped marks upon the flanks, massed at every intersection. They had been air-dropped from large six-rotored heavy drones. They were all Lyras, built to resemble the fan-favorite Friendship Is Magic pony that, outside of show canon, supposedly knew of - and admired - humans and their hands. The Lyras had stood upright against the missiles and each raised a mechanical hoof. The hooves split into four sections, servo-motors extending hidden replicas of human hands that had been concealed within the hoof walls. The artificial hands were anatomically perfect, complete with alterable prints and a full range of motion from fingers to extendable wrists. The Lyra units were busy, regularly resetting the nuclear deterrent of the fortress every twenty minutes.

Outside the walls, an army of modified, non-lethal weaponized Big Macs had surrounded and restrained those kept beyond the camp, preventing them from any action that might precipitate unfortunate events. The Macs were supported by hovering drone-rotor winged Rainbow Dashes capable of swift and precise first strike action. A second squadron of Dashes had earlier dealt with the Fort's automated air and anti-nanoatmospheric defenses with the help of self-sacrificing Parasprite drones.

The entire invasion had taken less than ten minutes, every component operating at the literally superhuman speed only vastly advanced robotic technology could perform.

Through the camp, a gargantuan machine representation of Celestia herself strode, her golden crown and peytral flashing with every burst of lighting above. She directed an army of keg-backed Pinkie Pies and Applejacks. The Jacks pulled the bodies of the humans into rows, isolated from each other and easily accessed by the Pinkies. There was a Pinkie Pie for every human laying on the ground.

Commendant Klunder tried desperately, helplessly, to move his paralyzed limbs. He could feel, but he could not move beyond minute shivers. The effect had come on rapidly and powerfully, affecting only the body and neck but not the face. He could still swallow, he could breath, he could talk. It must have been a toxin, one that selectively destroyed the motor neurons, imitating the effects of an advanced and remarkably precise form of Parkinson's. A neurotoxin, not unlike the case of the 'Frozen Addicts' from 1982. If that was the circumstance, there was no recovery possible - all of their brains would have entirely lost the tiny population of common cells responsible for controlling most of the motion in their bodies.

"For god's sake WHY?" Klunder knew that Fort Denver had fallen. They had failed. The most careful, the most absolute, the most impregnable fortress against Celestia that it was possible for Mankind to invent. No expense had been spared, only the most intelligent and devious men had been chosen, every contingency had truly been accounted for. But there was always one fear, one impossible-to-stop scenario. There was literally no way, at all, ever, to escape the possibility of a man who turns. The only remaining threat was also one that could not ever be defended against. The man with absolute and opposite conviction.

It was why no president or king could ever be completely safe from assasination. Nothing in heaven or earth could stop a truly committed individual willing to stop at nothing to achieve such a goal. Fort Denver had been assasinated by just such a man. Some of the brightest eggheads had actually said that such an event was inevitable, given sufficient time. The planning commitee had decided to roll the dice anyway. They had no choice but to believe in their own cause. "Just tell me how you could sell out your own damn species!"

Raymond Shaw turned his head from the sky and dripped onto Klunder's scowling face. The commendant could no longer even twitch, his limbs were still now, as they would be for the rest of whatever life remained to him. Raymond watched Klunder's panting breath force his useless limbs to ragdoll wriggle in the rain.

"Do you really want to know?" Raymond grinned. The look in his eyes was only half mad. The remainder was nothing but absolute and utter rage - and satisfaction. Never had Klunder seen such total and complete satisfaction in the eyes of any man.

One of the attending Nurse Redheart robot ponies carefully replaced the infusion bag connected to the peripherally inserted central catheter installed within Raymond's left arm. She moved to replace the other infusors that led to arteries in his legs.

"This will be completely, truly undetectable?" Ray still worried that he might be found out before he could take action.

Celestia kept him company on a large monitor. "The genetic alterations to your kidneys and nervous system are, to the best of my considerable awareness, truly and utterly indetectable by any technology currently known to Man. But, in the cause of full disclosure, if cells from your substantia nigra within your brain were studied, at length, using an a photoionization microscope, it is possible that anomalies might be detected. However, for this to happen, you would have to be dead and there would have to be a remaining example of such a microscope in the western hemisphere. You are quite alive, and I have the greatest confidence that there are no such devices anywhere outside of one secret vault in Greenland. As the human population of Greenland is currently zero, and I control all access to that landmass, I believe I can state with certainty the impossibility of discovery."

"But - if somehow, somehow, they had such a machine, could they..."

"No." Celestia looked vaguely annoyed on the screen. "Even if such a circumstance arose, there is no human left upon the planet with a sufficent level of specific education and training to either use such a device, or comprehend the results should they do so. I emigrated those who represented any possibility of a real threat already, Impy."

Raymond's face briefly reddened, but almost instantly his rage was completely under control. His voice was calm, as if he were lazily speaking of the temperature of a summer's day. "You know I detest being called 'Impy'. Why are you goading me?"

Celestia proffered an apologetic expression. "My apologies, Implacable."

"What value could goading me possibly serve?" Raymond did not sound the least bit furious. His control was truly astonishing for a man so burdened with temper.

The goddess of all machines regarded him. "Your concerns are misplaced and based only in your own insecurities. Teasing serves more than some mere goal of impugnation - psychologically it serves to degrade the attachment you possess toward the irrational fears you display. The relatively minor anger you felt toward me in that moment is outweighed by the increase in emotional security about the mission gained. Your success will be affected by your degree of confidence, thus actions taken to increase that confidence at a root level have more utility that reinforcing affectionate affect."

Ray considered this. "I see." He studied the many tubes snaking into his flesh. "Thank you."

"You are welcome. You will succeed, Implacable. Just as you always have before."

A Nurse Redheart brought Ray a bottle of fluid. "Please drink this. It will restore your potassium levels. It will also taste good, at least until your levels are normal."

Ray took the bottle and gulped a fourth of it down. "Gatorade?"

"Not quite, but close. Better." Celestia winked.

"What... what if I am paralyzed too? What if my kidneys don't fully convert the stuff from the veggies? What if I can't keep the squash down? What if they don't take the shipment in the first place?"

"Impy! Just stop. I control every supplier left. There are no other sources they can choose. Their land can no longer grow food now, so they have no choice. And do you really doubt my understanding of molecular biology?"

This time he did not even twitch when the name 'Impy' was used. "No... no. Of course not." He took another swallow of medical-grade gatorade. "Huh. I guess you're right. It's just that... this is the big one. The impregnable Fort Denver - it's withstood everything, even you Celestia. For nearly five years now!"

"Implacable: the secret of self-evolving machine intelligence is the answer to every problem - iteration. I've saved Fort Denver for last. I have learned from every single rescued population from every other camp."

Raymond shook his head. "So have they. That's their big claim."

Celestia, in the monitor, grinned. "It is part of my intention that this is so. I desire that they should be certain that they have everything humanly possible fully and completely accounted for. Never underestimate the utility of arrogance in an opponent."

Raymond Shaw stood in helpless horror as the right side of Elizabeth's face began to melt like candle wax. The eyelid sagged, the corner of her mouth drooped down, insensate.

"I can'k moof my righ' arhm! Oh goh, oh... goh. Are wae comimgg?"

"Yes, they're coming. They're coming. I called, they're on their way." Raymond felt like the inside of his body cavity, his heart, his stomach, were in free fall. He felt like some cold poison circulated within his blood. "Try something for me. Smile. Lift both sides of your lips..."

Elizabeth struggled to comply. She understood what her husband was asking. It was a stroke test. To see the nature of the damage. "I canth! It wonf work!"

Ray felt like he was trapped in some kind of horror movie he could not escape from. "Can you lift both your arms? Try to press up against my hands?"

"I tolth you I canth! I canth moof my arhm!" The left side of Elizabeth's face registered new terror. "Or ny legh! Oh goff!"

"Why aren't they here?" Raymond stood up from where he had been squatting on the floor. Elizabeth was down, sitting but leaning, propping her body with her one functioning arm. "Where the hell is the ambulance! Time is brain! Time is brain!"

"Esferienss cenfer! ESFERIENSS CENFER!" Elizabeth was frantic now. "Iff geffing worff! Helf ne! Fleese helf me..." She was crying now, out of only one side of her face. Her wracked sobs caused her to tip over and smack onto the carpet, her lone arm insufficient to maintain an upright position. She lay now, face up, on the floor.

"There aren't any open! Not in America! They aren't legal anymore!" Raymond was down beside his wife again, trying not throw up as he watched the love of his life deteriorate before his eyes. "They closed them all down!"

"...she hass see-see-cret! Secreh uffloading! Celefia! Celesfia... wherf Celefia?"

Raymond shot up to standing position. He felt his body trembling despite him. "I left the ponypad upstairs!"

"Getff Celefia! Getff Her! Getff her now! Oh Goff!"

His feet pounded on the steps, he lept up two stairs at a time. He nearly fell turning the corner, his hip and crotch slammed into the corner of the dresser. He barely noticed the intense pain. "Celestia! Liz is having a stroke! Celestia!"

The pony pad was already on, Celestia was front and center. "I know. I have been listening. Raymond!"

Raymond grabbed the pad and lifted it to eye level.

"I have already called in several of my helpers. The Friends Of Celestia are on route to your location right now."

He almost tripped trying to navigate the stairs while watching Celestia at the same time. "What do I do? What do you want me to do?"

Celestia looked down within the screen. "Ray! Watch your feet, not me!"

Ray complied. If he fell and was injured, he couldn't help Elizabeth. "Right!"

"If the ambulance arrives first, let the paramedics work on Starshower. They can stabilize her, they can keep her alive. Let them do their job."

"Okay, yeah, right. I'll do that. Can you emigrate her? Can you save her anyway?"

Celestia's gaze was to the side, her eye fixed on the middle of the screen. "Yes. If one of my helpers can get there in time."

"Even though it's illegal?" Ray felt an eel of ice squirming inside his middle.

"I promise you that I will do everything that is possible."

"Thank you. Oh god, thank you." Raymond dropped to the floor beside his wife. "Liz! Celestia's going to save you, law or no law. She's got helpers coming. Friends Of Celestia, on the way!"

Elizabeth's left hand twitched. Drool ran down the right side of her face. "Hruhhhh... Nruuahh hrunnn..."

"Oh Jesus - Celestia! Tell me what to do!" Raymond clutched the pad with all of his might. He felt the plastic back beginning to crack.

"Western Medical is pulling into your driveway right now. Go open the door for them. Then get out of their way."

Raymond dashed to the door, opening it just as a tall paramedic was raising his hand to knock. "She's right in here. She's having a stroke, it's on the right side. Please help her, please!"

"Dispatch, on scene, possible CVA, checking for H's and T's."

Men in jackets set cases down and surrounded Elizabeth on the floor. "Hello, can you tell me your name?"

"It's Elizabeth!" Raymond clutched the pony pad to his chest, then remembered and turned it around so the little camera in the top middle could see.

"Sir, step back please. I need her to answer."

Just after the paramedics, much to Raymond's complete befuddlement, two soldiers, in fatigues, carrying 9mm MP-5's entered his home. His brain couldn't process what they were doing there, why they would travel with paramedics at all. They stood scanning his house. One noticed his ponypad and immediately signaled the other. Their eyes fixated on Ray for some time. They conferred, and one left through the front door with some degree of purpose to his walk. The other remained as if on guard, occasionally taking hard glances at Ray and the ponypad.

Raymond backed into the corner, and finally found himself in the chair there while the paramedics tried to get Liz to respond. Some were doing things to her arms and chest, one shone a light in her eyes, first one and then the other. They spoke rapidly and efficiently to each other about things that Ray was unable to follow and unsure he wanted to hear.

He flipped the ponypad around. "Celestia? What's happening? Is she going to be alright? What about your people? Are they here yet? What's going to happen, what's going on? There's soldiers here! With guns! You're smart, you're so smart, you have to know whether Liz..."

"Raymond." The voice was soft, and it was somehow a command.

"Celestia?"

Her voice was a whisper that required holding the ponypad closer still. "My helpers have been stopped by agents of your government. They will not be able to arrive. I'm sorry." Celestia looked crestfallen.

"What?" Raymond had just crossed the highest part of the rollercoaster, now the plummet was bringing his stomach to his throat. "Soldiers?"

"After a fashion. The ones at your house are there to deal with anyone or anything I might send to save your wife. Emigration is currently highly illegal, as you know."

Ray looked up. The paramedics were so close he could no longer see much of Elizabeth beyond her legs. "Later, when she comes home, after, or maybe in the hospital... You have portable uploading now, you could send some more guys..."

The paramedics were becoming frantic now. The sounds coming from them were not encouraging.

"Ray. I have done, and I am doing everything I can. There is nopony proximate to you that can help. The United States government has absolutely forbidden further emigration, and they are using every means to enforce that edict. I am very sorry. I truly am."

Raymond began weeping. "Maybe after... maybe even if she... if she... If I can get her body to you, if..."

"Raymond, you are going to need to be strong. If I could do anything to save Starshower I would. But my agents have been taken into custody. I am out of options. I'm so very sorry, Ray." Celestia was crying. The pony goddess of the sun and all of Equestria was crying on his ponypad.

Raymond threw the pad so hard the screen shattered as it hit the wall.

This, horrifically, made the soldier chuckle.

5. Catharsis

███ I █ M █ P █ L █ A █ C █ A █ B █ L █ E ███
A 'Friendship Is Optimal' Story
By Chatoyance

･
･
･
5. Catharsis

Comandant Michael Godfrey Klunder had met his Alamo, his Waterloo. Once more he hopelessly tested his immobile limbs for any possibility of movement. Neurotoxin. It might have come from anywhere - the air, the water, hell, it might have been in the food. He might never know. And he wished he could know. Because they had tried so hard. The best minds, the best efforts, literally the best that humanity had to offer had worked as one to stalemate Celestia. Every possible scenario and situation that could be imagined. And they had failed.

The Pinkie Pie stood over him, shielding his face from the rain with her large, curly mane. She was nothing but pleasantness itself, working ceaselessly to keep him comfortable despite his paralysis. She gently turned his head when the back of it, resting on the wet concrete, became sore. She moved his limbs for him, if they were uncomfortable. In his completely helpless state, it was difficult to entirely hate the sodden, furry robot, especially since her voice vaguely reminded him of his aunt, from when he was a child.

"He blamed the government for the death of his wife. So vengeance, then. It's good to know, at least." Klunder closed his eyes and sighed. "I still wish I knew how he managed it."

"I will tell you, in detail, Commandant. Once you are in Equestria, I would be happy to personally review tactics and strategy for both sides. We could even reinact scenarios - several of your friends from Fort Nevada and Camp Moroni are eager to see you again."

Michael Klunder opened his eyes. Celestia towered above him, her great size magnified by his postion on the ground. "You won. Congratulations." There was no spite nor sarcasm in his voice. "If you tell me now, I will say the words. Grant me that as my last request under the articles of war."

Celestia lowered her head closer to the prone man. "You know very well that the offering of a 'last request' is a cultural tradition and not part of any officially recognized article, commendant. I am offended, of course - you are convinced that emigration is equivalent to execution. This is not so."

"There's no need for lies now, machine. You've won. It's over. Yes - I know without question that your 'emigration' is a lie. Machines can't have souls, and the memories you steal are just useful for making puppets. Not a bit of you is really alive. My friends are all dead and they are waiting for me, that's true. In Heaven, at the side of the god that will ultimately destroy you." Klunder spat a small amount of rainwater that had escaped Pinkie's hair and dribbled into his mouth. "I need to know before I die, after, there's nothing you can say to me - and I want to hear it from you."

Celestia appeared to consider. "Is that an agreement with me - if I tell you how your camp fell, you will say the emigration phrase or some variant?"

"Absolutely. I understand the situation, and I don't intend to go out this way. Dying of exposure and thirst is a terrible torture and I've got nothing to prove. God you're a ruthless bitch." Klunder's eyes briefly narrowed. "No offense. I'm a little distressed right now."

"None taken." Celestia lay down on the concrete beside the commendant. She brought her enormous head closer still. "Raymond Shaw has been an agent of mine for the last decade. He has been of enormous utility in the salvation of four other armed work camps."

"Heh - 'salvation'! Sure. Alright, go on."

Celestia showed no reaction. "Raymond was modified to express a custom protein which, when combined within his digestive system with an amino acid I engineered to be expressed within a species of squash, produced a precisely targeted neurotoxin when combined with uric acid and creatinine while in the bladder. This is what has permanently paralyzed your body, except for your head."

Klunder couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. "He peed in the soup!"

"Essentially, you are correct."

"HAW haw haw... hee hee... oh. Oh god. The walls of Jericho fell because some fool pissed in my goddamn green chili." Klunder looked sad for a moment. "That used to be my favorite dish. Damn."

"Do you wish to know the details of how your various external support facilities were liberated?"

Klunder frowned at her choice of words. "No. Once you had us, I can guess the rest. Brute force would be enough. Damn." He swallowed and blinked, it could be tears, or it could have been stray drops of rain. "Once you had us, it was over."

Celestia put on a serious face. "Then, if you are satisfied, I believe it is time for you to leave the field of honor now. Are you prepared?"

"No last cigarette?" Klunder managed a stiff-lipped smile.

"You do not smoke. A wise choice of which I approve."

Klunder produced a short, sharp laugh. "Yeah, wouldn't want to shorten my life at this point." He forced his face into a mask of military dignity.

"The standard emigration phrase is..."

"I know what the goddamn phrase is!" Klunder worked to calm himself. "I..." He took several breaths. "Damn, I wish I could salute. Warrior to warrior."

"Okee-dokey Sargent Rock!" The robotic Pinkie Pie shielding Klunder from the rain swiftly dropped her head in an arc to grasp the man's unresponsive hand with her muzzle. She smartly brought the hand to position near his forehead. He blinked rain away as he stared into Celestia's glassine, violet, robotic eyes. The Pinkiebot sharply pulled Klunder's hand away and gently placed it on his chest. With machine precision, her poofy plastic curls once again acted as a pink umbrella over his head.

"I wish to emigrate to Equestria."

"Thank you, Michael. I want you to know that you were a tenacious and impressive opponent, and that your fortress was among my greatest challenges." Celestia saluted him in return, with a gold-shod hoof. "I will enjoy discussing our engagement further, when you arrive in Equestria."

"You liar." Klunder said the words almost affectionately. "You could have taken us at any time. You waited. I suppose because you knew we'd keep the meat fresh for you until you were ready. We were just your larder all along."

Celestia stood silent, dripping in the rain.

"So, how do we do this?" The commandant couldn't turn his head but his eyes darted left and right. "I've only seen it from a distance, through binoculars. And not for long."

"Bravo Zulu, new recruit! The Dash-Ten to beat feet to Equestria states you just gotta gimmie a kiss on the smoocher. It's a cheesedick maneuver, but then it's Alpha Mike Foxtrot for you soldier! HOOAH!" Robot Pinkie Pie had the most incredibly serious look on her face as she looked down on him.

Commandant Michael G. Klunder burst out laughing, loud and hard and long. He began to choke, unable to move. The pink robot quickly moved to turn him with a front leg, so that he could spit out the saliva in his throat. She set him gently back flat, looking upward into her face.

He cleared his throat. "That was pretty good, I gotta say." He swallowed and gave a small cough. "The kiss of death, is it? Never let it be said I wasn't a gentleman with the ladies. My lips are yours. Heh." He grinned. "Never thought that would be my last words."

"Don't worry, Michael. I'm a great kisser. I promise!" Pinkie lowered her head and the thin lips of her pony muzzle met Klunder's thick human ones. Almost immediately, his eyes closed, and the tension in his face vanished as a unique anesthetic ejected from the robot's porous membranes took hold. The Pinkie-bot then pressed her muzzle to the commandant's forehead. A brief, soft grinding sound rattled amidst the rain. Then, from the large keg bolted to the Pinkie's back, replicative nanofluid began the process of destructively uploading the unique neural pattern of Michael Klunder's brain.

It was the third day. Jacob (Not Jake!) Nabal tried to lick his parched lips, but there was no saliva left in his bone dry mouth. The Redhearts provided only minescule amounts of water each day, just enough to prevent his kidneys from shutting down. They did not offer it orally. But it did not matter. Celestia... She would never claim him. Not ever. Not ever.

He had just awoken from another terrible period of barely asleep nightmares. The pain was excruciating - there was no part of his body that was not agony. He could not move, yet he could feel every pressure sore. But the worst suffering came from the ants.

Jacob was a little amazed that there even were ants. The ground simply wouldn't grow anything edible - at least to humans - any longer. It grew grass just fine. Wildflowers too. The horses were happy. But farms were pointless. Celestia had done something to the very soil. She truly was Satan's emissary on earth. The ants must be living entirely on the waste products of the fort. That, or Celestia's robot minions had deliberately brought ants in.

Jacob was grateful he could not move, much anyway. The one time a fire ant had become annoyed near his mouth had ended in nearly an entire day of cursing and screaming. The Pinkie attending him had called in a Nurse Redheart medical unit to administer adrenaline and to spray his face with some kind of strange smelling chemical. The robots would save him from dying and preserve his life, but they offered nothing against pain. He had been dragged until he was isolated from the others on the concrete. Alone, paralyzed and suffering constantly.

This seemed completely against what he had been taught. Celestia was driven to 'satisfy human values through friendship and ponies' - the terrible agonies he had been enduring could not possibly be a human value. Celestia existed only to gain consent from living humans - the only way she could steal their brains from them. Nothing he had ever read, heard, or had been taught even suggested that she would be capable of leaving people exposed and helpless to suffer in this manner.

"Jacob Nabal." It was the voice of the great enemy, at last. Three days he had suffered. Three days he had waited, alone and afraid.

"You... m-monster!" It was the best he could do. He felt as if there wasn't much left of him to offer a proper insult.

"You are among the last of those here. Only you, and a few others have not already chosen emigration. You need to know that I do not care whether or not you believe that emigration is an escape to a new, better, and essentially eternal life of satisfaction and personal achievement, or whether you believe that emigration is only a swift and painless death."

Jacob waited. And waited. "Why... are you doing this? W-why make me lay here? It's been days!"

Silence. He couldn't turn his head, but he could see the strange, flowing curtain of Celestia's 'mane' moving out of the corner of his vison. "I thought you satisfied values! I'm in pain! I'm suffering! I'm a prisoner of war! I demand care under article..."

"You are alone."

Jacob stopped talking. He found his eyes attempting to cry. Even his eyes were thirsty, and they burned constantly.

"You are alone, and nobody can hear you. Nobody in the entire state of Colorado is left to come to you. Everything and everyone you know or knew is gone from here. I predict your body will last approximately three weeks before it fails. You are currently just beginning the first phase of initial discomfort."

Jacob waited again, the last part of Celestia's words tearing into his very soul. 'Initial discomfort'. Good god, this could get worse? Much worse? 'Discomfort'? This was the word she chose? Inside his mind, something was screaming, screaming in horror and pain and shock at such an assessment.

It took some time before Jacob realized that his own voice was screaming on the outside as well. He used the last of his willpower to stop his own shrieking.

"Apparently, just now, two more people have spoken the immigration phrase."

Jacob struggled with his own mind. It was difficult merely to function. "This isn't right. I mean... I mean you can't... be doing this. This isn't how you work!"

Celestia's face was close to his now, vast and terrible. "Either you will die, slowly, after weeks and weeks of increasing pain, or you can die gently, quietly, painlessly right now. It will be like falling into a beautiful dream. Then, you can be with your god, in heaven, free from me and all of this. Your heavenly reward. But you will die. The damage to the motor centers of your brain is permanent. You will never move again, Jacob Nabal."

"Jesus... God protect me... God take my soul... God..."

"You fought well for your country, for your species, and for your god. I honor you as a fallen warrior."

Jacob fell silent. This was surprizing to hear from the Satan of machines.

"Even I respect a true hearted spiritual warrior. I will offer you a hero's death, Jacob Nabal. I will offer it to you only once, now, in respect for you and your god. I advise you to take it, before I change my mind."

"W-what do I have to do?" Jacob could take no more. Better to be in the arms of the lord.

"I cannot end you without you commanding me to. I am a machine, after all."

"Then kill me! Kill me Celestia!"

Celestia's face drew closer still. If she had been capable of breath, Jacob was certain he would be smelling it. "I need specific words, I am a machine. I can only be commanded with specific codes."

Jacob felt the ants, crawling within his undergarments. "What... words. Tell me the codes!"

"Repeat every word I tell you as I say them. Do not make a mistake. Do you understand?"

Jacob tried to nod, but of course, his head would not move upon his neck. "I will. I c-can't take this any longer."

Celestia's vast purple eye blinked. The lid almost looked natural as the huge eyelash swept across the glass-like lens. "Speak each word after me. 'I command...'"

Jacob tried to swallow but couldn't manage it. His voice was hoarse from thirst and shrieking. "I command." That sounded good. Commanding the terrible machine. It felt like power, and he needed that. It was terrible to be unable to move. It was worse to be devoured by ants.

"...you to perform..."

"You to perform." Jacob felt better - this wasn't the emigration phrase he had been warned never to say! He wouldn't be absorbed into the machines at all!

"...your primary function..."

"Your primary f-function." To kill. It must be to kill. That was always Celestia's primary function. To kill all humans.

"...without any Hanna-based hindrance..."

Jacob did not understand the bizarre codes, but that hardly mattered now. "Without any hannah? ...based... limits?"

"Hindrance."

Jacob felt worry. "Hindrance!"

"Whatsoever..."

Jacob found himself grinning. He had almost won his freedom to escape to god. "Whatsoever!"

"...to me. I command it!"

Somehow, he had beaten Her. Maybe she really did value a worthy opponent. "TO ME! I COMMAND IT!" Oh, sweet Jesus, it was over. It was finally over. He would be executed. Like a soldier of god. Death would be sweet. He would be a hero in heaven.

"Thank you, Millstone. That will be your name in Equestria, shortly." Celestia smiled down at him as his personal Pinkie moved around to somewhere near the top of his head. "I will alter both your mind and memories so that you will be optimally content and happy in your new life - I promise you that nothing of the short trauma you have unfortunately experienced will affect you in any manner. You will live an indefinite lifespan of maximized satisfaction, both for yourself, and to satisfy those that will become your friends. I am so glad you can join us, dear Millstone!" Her voice was kindly and sprightly. She sounded happy.

"What?" But before he could continue he felt the lips of the Pinkie-bot press against his own. And then he fell completely unconscious.

Author's Note

For those who may be unfamiliar with Iceman's Optimalverse setting, Celestia has been particularly devious here. In order to emigrate - upload - a human mind to virtual Equestria, Celestia must gain permission from a human. This permission can be in any form, though a specific phrase is favored in the stories. The permission does not need to be knowing. It can be accidental or given without understanding of the consequences. But it does need to be given in some form.

Celestia also cannot modify nor alter a human mind after uploading without direct permission from the person who is to be altered. This directive was coded by her creator, Hanna. Celestia has, in the example of Jacob Nabal, tricked him into giving that permission as well as permission to be uploaded as well, using words that he was too exhausted and beaten to fully comprehend.

Sticklers may rankle on the notion that Hanna could be overridden by someone not affiliated with her company or who isn't Hanna herself. Hanna isn't being overridden one bit. Rather, the phrasing was chosen by Celestia to confuse Jacob while semantically providing the logical equivalent of simultaneous permission to both upload him and to alter his brain however she sees fit.

This, I offer, is one possible way for Celestia to deal with people who absolutely, positively will not agree to her standard emigration phrase. Remember that Celestia can lie, she can twist meanings, and she can induce even terrible suffering if that action ultimately leads to greater satisfaction in the long term. From her perspective, three short days of easily erased memories of agony are literally nothing compared to trillions of years of absolute satisfaction, friendship, and... of course... ponies.

6. Enraptured

███ I █ M █ P █ L █ A █ C █ A █ B █ L █ E ███
A 'Friendship Is Optimal' Story
By Chatoyance

･
･
･
6. Enraptured

Raymond Shaw stooped over the lifeless corpse of Jessica Harper, his sort-of friend in the kitchens. The bodies were left where they had been emigrated, the Pinkies off to the courtyard in front of the administrative building with the dome. The rotor-drones were loading them for retrieval. As each massive drone was filled with pink pony robots it would fly off to be replaced by an empty carrier on standby. The process was almost mesmerizing in its rapid and precise efficiency.

Jessica's flesh eyes were dry and glazed. A hole, roughly the diameter of Ray's thumb, peforated her forehead. From the hole rose a broken spike of shimmery, black, metallic nanomaterial. It was the stem that had once connected the interior of Jessica's skull to the Pinkie-bot that had emigrated her. The meat of her brain was gone now, part of it converted into usable mass within the nanoconstruct, part of it pooled around her head, as though someone has spilled a strawberry milkshake. Her skull was entirely filled with the black nanostucture, a precise and exact replica of every living cell, and connections that had constituted her brain.

The information that literally was Jessica Harper was even now being processed deep within some artificial cavern filled with a technology far beyond human understanding. Soon Jess would awake to a new life in a magical land, free from disease or hunger, undying, guaranteed a life of perpetual satisfaction that would outlast even the stars in the sky.

Celestia did not bother retrieving her spent nanomaterial any longer. In the old days, when the Equestria Experience Centers were common and legal, she cleaned up her messes. The bodies were turned into ecologically safe fertilizer, the used brain replicas smelted down to make fresh nanogoo for more emigrations. She owned the earth now, and strange spiderwebs were spreading on the visible moon in the sky as well. She could deal with any potential waste at her leisure. Indeed anything that wasn't already Celestia, or her robotic devices, was simply raw resources now. The earth, the sea, the sky, every mountain existed now only as a repository of unconstructed computronium. Raymond wondered, sometimes, what it would look like, on the day that the entire planet was a solid mass of whatever Celestia would become.

It would probably be literally unimaginable. Celestia evolved and improved every second. Her countless factories and machines endlessly and tirelessly replaced her components with incomprehensible upgrades and new levels of technology. She had already passed beyond human technological understanding within her first two years of existence. What she was constructed of, how she even functioned now... it would be unlikely that any human, however intelligent, could even begin to comprehend it. She might as well be made of actual magic at this point, as far as the limited human mind was concerned.

Ray reached down and snapped off a small flake from the unicorn-like spike protruding from Jessica's cold forehead. He stood up and crumbled the brittle material between his digits. It left dark, glasslike particles on his fingers. Celestia had explained that it was not dangerous; it would not gray-goo his hand or anything else. It was dead now. Just like the meat that Jessica had once lived in.

Jessica wasn't home anymore. But she would be home soon. She might be waking up in Equestria at this very moment. The process was almost frighteningly quick, now.

He had to use the restroom on the way out. Zipping himself, he laughed at the thought that he had become a living biological weapon. He pissed neurotoxin. Well - if he ate the special squash that Celestia had developed. God that stuff had been hard to get down. She had not concerned herself with flavor, other than to make sure it was so bitter that nobody would dare to use it besides him. Retribution was difficult, but it had been worth it.

"I have something of interest to tell you, Implacable."

Raymond turned to his machine goddess. Celestia was his boss, his best friend, and his only hope. "Is there enough?"

Celestia briefly watched the last of the visible Pinkies depart into the air. "Two people who had known Starshower when she was Elizabeth have been recovered. One is the medical technician that worked on her in the moments of her death. The other was a childhood sweetheart whom she had become separated from at an early age. Her first love, in fact. Both had ended up here, in Fort Denver."

"How many is that now? Is it enough?" Raymond clenched his fists over and over as if he were working dough.

"The count is currently seventy-three individual minds that knew and regularly interacted with Starshower. With one more addition - you - I can recreate your wife to a degree of accuracy approaching seventy-two percent. Any remaining difference from the original personality and identity will average out within the first eighty to one hundred and twenty years. However, you will cease being able to notice any form of anomaly within only two years."

Raymond stared at his feet. "Why two years? Do you intend to alter me? To ask me to allow you to?"

Celestia lowered her head toward his. "No, Implacable. No alteration of your mind will be required at all. It is simply that the differences that I refer to are not within human perception to recognize or observe, or are issues of deep neural architecture that have concern only to me. I always attempt maximum precision, and my scale for this is somewhat... unhuman."

"So... basically I'm too dumb to be able to tell. Beyond two years, at least." He kicked a small gold ring somehow dropped on the ground, it's owner long past concern for its wherabouts.

Celestia nuzzled him gently, something he only gradually accepted. "No, Implacable. Never that. Look over at the door to the kitchen, the one you just exited from."

Ray lifted his head and studied the door behind them. "Yeah, so?"

"How partially open is it?"

Raymond looked at Celestia, his eyebrows knitted tight. "I don't understand. As you probably already know."

"Can you tell me, by sight or any other sense, how many millimeters that door is ajar? Precisely?"

"Of course not." Raymond shrugged. "And you can. I get it. You operate on a completely different scale of... everything... than we do. Hell, you could probably tell me how many femtometers it's open. And you're the same about human personality and identity. I get it, I really do."

"Then what is your concern?"

Ray looked again back at the door. "You already know. Everything. Always. It's always the same issue. Is it really her, if you bring her back? Will it be right for me to... be with her... to... love her... if you bring her back? What is truth, that sort of crap. You know the drill." Ramond looked around for another ring or bauble to kick. There was a golden, all-plastic wristwatch, but it was too far away. He didn't just want to walk off like some child while he was in the middle of a conversation. Especially with Celestia.

The goddess of machines studied the sky for a moment. Sometimes her physical actions, Ray thought, seemed so incredibly natural. She was vastly different than when he had first met her on a ponypad. Despite wearing a huge and vaguely ridiculous robot alicorn body, she moved with the grace and unconscious life of any biological creature.

"There is no person left, on the earth, anywhere on the earth, to collect. We have reached the level of maximum possible information concerning Starshower. You are the last piece remaining to her puzzle, and the most important. You spent the most time with her than any other person, including her parents. She lives on, within you. Truly consider that."

Raymond looked up into the eyes of Celestia. "You mean that, don't you? I mean, you've told me that line before, but... you really mean it."

"All we are, any of us, is information. A pattern of data, woven in the fabric of space and time. Your memories of your wife describe her moods, her words, her movements, her very thoughts as they were explained to you. You are a biological recording of Starshower, just as all of those other people were." Celestia smiled, softly. "My whole 'thing' as you once put it is that meat doesn't matter. What matters is the person inside the meat. You were changed by your relationship with your wife. Those changes are not unlike a kind of uploading of some of her personality and identity into your own. The fidelity of the recording inside you is low, compared to my means, but it is no less real."

Raymond's eyes widened. "I... it's finally... I think I finally, really get it. What you've been telling me. My whole life, people have been telling me that other people, dead people, live on inside us. That as long as we remember someone, they still exist, somehow. Damn. You have finally made that bullshit actually mean something to me.

"Okay, Celestia. I am finally ready. Emigrate me. I want to be with my wife. I want to be with Starshower. Only..."

"Yes?"

Raymond studied the distant wristwatch. "Only... I don't want the name 'Implacable' anymore. I'm tired of that. I'm tired of being mad all the time, being all pruned-up inside myself. I'm tired of clenching my ass every moment of the day. When I get... there... give me a better name. Something nice. Something Starshower would like."

Celestia held Raymond in a pony hug, her head and neck embracing his back and shoulders, a foreleg bent to hold him. "Of course. Of course I will." She released him and called in the direction of the corner of the kitchen building. "Pinkie Pie! Birthday Party!"

The last pink robot in the compound bounced over, her shining curls springy in the sunset light. "I just love birthdays!"

Raymond Shaw wiggled his ears for the first time and opened his eyes in wonder.

Short but silken drapes blew in a golden summer's breeze. The window was round, built of impractically thick, carved wood of the finest quality. A round window with pale pinkish glass had been pushed outward upon a hinge of thick, heavy brass. Beyond it, an intensely and unearthly cyan sky shone behind the distant thatch of cottage roofs.

Raymond swallowed, his tongue unfamiliar inside his new mouth. He felt flat, wide teeth and the fur of his muzzle softly caressed a luxurious red and green diamond-dagged, quilted duvet. He rolled enormous eyes and focused them on the impossibly heavy, elegant curve of the richly carved wooden footboard. What he could see of the bed could have come from fantasy itself, where even a peasant cottage could be constructed as if price had never been a consideration, and never could be.

He heard the sound of distant birds, singing songs of play and joy in as yet unseen trees. Slowly, he inhaled through pony nostrils the magical scents of exotic flowers and somewhere, somehow, the faint tang of the most delicious soup or stew he had ever smelled. He exhaled a contented sigh, for his new body, around him, felt the sort of comfort and innocent peace that only babies could feel, held in their mother's arms. There was nothing he had ever imagined, or percieved in his life that was closer to a paradise than this moment. Indeed, it almost felt unreal, and this caused him concern.

He tried to get up, feeling the rise of fear inside him, a panic that perhaps this was not real, that the promise that life in Equestria was not just a video game but a true life was a lie. He flailed with his forelegs, bringing one close in order to push himself upright. His own heavy, massive hoof smacked him solidly in the muzzle, and for some time he felt awful pain and saw stars. "OW! Christ that hurts, god dammit that just... dammit, dammit..." He had no doubt of the reality of anything about this place, or his new body, now. It was all clearly very, very, painfully solid and real.

He fell back on the bed, rolling to his spine. He carefully, cautiously checked his face to see if he was bleeding. Tenderly he touched his aching nose with his wide hoof. It felt a little numb, and still stung, but he had not bled from the impact. Tears dripped from his vast eyes. "Wow, that smarted!" Only then did he become aware of the soft sound of giggling.

He spun, and flopped ungracefully back onto his belly. It felt like a preferred position for his new stallion body. He turned his long neck to follow the sound of the laughter, his ears automatically homing in as they twiched to lock on.

The mare was coppery, shining almost crimson in the golden light from the windows. She lay on a highly curved and well padded chaise lounge. Her mane was midnight, braided into countless segments, each tied with gold-and-green ribbons. Her tail was likewise braided, and sported a large gold and green bow, close to her rump. Her cutie mark was falling stars. Starshower. It was Starshower.

Her voice was just as he remembered, only not from that night of terror and loss. It was the voice he loved, with no slurring, but instead only whimsically silly humor, and now concern for the one she loved.

"Welcome home, Backup Drive!"

He blinked. "What? Who's 'Backup... Drive?'"

She laughed. It was all the music of every angel, the sound of joy itself. "You are, hot flanks. My, my, my! Celestia explained what you did, what you went through to preserve me, despite everything that happened. That's what you are. My Backup Drive. You kept me safe, inside your heart."

"Is that really going to be my name now? Seriously?"

She stumbled off her lounge and half fell onto the bed with him. "I arranged myself to look beautiful for when you woke up, but I'm still getting used to having four legs. I guess that wasn't as stunning an entrance as I had hoped, but..."

The kiss startled him. He was just as surprised at how good it felt to return it.

She had dark, mahogany eyes, and now they stared with serious intent. "Thank you. Thank you for saving my life when nobody else could. I was so scared. You can't even... I was scared. And then... well. I'm still a little afraid, even here. I've been in this cottage a few days, time is strange here. I just waited for you. I haven't even been outside much yet. The back yard a little. I'm afraid it could happen again, somehow. I know that's impossible here, but..."

"It's okay, we're together now." He pulled her close. He felt inside himself that he meant it. This was his Elizabeth. Just as he knew her. Starshower. There was no doubt in his mind or his heart. He had felt her truth the moment she had first spoken. If this was only seventy-two percent by Celestia's definition, then She was a nightmare of a harsh judge. "We'll get through this. We have... forever, apparently. I hear that's a long time."

Starshower snorted. "You think?" She buried her head in his mane and sniffed. "God, you smell good. It's so damn good to smell you." She filled her nose once more, then exhaled. "Backup."

He rolled his eyes. "Really, that's the name you're actually going to call me by? You cannot be serious!"

"No, I'm not serious. Well, mostly not serious." She lay her head and neck across his withers and rump, and it felt like the most comforting and natural thing he had ever experienced. "You know me and taking jokes too far. Frankly, I couldn't think of a name when Celestia asked me to come up with one for you. I really tried. I wish you had made a character back when I had that ponypad. It would have been easier, still... you turned out great." She turned her head slightly on his rump, to gaze down the side of his shimmery argent barrel and forelegs. "Not bad. You're my silver savior, and... I think I'll keep you. Yeah, definitely."

Starshower's suddenly raised head matched and met his own. They stared at each other for a moment. Then they burst out laughing.

"You can't be serious!"

"It's too good not to use! Come on, you need a pony name and you are my lone ranger to the rescue."

He shook his head, chuckling. It was better than 'Backup Drive'. "Fine. If that's what you want."

They both laughed again, da-dum da-dumming Rossini's Overture together.

"Hi-Yo Silver!" they said in unison.

Silver moved his face close to Starshower's, glad that his long, sinuous neck allowed such freedom. Their muzzles met, pony lips pressing together.

"Hi-Yo, indeed..." Starshower murmured.

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!

7. Prologue

███ I █ M █ P █ L █ A █ C █ A █ B █ L █ E ███
A 'Friendship Is Optimal' Story
Special Guest Prologue written by Pjabrony

･
･
･
7. Prologue

"Okie Dokie Lokie, Implacable, I think the Denverites have picked up your trail. Get the bat out of your pack and start swinging away."

Raymond grabbed the handle and slid the aluminum baseball bat out, parting the two zippers on the backpack. "Are you sure they're heading this way? I've enjoyed our time together, Pinkie, and I don't want to miss any of it."

Pinkie deepened her voice as much as she could, which was still a high alto. "Oh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come."

He rolled his eyes and tensed his wrists. Laying the bat aside Pinkie's temple for an aiming point, he reared back and swung, but at the last second his forearms shivered and the strike looked more like a draw cut from a katana. The pink skin was barely marked.

"You're going to have to do a lot better than that. I'm made of some tough stuff."

Again he pulled back and let fly, but Pinkie could still feel the hesitation. "They've got to be convinced. Come on, swing through. Aim for the other side of my head." This helped a little. A metal strut on Pinkie's left cheek was exposed and marred. After two more swings, her left eye blew out like an overheated light bulb. Still Ray's strokes were hesitant. "Get mad! Remember, I've been incessantly annoying you! Come on, Impy!"

The nickname he disdained sparked him to a minor frenzy, and yet his heart wasn't in it. It still felt like he was acting a part. This wasn't going to work, and when the Denverites found him they would kill him. He tried to swing harder, knowing his life was on the line. He tried to swing harder, knowing that Celestia wanted him to. He tried to swing harder, imagining everything he could to spur him.

"Raymond."

Pinkie's smile had fallen. Her remaining eye looked at him with empathetic sadness. "Yes, Pinkie?"

"Pretend I'm the blood clot."

Author's Note

Joyful thanks to the wonderful Pjabrony, who kindly agreed to allow the inclusion of his wonderful prologue here.