The Conversion Bureau: Head Against the Wall

by Microshazm

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Human
Length: 2370

crap hits the fan when a pony ambassador meets an ambitious human journalist

Media wants to know about the ponies. They want to know everything about magic, Equestria, and the Princesses. They huddle around them to get the next big scoop.

An ambitious but skeptical journalist works herself an opportunity to interview a reluctant pony ambassador residing in the newly opened Manchester Conversion Bureau. What comes out to the public will shape the things to come – for better or worse.

Another one of those fics that are hard to tag properly. I'm writing a political/spy/conspiracy thriller.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-24 20:24:08 UTC

Child at heart... not so much

St James’s University Hospital, Leeds, England

Eight months after emergence

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||||||||||/ octor Tokita was probably the fattest person I’ve ever met that could still move. And wow, he was a freaking cheetah for a man of his size; his brown greasy hair, tent-sized white lab coat, and at least five chins fluttering before me as we hurried through the hallway. Ferdi was already recording and I let him, although the walk was about as eventful as having cereal alone on a Saturday night – not by my own experience; I'd heard that one from a friend.

Tokita led us to a small media room of some kind – reminded me a little of an editing room – switched on one of the screens, and sat down. “Ms Radulov,” he said, wiping off sweat from his forehead, “what I’m about to show you will blow your mind.”

“Not forgetting the rest of the world,” I added. Tokita briefly guffawed. No hint of sarcasm or anything. A video began playing on the screen. It was the standard double helix of a DNA molecule with chemical formulas flickering next to–

“This is what I’m supposed to show you, Ms Radulov, but that’s the micro-scale process, not very exciting unless you’re a scientist like me.” He smiled at me like I was supposed to get that joke. The video had gone into more detail about the double helix – it now had flashing parts that changed places and more stuff I couldn’t understand. Tokita closed it.

He dug out a memory stick from his pocket. “This, my good journalists, is what the world wants to see: macro-scale process.” He flashed a smile and stuck in the device.

“Macro-scale... What is that?” I asked. Tokita shook his chubby finger at me.

“Na-a-aa, let the evidence speak for itself.”

The screen lit up to show a bland white examination room with our average operation room equipment. The door opened and four people came in: a brown, balding middle-aged man in a hospital gown, a dark-haired Caucasian male nurse, a bespectacled blonde in a doctor’s coat, and of course, Doctor Tokita.

The gowned man sat on the table in the middle while the nurse brought up a yellow case next to him. Then the image was blocked for a few seconds, as Tokita gave the camera a military style salute. Present day Tokita laughed at his performance, even getting a chuckle out of Ferdi, but I retained my professionalism.

The video had no sound, but Tokita was happy to provide commentary: “The serum is transported in these cases, which are indestructible by the way. Carbon nanotube and graphene, they can withstand a million kilos of TNT. That is because the cases must not break in any case.” He paused for a moment to smile at us. What the hell is wrong with this guy? “The subject is given three ounces of the serum, which is plenty for the whole process. Oh yes, the serum is sealed in cases to prevent hazardous thaumic energy from spreading any more than necessary. Now as you can see here... there, the serum is swallowed and the subject knocked out almost immediately after.”

Tokita stopped abruptly. I stared at the back of his messy head, but he was fixated on the video. The brown man was out cold, and everyone else in the room attentively stared at him.

And then it began: all of his muscles spasmed flaccidly and the pigment in his skin faded to an extreme albino– “The nanorobots – nanites – analyze and modify the subjects DNA almost simultaneously. It’s all due to the Equestrian spell, which drastically improves their efficiency. The extra mass is released as water vapor and...” I couldn’t listen to him anymore. Every single bone the man had seemed to dislocate. He now looked more like a pile of industrial waste than a living being.

“Ferdi,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Are you filming this?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“What!? This is repulsive! This is sick! For God’s sake the network will never let us air this!” Ferdi just shrugged. The man was 15 centimeters shorter than me, Filipino origin, and always wore a trucker cap, and it was always tilted sideways. We slept in the same hotel rooms, often even in the same bed, but we had had sex only once. Exotic cameramen and all that. We had no plans to do it again.

“Why so serious, Anita? Since when has the network understood a true wonder of life?” Ferdi finally said. ”This is state of the art genetics right here.” Kissass, I muttered under my breath. Seemed to work on Tokita, nevertheless.

“Wonderful! A man who knows his science! What’s happening now, the former man’s insides are completely processed by the nanites. Even though all organs are the same they still have to be extensively worked on. A total body makeover,” said Tokita and the men continued their morbid fascination, whereas I was breathing – almost throwing up – into my fist. The spectators on the video were also surprisingly calm. The woman wasn’t even looking at it, and Tokita... Was he laughing?

The transformation took place both inside and outside at the same time. Quite a lot of mass evaporated, bone structure changed violently including the extremely unpleasant elongation of the skull, muscle and fat proportions changed, a whip-like tail protruded from the end of its back, and a bunch of other things I didn’t have the qualifications to describe. The thing looked like a plastic half-horse half-rat.

“Ten minutes gone and we’ve reached the mannequin state. Every pony, stallion in this case, looks exactly like this ten minutes into conversion. Only the 23rd chromosome pair has been taken fully into account. The nanites are now verifying their reports on the other chromosomes, soon beginning with the last phase,” Tokita said.

In the video the spectators exchanged a thumbs up. The other doctor finally seemed to give a damn and moved in closer to the albino pony-thing. Tokita made sure she didn't obstruct the camera. ”Hold on to your horses, journalists, for this is the most magnificent thing you've witnessed since your birth,” he said, his voice taking a darker tone.

Hair. It took a moment to notice since it was almost the same colour as the pale white skin. The nanites worked accurately, leaving no irregularities I could make out. Longer and darker hairs followed promptly from its scalp and all over the tail. These hairs were mocha brown. Nostrils appeared, the ears opened up as finally did the eyelids, but so far there was no–

”The subject is still unconscious,” Tokita said. He had finally managed to look away from the screen. ”The nanites are still working on the nervous system and autonomous systems. We could still abort it by turning off the nanites, but the subject would die.” A terrifying thought invaded my mind. I had to ask.

”How many have you aborted like that?” It hit like a train wreck.

”Excu– What!? I did not say that! Not anything like that!” He turned back to the video screen. ”Now Ms Radulov and Mr...”

”Maltese,” Ferdi quipped. Tokita turned off the screen and stood up. Though still being soft as pudding, the giant looked a bit threatening in the small room.

”Ms Radulov and Mr Maltese, dear journalists, I have already shown you too much. My job might be on the line. This is not a piece of pie, any of this.” He shooed us out and escorted us to the nearest exit without saying a word. I briefly gazed at Ferdi, who rolled his eyes for an answer. His camera was still recording.

”Did that man survive?” I asked as Tokita shoved us through what apparently was a maintenance exit. ”Doctor Tokita?”

”Of course he did.” He stood between us and the open door, crossed his arms and took a deep sigh. ”He's still with us, actually. He's mowing the lawn just over there.” Both of us instinctively looked behind us, but Tokita just shut the door and stormed off. Obviously, no gardening was underway.

”Locked it, fat bastard,” Ferdi spat. Quite annoying, we had to go around to the front entrance to get in again. I couldn't help but laugh a little.

”Maltese? Ferdinand Maltese?”

”What? It was from the top of my head! He would've heard it wrong anyways.”

Canterlot City Hall

Ten months after emergence

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  |||||||||/ oodfelt of Baltimare!” I heard it loud and clear. Unfortunately it happened to be the first thing I'd heard for a long time. I was just having the sweetest dream...

He's over here, your presidency.

I was on that Baltimare Baritones concert I had missed last fall...

Are you thinking of flying away, perhaps?

But they were having the gig in a dressclub! How cool would that be?

Your presidency, I think we just woke him up...

Undershirts and vests...

”COUNSELOR GOODFELT!” The mental image of a Wonderbolt look-a-like pulling her flight goggles over her head changed to a large meeting room full of impatient-looking representatives.

”President,” I said, trying to look innocent and professional, though it certainly wouldn't help anymore. Lucky for me, the president just briefly shook her head and cleared her throat, allowing for the meeting to proceed.

”Counselor Goodfelt's progress in learning the human language, English, is quite remarkable,” said the president. It was true, of course. Thanks to you, Disney. I mean, the illustrated books are just fine, but it’s the real movies that I’m after. But nooo, no digital media past the barrier, not even a flimsy DVD player. Buck them all! Anyway, it looked like my two months of hard work alongside bureaucracy, and my own long working hours have finally made a difference, and they’d let me to Earth to watch those movies for real.

“Thank you, your presidency,” I said. A little strange that they’d bring up my holiday permit in a fancy meeting like now, but I guess they wanted to reward me for my excellency. Yes. A ticket to Earth was mine, I could feel it.

“By your merits in this regard, I am, with the authority given to me by the Princesses, appointing Counselor Goodfelt as the Head Manager of the new Conversion Bureau scheduled to open next month in the island of Great Britain.” My jaw dropped, literally, to the meeting table with a drop of involuntary slobber.

Those words... I wanted to scream them out loud, spit them at her goody-good face and make her take them back. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t the right stallion for the job, or that my yellow behind couldn’t fit such a large chair. But instead I gave the obvious: “Your presidency, I’m honoured.”

The thing was, I didn’t want that. I was disappointed I had my feathers tangled up in politics again. A Conversion Bureau meant some fun acquaintances, I’m sure, but I didn’t even see the point in opening them at all. Humans had everything and even more. Say, you didn’t have to be a pegasus to fly really fast on Earth. And talking toys, talking cars, superheroes, robots – we didn’t have anything like that, and still some of them longed to be like us and even live like us. It was unbelievable.

Now the Princesses in their incomprehensible minds wanted me to promote this stupidity? Instead of letting me have a holiday, they put me in charge of not just local relations but inter-species relations too? And the worst part was that I still had my head against the wall with the only acceptable answer being yes.

"Further information shall be delivered to you by midnight. The Manchester Conversion Bureau will be opened in ten days. This gathering wishes good fortune to you, Counselor Goodfelt of Baltimare.” The president turned the page, letting everypony else casually forget the previous subject as was their primeval habit. My part in the meeting was over.

A few days later I still hadn’t wrapped my mind around the situation. Every time I thought of my future post in Man Chest Hair (a creative, yet likely the weirdest name ever) I hated it, but for everything else I was starting to mellow out. I was still mostly getting what I’d wanted should the circumstances be reasonable. Making a few speeches every once in a while couldn’t be that bad of a trade-off.

The night before I was set to leave I was packing like a maniac. A true crazy pony, that is: instead of throwing a plethora of random stuff into my travel suitcase I took one item at a time, placed it inside, and then took it out since I couldn’t decide on its necessity. Toothbrush? No, I wanted an electric one asap. Soap? I was going to try those combined shower gel-hair conditioner -things. Light reading? I’d have the internet in my disposal; endless information just one click away. So maybe some light reading.

Then there was the problem of appearance. I neither wanted to look like a common horse nor a caricature of a horse. The top hat in my flank for sure didn’t make that any easier. I obviously couldn’t go without any clothes, children would want to pet me and take a pony ride (or something worse, like try to get me flying). What mockery that my yellowish brown hide and cinnamon red mane and tail wouldn’t look the least bit odd in the eyes of the human public – just pretty.

And if I was to wear any clothes... Suit? Vest? Oh hay, why not undershirt and socks? The only thing that could really ruin it was a saddle of any kind – but those things were out of fashion anyways. Sunglasses crossed my mind too, but they were concealing. How could a pony look presentable, tolerant, bold, and interesting all at the same time? A pony couldn't. I couldn't. Hay. Horseapples. Why couldn't I get what I wanted?

And why not a trench coat?