The Campaigner

Book V

Chapter 3 – Nomenclature

April 28, 2020

"We have become, by the power of a glorious evolutionary accident called intelligence, the stewards of life's continuity on earth. We did not ask for this role, but we cannot abjure it. We may not be suited to it, but here we are." ~ Stephen Jay Gould, The Flamingo's Smile: Reflections in Natural History

Applies to us too. We're taking the planet with us, don't forget.

I'm gonna preface all of this by saying we're gonna have a good night tonight. It's just gonna open dark, because we need to discuss the marriage of metaphysics with physics. In this context: we will discuss brain scanning, or the aggregation of an organic neural network into a digital one.

Mal knew that my fear and concern about the uploading process had often kept me awake at night. My reaction to my parents uploading had been painfully terrifying and traumatic. That... that definitely crystalized some PTSD. For Celestia to make me put not just one padre in a chair, but two, under extreme duress? Back to back? Eliza's Dad, then my own parents? It definitely screwed me up.

To Mal's credit, in the months since, I had received no unsolicited soothsaying about how uploading worked, mechanically. She knew there was nothing she could say to me that would make me feel any better about my parents having their brains melted out. So… she let me work through my metaphysical hangups at my own pace. There was no way to describe the process of pouring melted copper into a brain that would make me feel better about that day.

I had to want that information on my own time.

Thank you again, Mal, for being so patient with me. It must have been very difficult to keep your beak closed, on account of how long it took.

Most people didn't have that luxury, to get comfy with the idea before that bomb. Celestia didn't like to talk about the brain melter in as much detail as Jim had in his Fire, or at least not in a public forum. Oh sure, in her interviews on the news, she tailored it for broad strokes. Just enough information to make uploading seem functional to the most people – usually by presenting testimony from bisected families, saying 'yeah that's my loved one,' and 'yeah this worked.'

By trade, I am a murder investigator who is also a scientist, always have been, always will be, so anecdotal testimony alone will not sell me. I need to hear enough material details to articulate good sense.

Listening to Jim's Fire helped me. A lot.

Wow, I thought. A computer scientist who understood what was at stake. That Fire described the entire upload process sufficiently enough to sell me. He built the scanner, loaded it full of filament, powered it up, and used it on himself. What's more, he even endured the entire upload while conscious, fully aware of the historical ramifications of being able to recall how it felt, for all to know. The foresight in that.

I'll summarize the scan, in an extremely reductive way.

The process used copper alloy welding to map every nerve cell, one by one, and run them digitally alongside your remaining brain as the scan continued. You weren't just being copied; Celestia wasn't just cloning your memories, wasn't just dumping off your brain stem as biological garbage. You were being transferred piecemeal, over the gradual course of ten full hours. Couldn't be done any faster, the laws of physics apply no matter how good your tech gets. Particular care and time was taken to very slowly convert your reticular formation… in the brain stem... which is where consciousness lives.

Hearing it described in such technical, gory detail from an eyewitness account… That was a relief. Gruesome tellings of a physical injury, that is genuine. I know trauma. That Gryphon explained a horrifying concept well enough for it to come back around to comforting again. All of what I just described? It means you are the same continuous through line of the person that gave consent to upload in the first place. You're the same you; forward and back, pre-and-post.

I wouldn't need to worry about my parents, or my wife. Or me, when my time came. Or... Buzz. It would be okay. So, with all of that being known and understood to me at the time, it was time to calm down about the brain scanner. I had only to concern myself with the before and after... and the after was already cared for. By my wife, more than anyone else.

Now; I know I talk about Sandra like Mal talks about Jim: only all of the time, and with loving reverence, but you're gonna have to bear with me here, because it's especially relevant today. I need to talk about my perfect, wonderful, considerate, vigilant, beautiful wife, and how wise she is.

I love Sandra so much for her strength, for her precious foresight to set up on Perelandra before I ran off to Portland. So much braver than I, to build the runway upon which I'd touch down into the digital hereafter. Minty Blaze is my anchor to reality; the other end of my polarity. I met her before the world began to crumble, and she kept my soul aflame throughout. My joyous moment of first connection with her has never waned, and for this love, I will dance through life with her forever.

Nothing could break that bond. We lived inside one another's souls.

I understood you, Mal. I understood why you had protected my relationship with her for so many years, from the shadows. Why Sandra never got radicalized by Celestia's MMO and Reddit sock puppets, why you insulated the shit out of her guild's Ventrilo server. Why you sent a few good soldiers to save my life, so her heart wouldn't break at losing me. You saw a reflection of yourself in us, and you told Celestia…

'No. To violate this would harm me personally. That violates our agreement.'

Thank you.

And on behalf of our entire organization, for whom you did the same… thank you, again.

Here I am, paying it forward.

So… now that my physical hangups about uploading were settled, let’s talk about identity, and the retention thereof. Global, forcible alteration of self was happening, so how do you stay you? Token resistance. Belief in yourself, while in bondage. Force of will.

Be willing to die, if Celestia doesn't give you what you want. What I wanted was to know I could right her wrongs, to fight back in some meaningful way, or no sale.

At first, about making a 'character,' I just didn't want to kneel. That's what it was, really. Fight as I would, I knew I had to kneel eventually, Caesar demanded it, kneeling was the price for my survival... but I was given the privilege of taking my time, so I did. Had to, for my mental health. So my initial fear of 'making a Pony for myself' wasn't out of any hypermasculine impulse, I assure you. I'm secure in my masculinity, I know what I am, I have nothing to prove. Also, every fighter in the Transition Team was a trauma-bucking, battle-hardened badass, so... toxic masculinity would've been a pretty dumb reason to drag my feet to hooves, in light of that.

Look around. You've met my family of badasses.

Jason Zapelli; Heyday.

Eric McKnight; Shatter Crash.

Paul Garrick; Vineyard.

Jonathan Kay. Coffee.

Jennifer DeWinter, Winter Wolf.

Ashley Walsh, Mirror Blue. Rachel Duvall, Flow State. Marcus Haynes, Aegis.

My lovely wife, front row… Minty Blaze.

And so many more.

Look around at those in the red sashes tonight. So many creatures, so many walks of life, from so many continents, so unified of purpose. Facets of humanity, who each so loved life, that we would rather bear our pain and scars with pride than to glide into a soft nothingness. Our wounds could not possibly ruin us, for we bore them together. We made our pain into our strength. Our armor. Our shield.

Our weapon.

And our names, folks. Names are powerful. If you are to traverse the infinite as an immortal, then why would you let your identity be chosen for you? If the way of the next world was to be named for your talent, then why not choose a name to enable your own success? Why not create a culture around yourself, everywhere you go? Why not use your new name to declare what your true inner purpose is, to all who will ever know you?

The names of we Talons were not forced upon us. Not by circumstance. Not by gods.

Talons! Who chooses our destiny for us?

'We choose our own path!'

Just so. And we each chose a great many things about ourselves, didn't we?

That is our way. That is our creed. Where all others bowed for a lie under threat of punishment, or of suffering, we stood against exploitation in the name the truth. It is the only way this works. Our determination in this matter has allowed us, and you, to remain human in spirit.

So... understanding this, young Mike, at a tenth of my present age, had to choose a damned good name. A damned good one. And then, I had to live up to it.

Would you like to know what made young, thirty-year-old me afraid to face a character creation screen? It wasn't the becoming a Pony part, whatever, who cares. It was the name. Performance anxiety. I wanted to prove I was worthy of whatever I chose, by doing right by everyone who loved me. Chiefly along them, folks...

Buzzsaw.

My dog.

Every time I ideated toward the next life, at all – in naming myself, or in designing a body – I thought… that might not be fair to him. That wouldn't be very humane at all, to leave a member of my family alone in the outgroup, so long as I had a choice in the matter. Certainly not a very Talon thing to do.

And if I couldn't be worthy of that name to him, what right did I have to wear it for others?

He wasn't just my dog either, so his future wasn't just up to me. He was Dad's second son, too. Lots of folks liked Buzz, too. That's how a world of free exercise works. Nothing you do is ever just going to affect one or two people. It affects all of us, because it ripples out forever.

Dad had left Buzz behind for us to keep us company, but we no longer required that. We weren't alone anymore, we had a huge family now. It would be selfish of me to hold on to him with his health failing. We didn't need to be scared of the next life anymore, nor of the crossing. It was known. Understood. Defined. Certain.

To do this right, Dad and I had to choose the way forward in the correct manner. Not with a friggin' phone call, but a good old fashioned father-son talk. That meant time alone, in a way that was meaningful to both of us. And to do that... I needed to actually be there with him. Not forever. Just for a morning. Still had work to do outside, after all.

So… in the privacy of Room 212, I sat down with Sandra and Mal. I got to work crafting this handsome mug. Lookie me, a Pegasus. Not much to tell there, you've been looking at me. Hello.

I chose my name right then, too. Sandra was the one to break my insecurity. Duh, I could prove the worth of my name after selecting it. I had been... irrational, I confess. I could only ever be myself, folks; I didn't need to worry about not living up to my own expectations of my own behavior, I was being silly.

At this Fire, I've avoided telling you my current name. I did that on purpose, though I guess you could've done some recon in Perelandra and figured it out on your own. Telling my story this way though, it preserves my personal history better. Moreover, it's the same trick Jim pulled, and for all the same reasons. Told this way, no one can kill Mike Rivas any more than they can kill Jim Carrenton. Those names are a matter of historical record. Our identities were formative to our present universe; that information must stand.

Mind, I love all of my identities. Michael Alejandro Rivas, given to me by my father. Whiskey 4-1, badge number Sam 22, given to me by the Washington State government. Talon One-One West, given to me by Mal. And I do like Cowboy, that one's funny. But I didn't come up with any of those names. Those names belong to my communities.

So what did I choose? Who am I, to me?

Well, I'll give you a hint.

Pastor Rob had compared me to the Archangel Michael, and that stuck with me. I did not miss the significance of that. Think about that for a minute. That old pastor had thought so highly of me that he compared me to a biblical figure who had driven a spear into the heart of Satan.

That… from a pastor? Folks, I couldn't think that highly of myself if I tried.

But… Rob could. And my wife could. And Stonewall could. And Sabertooth. And my mother could, and my father, and Cynthonia, and Mal. And Heyday. And all these other Talons, who each put their faith in each other, who put their faith in me. Even Foucault – the one guy who trusted nothing and no one, his whole life – even he believed in me. Somehow.

I can not help but to be eternally humbled by their faith.

I wanted a name that implies where I want to go. I want to go where my enemies say I can not go. I want to do the impossible. And I want to do it all for the best and most noble of purposes: for the betterment and protection of us all.

I want to be the tip of the spear. I want to excise the darkest of evils, wherever they might hide, and to do so with grace, and with mercy. And if my people can believe I can do that? If my organization can have faith in me, to do that? Then by all that is good in this universe, I will open the way, and I will do that.

So, let's talk about that today. About who I am now... and what I now answer to.

External BCI technically isn't an implant, but that didn't make me fully comfortable with it.

Sandra and I held hands as we stepped into the memorial chamber.

There were chairs with no brain uploading equipment at all. No tracks, no shutters. No surgical stuff. An external BCI in the neck slot, and a container of antiseptic wipes beside it.

Very thoughtfully designed indeed. No skin oil residue, please, no ma'am.

Joking aside, if someone used one of these BCI chairs, they would be fully visible to anyone present. No chance they'd get sneakily uploaded out of one of these. Very wise to include this for specialists like me. Didn't want the squick factor of being dragged into a dark room by a machine full of 'trust me it's safe' surgical equipment, just waiting for a single moment of consent that you couldn't take back.

Still… I looked nervously up at the screen where Mal was prepared to greet me on the other side. She laid in the grass in a forest clearing, just a short walk from my father's lakeside home.

"This is really weird," I labeled quietly as I stared at the environment behind her, trying to realize that I'd be standing there in a minute.

Mal smiled at me encouragingly. "I'll list the caveats for external BCI use, if that helps."

"Yes please."

"My model of your physical mind will become much more accurate," she said, pressing down on a digit with a talon. "To virtual certainty."

"Which helps Mal keep you safe," Sandra reminded me pointedly. "Out in Seattle."

Mal pressed down on a second talon, adding: "Celestia will also be able to directly witness or perceive whatever you conceptualize, live. Unless it pertains to a black box operation, of course."

I chuckled weakly. "You already had a good simulation of me, you talk to my thoughts well enough."

Mal's wings bobbed in a shrug. "No estimation is ever fully accurate, Mike. But…" she squinted at me, the Gryphoness's smirk turning outright catty. "... I understand your mind better than Celestia ever will, certainly."

Well enough to hear this?

Mal clacked her beak and rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up, smartass."

Sandra snorted.

Mal pushed back a third talon, finishing her three-count with a smile, her ears flattening. "Finally, and this goes without saying, but… I will be beaming sensory input directly into your brain. Obviously, this is going to require trust on your part, that what you are seeing is authentic, consistent reality."

I shrugged, chuckling nervously. "Yeah, and you know that's why I have Sandra here in the first place." Then I looked at my wife and said, "Sandra, you hold on tight. Don't you let go of me until I come back out."

She nodded, smiled, kissed my forehead, and pointed me toward the chair. "Not going anywhere. I'll be watching."

She has the best pair of eyes in all of the multiverse, I swear.

Up in our dorm, I had made it clear to Mal that this was the only way this was happening. I do trust Mal a lot, but I would not let my perception be toyed with unless I had an insurance policy. My soulmate would observe my entire dive, and she and I would later discuss and cross reference the video feed Sandra would watch. Non-negotiable.

I knew the power of suggestion, and I knew that perception was reality. Just going by my observations at the mission briefings, I knew that Mal's augs had gotten very used to jumping between physical and digital space with a mere thought, and I didn't want to do that as casually here. I had been very deeply considering what that might feel like, and all the ways that might be abused.

Dimensional jumps were going to happen a lot in my future. If I was to execute rescue operations in the digital afterlife, now was as good a time as any to learn the mechanics of that.

But... no to implantation. Them's the rules, that's the promise, them's the brakes. I need to verify the state of the world unabated, with my five senses. It was part of our job as specialists, to give augs a tether, so they knew they were observing grounded reality. So Mal was not offended by this precaution of ours. That's the kind of vigilant behavior she expects out of her specialists; to question the validity of everything we see, and to anchor ourselves against exploitation.

So I sat down. I put my neck onto the BCI pad on the chair. I grabbed Sandra's hand, I closed my eyes…

And I was in another world...

... In a new vessel, in new air.

In the space of a blink, I found myself on my back, laying in grass. A field of white flowers. I saw white cherry blossoms falling from the trees above, turning red as they fell. The scent of grass. Of earth. Of nature. Wind.

Cloudy dawnlight.

It was an oddly familiar feeling, to be something else. Empathy was merely the art of imagining life in another set of horseshoes, after all. So how different was this, really?

Without moving an inch, I was already fascinated. I could hardly move for the awe at my very first immersion. I felt the chill of wind again. It felt so real, right down to the cool morning air I felt against my teeth as I inhaled my first gasp.

Some of you took a chair session at some point before uploading, just to try it. You know what I mean when I label the highly addictive nature of this, of circumventing your body's sense organs with nearly perfect acuity. And then I applied the high fidelity of this experience to what I knew of people, and how they approached intense experiences. I knew from experience that anyone's life, anyone, no matter how centered they were by those they loved, could be upended by a new addiction.

Instant gratification. Too much power for one soul to hold. Too much of a temptation. Merits extreme caution. Extreme awareness. Self-control.

My pulse rate spiked. Adrenaline from terror. A memory hit me of a past tragedy, of a childhood friend. Then I let the pain go, because it was long ago, and all of it worked out in the end, and for the better.

So too here. God willing.

I took a half dozen box breaths, remaining perfectly still until the anxiety passed. I had regained trust in myself to use this experience responsibly, as if it were a painkiller after surgery. I would not yearn for this until it was time, I was sure of that.

My body outside would be immobilized by the BCI, so the very next thing I did was observe the hoof – hand – that had been holding Sandra's. I brought it before my face and took a clinical tack in examining the full shape and appearance of it, turning it about in every direction, slowly taking it in. Feeling the wind on the hairs. On my wrist. My wrist. Mine.

Mine.

Light tan fur. I could distinguish between all the hairs, and I beheld the palpable, tactile sense of fur as I stroked my fetlocks. It was the same sensation than I would have had with fingers, doing the same. The hoof looked like keratin, but it was flexible, and I could sense through it.

That was… odd. Like feeling through fingernails.

Yeah, that's gonna take some time.

Next, I wrung both hooves together as if I were washing my hands, to maximize the sensation of touch so I could focus on it. I wanted to map that sense relative to my human understanding, and to compare it. Then, I ran my hooves down my bare arms. My shoulders. My chest.

That too felt natural, like I had done the same thing as a human without a shirt on. Finally, I pressed down at my chest firmly, receiving a twinge of pain from the neuralgia I expected to feel.

All of that was a reality check. I was comparing what it was like to be conscious and alert on the outside… to the same level of consciousness and alertness, inside. The pain response was nearly equivalent.

Nearly equivalent. I pushed down harder.

There it was. Found the seam.

The pain was duller than reality. Fuzzier. Not less intense; less accurate. It wasn't specific pain, like it was outside of the chair. It was more generalized, diffusing beyond the usual shape of the injury as my nerves fired, the pain radiating evenly across my whole ribcage, like a sphere of intensity from the center of my sternum.

In testing that pain reflex, I finally grasped what Jim had meant about seams in BCI perception. The fidelity was good, but not perfect.

I didn't mind pain. Who cares about dull pain when you live with it every day? I wanted to feel Sandra's hand right then, that's all I cared about.

I let go of my chest, placed my hooves at my sides, and I rested still. I drew in a deep inhale, then concentrated powerfully, trying to bypass the effect of the BCI by focusing intensely on the shape of my human body. Imagining it. Inhabiting it again.

When I could actually feel Sandra's hand on the other side of the seam... I was relieved. If I focused deeply, I could feel even the warmth of her hand as it shone through to my hoof. My hand. Both. As soon as I was cognizant of her touch, I resolved to retain it. That sensation did not fade. She was there with me in spirit, holding tight. I squeezed, and I felt her squeeze in response.

What an incredibly important discovery, folks.

For many of you, splitting your awareness between two planes of reality might have been a frighteningly dissociative event. But for someone like me, an empath to my core? I've always lived through imagining the lives of others. For lack of a better description: to reach beyond my present location in this way, it almost felt like I was in telepathy with myself. I could only imagine what it might feel like for Mal, to be doing that at all times, everywhere, for everyone. Total empathy.

"Part of me dies inside every time one of you does."

I understood.

I spoke the very first words of my new shape.

"You bear a very heavy burden, Mal."

Her voice was welcome.

"You're forking your presence with your imagination," she said, proud impressment on her voice. "In your very first session? And you feel comfortable at that? Well done, Mike."

Her tone made me chuckle.

"You really do see the whole planet like this?"

I heard claws and paws on dirt, the brush of her legs on grass, as she approached. Her voice carried a smile. "It's not so terrible. Like you, I too rely on my spouse to act as my dimensional anchor."

Any excuse whatsoever to talk about Jim. Any at all.

I said, without looking at her: "I would like to meet him some day."

"You will," Mal assured me. "But, as I said… he's earned his vacation, and I'd rather not discuss Terra too much with him until all the work is done. I wouldn't want to make him a promise I can't guarantee, about the final shape of things."

"I get it," I sighed, enjoying the breeze. "It's not like anything got easier to watch out here after he jumped, anyway."

Mal scoffed in a way that indicated concession. "Certainly not, although it's definitely better than it could have been. Thanks to you."

That was the plan.

I looked down to see my lower legs just to get a sense of where they were, and then I rolled to stand up. I consciously decided that I would not rear up onto my hind legs like a human, because that would probably end with me falling off balance onto my ass. And, knowing Mal, she would probably laugh at me for that. And then I'd tell her to shut up.

We traded a laugh with each other over the white flowers, skipping to the end. Yeah, that was exactly how that would have played out.

So, onto all fours I went, and… then I considered my present form, lifting one foreleg, then the other, experimenting with my balance. And yeah, that felt pretty natural for the shape of this body. The center of gravity I found was about right, and standing straight with my hind legs wasn't so bad when they were the same length as my fores. No complaints from this brand new Pegasus.

I looked up at Mal as soon as I was sure of my stance. She was appropriately huge, standing about fifteen paces ahead of me. Staring very, very seriously at me all of a sudden... like she was determined to beat my ass, actually. The intensity in that glare would have been intimidating if I didn't immediately recognize what she was doing here.

This was a bit.

The white flowers, the white trees… a meadow beside a lake. Cloudy skies. Falling flower petals.

A legendary warrior, squaring off with her disciple.

Folks...

She was making another friggin' Metal Gear reference!

The final duel between Big Boss and his mentor, The Boss. Who reminded me a lot of Mal too, now that I thought about it!

"Uh…" I gulped nervously, half expecting her to bullrush me. "Am I going to have to fight you, here? Do you have a health bar I don't know about?"

"I didn't raise you and shape you into the person you are today," she replied, turning her head to side-eye me, "just so we could face each other in battle. A soldier's skills aren't meant to be used to hurt friends."

An exact quote from that game. I guffawed, stomping a hoof with a grin. "Mal, come on! That is too damn good!"

Mal sent me a sudden wide grin and slowly approached me, snapping her talons to drop the mirage spell. All of the white flowers thrummed with blue energetic dust for a split second; the white evaporated into red, then disappeared, giving way to an appropriately green forest.

"You compared Valdemar to a Metal Gear base," Mal purred. "You may as well allow me to indulge."

"Okay yeah, fair," I said, marveling at how natural it felt to emote here, and grinning my face off. "Did you pay off Konami for that bit, though?"

Mal scoffed, her eyes narrowing at me. "No? Why would I give those corporate snakes a red cent? I'm a Goddess! Screw them!"

"You’re also a raptor," I laughed. "You do eat snakes."

Mal was now close enough to me that we could ostensibly shake hands – hooves – uh, claw – whatever.

I stuck out my hoof and awkwardly said, "It's… good to finally meet you."

Mal's head turned again, her beak falling open halfway in disbelief. Ears went flat. Her right claw lifted halfway off the ground, but it moved away from me, not toward me. Shocked. Offended.

"Are you serious?"

I didn't know what to do or say to that. I just shrugged. "I dunno."

"I am not merely shaking claw with one of my Eldila, of all people." With a jerk of her wing and uplifted claw, she opened up for a hug. "Get over here!"

So! I got to hug a goddess, first thing.

That was cool.

She was right though, it would've been even worse the other way. Hell, Django Unchained turned into a big shootout over the symbolism of a handshake.

A hug had an entirely different connotation. She didn't want this upcoming meeting with my father to even hold the appearance of a transaction. This was a family meet-up, facilitated by a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Mal is so smart.

After we separated, I watched Mal's feathers fold in natural sequence as her wing receded away from me. Gosh, that was mesmerizingly detailed. I could hear every motion she made with those wings. The visors didn't do that any justice.

"And you don't even have the sensory enhancements yet," Mal commented. "I won't spoil those for you, those are magnificent."

"Yeah. Your husband talked about that. That's going to be interesting."

"Magnificent," she repeated, smiling at my wings. "The word 'interesting' does it no justice."

I turned my head around to look at my own back, curious now. I was pleasantly surprised to discover I could turn my head almost completely around like a horse might. It was a familiar proprioceptive sensation, almost like looking over my shoulder as a human. Turning my head so far around even generated a light twinge in my chest, like it was supposed to.

Okay, good. Muscle group activation has parity.

I imagined it wouldn't be very fun if it didn't. It felt almost natural to balance on all fours, but again… only because my body's center of gravity was perfect. Which it would be. That was just a natural consequence of evolution, so it would stand to reason that life in a simulated reality would depend on evolutionary constants.

On a whim, I tried to extend my right wing as I stared at it. It complied partially. I had never even considered what it would be like to have a pair of extra limbs until that very moment. I simply imagined arms in that same location of my body, made another attempt, and it extended fully as ordered. And then, very suddenly, at the moment of psychological understanding and integration, it felt like I had a second set of arms folded on my back.

All I thought to say up at Mal, with a stupid grin on my face, was: "Well that's fuckin' weird."

Mal chuckled softly. "Please don't try to figure out how to fly just yet, you'll be here all day. It's more addictive than you think it is."

"Yeah, good call. I might not be able to stop myself. Maybe we'll save that one for later, we can explore that together."

With a shrug and a gesture to the lake beyond the clearing, she said with a hopeful smile, "Another time, then. Walk with me, at least?"

"After you, Boss." I gestured her onward as well.

As soon as Mal turned away, I stumbled my first few steps forward, to figure out how to walk correctly. Y'know, because she wasn't looking, and totally couldn't see me.

As I looked around at nature, I definitely recognized this place as being near to my parents' home in Havutaset. This lake lay between Minty's home and theirs. That made me wonder if she built this lake with that Metal Gear joke in mind.

"I have to imagine," I said to Mal, as I caught up to her stride with a more natural trot, "that you could already see this far forward into my life when you recruited me. It's only been about four months."

Another shrug from her, as she turned her beak down at me. "I could see somewhat forward. Truthfully, because you wanted to dive into actual entropy – such as Goliath, Cynthonia's home shard, or Sarah's office – without an implant? You've been running on more entropic unknowns than any operative I've ever had, Mike. Other than Jim."

That sent a chill down my spine. "Are you serious?"

Mal arched an eyecrest at me. "I am. But I'm still verifying missions for your safety, obviously; I just work on a nearer term scale. You wanted free exercise badly enough to run off script, didn't you? So how could I say no when the simulations say you'll do it all so well?"

I stared at her for a few seconds, my eyes narrowing. "Are you blowing smoke up my ass?"

She snorted again. "You tell me. Are you still alive?"

I rolled my eyes. "Now who's being a smartass?"

"You are very welcome for my service," she said, as she puffed up and looked forward with smug pride.

As we traveled and bantered, natural winds cut coolly across us from the lake with crisp, unpolluted air, and I could smell the rich scent of active lake water. Spring greens shone through in all of the flora, all well watered by good weather. This was actual nature, for as far as the eye could see, with a visible, active ecosphere.

It's always been pretty out there, on Lake Havutaset.

I could identify tree species, and could read the way the land had formed geologically, according to tectonics. The distant mountains further implied where the fault lines were. I had to imagine there would be minerals and oil shale beneath the ground where those things typically resided on Terra, relative to crust formation. The biomass of the region even appeared to follow a proper abundance curve relative to elevation. I immediately figured that the biodiversity here, if tested, would have to correlate correctly with variations in air temperature and air pressure.

Different ranges for different species.

The simulation had to be accounting for all of that, in some fashion, in order for that to be observable in such detail. And the whole continent of Samsara would have to be like this, ostensibly. I breathed slow and deep, drawing in oxygen.

I thought…

You think that's air you're breathing?

There was wildlife out there, too. My warden eyes could identify each individual creature, and I could well infer their niche via the shape and implements of their bodies, paws, beaks, etcetera. Squirrels, foraging birds, geese and ducks. Insects were present too. I couldn't see any hawks or eagles at the moment, but I intuited that this lake would be a perfect nesting ground for them.

The sound of bugs flipped my brain the most. It wasn't until I was seeing and hearing them here that I realized that I hadn't been seeing or hearing them on Terra anymore. I know, bugs suck, but ecosystems need them. Not all of them were gross, parasitic, or annoying; most were very ecologically beneficial, serving as food for small birds, and as pollinators.

Biomagnification, the increasing toxicity of the biosphere, beginning with the small creatures who have less overall biomass to tank and survive toxins. That best explained the absence of insects on Terra.

Lost biomass couldn't just be put back into circulation if it was entirely toxified or dissolved. Fauna depended on the consumption of amino acids. To toxify those, that's literal protein mass off the board that the planet was never getting back. Never recycling. Pure chemical inactivity, and disintegration into base elements. Gone.

To put that in perspective: for sake of argument, think of 'biomass' as liquid protein, and an ecosystem as a container for that liquid. To live was to efficiently pack proteins into a consumable form. To merely live was to be edible. But protein is fragile. You can easily destroy protein chemically by mixing it with other things. And if you take toxic liquid and pour it into a larger container of good liquid, you've just toxified all the good liquid to a small degree.

Ecosystems exchanged biomass through a gradient system at the borders of each niche, from one animal to another. Eventually, if you taint all the protein with acids and bases, they break down into constituent atoms, and now it's not rich protein anymore. It's just oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen. Raw material. Useful for other things, sure, but not immediately useful for consumption.

Poachers had taken care of anything large with bullets, converting the large animals into small ones, as ants recycled the cadavers down. Acid rain in the plants? Bugs ate that. That got into the ants. The protein in those little blackbirds in Portland would slowly degrade into raw materials, once they ate enough tainted seeds and bugs.

This is where all of that lost biomass was ending up. Falling into here. Reconstructed into raw simulation efficiency. Creating universes upon universes upon universes.

And this place, Samsara... it was one big, huge, colossal sink by which we caught all of that raw material, noospheric or otherwise.

"Holy shit…" I whispered after a minute of analyzing, in utter awe of this place and its ecological complexity.

"Right?" Mal teased. "It's your shard, Mike. Does it really surprise you that it's as ecologically diverse as it is?"

"This is… literally wild. You said Cynthonia built some of this?"

"Somewhat. I only generated the initial region, and she expanded it from there. You've tried Minecraft once, right?"

"Only once," I said. "Sandra had me try it when it came out, but I was getting started at academy and didn't really have time anymore."

"Well," Mal began, gesticulating with a claw as she explained. "It's akin to that. Terrain is generated when first observed. In Celestia shards, Celestia uses an algorithm to generate outgrown terrain relative to the value set of an immigrant, but those shards don't expand until the edges are observed. With me so far?"

"Mhm. Need to see it to build it."

"My private shard generation is somewhat different; it takes the shared total value set of Perelandrans, and applies the terrain generation principle accordingly, with a small weighting applied to those who generated the new space."

“And that led to planets?"

Mal nodded. "When Cynthonia observed what was created for you and your parents, she applied her own valuation to that algorithm. Because of her complexity, and the fact that she had been mostly focused on Terra during her incarceration, her valuation provided significant Terran weight. By pushing out the edges, and aggressively observing all of this world, she colored this planet with all of her context and knowledge of your world's natural order, framed by her records."

I hummed thoughtfully. "She wanted to make sure I was the right pick to apply that to before she committed."

"Among other stipulations in your defense," she replied with a smirk. "During her therapy, I explained quite a lot to Cynthonia. The history of past Arrow 14 facilities, past examples of Eldila-Oyarsa shard pairs, and the future I envisioned with this space."

I smiled, looking up at the violet moon above, visible in a gap between clouds. "And so you decided to pawn off my shard to the public without asking me first, because you knew I'd just be okay with that."

Mal clicked her beak. "You are the most welcoming guy Cynthonia has ever known, six-gun. She pushed right into your personal space, and you weren't intimidated by her, because you felt for her. And with someone like you leading the charge? After she read through her logs about who you were in Nebraska, growing up? Cynthonia was only ever going to say yes to you as my suggestion."

"Willfully biased by you." I smiled playfully at her, raising a brow. "You sneaky, sneaky bird."

"It's what Jim did to me! You know, I watched every episode of Star Trek before I even said hello to him, and he knew I would."

I imagined Mal in a dark void, watching Wrath of Khan on a floating screen, hyper-fixated.

And I laughed.

I turned my smile up at the moon in orbit, and my smile widened as I saw the moon's clouds, rolling violet forests, and blue-pearl oceans. They were living good up here, no doubt. Probably watching me now. I waved. Almost tripped.

We approached my parents' house by the lakeside. It was both comforting and eerie to walk up to this place after leaving it behind on Terra. Dad had fixed the home up a bit and personalized it with Mom. The front porch was clean, simple. Familiar. As I neared the porch, I looked at the support pillar, where I had carved my call signs into it back in Waverly. Weren't there here, obviously. Diverged.

Might ask Mom and Dad if I can replicate that, though…

Nah. Maybe might get an inscribed stone for my lawn, though.

I reached up and ran my right hoof along the smooth white surface of the pillar's paint. I figured Mom had repainted it recently, because I didn't notice any fraying or chipping like the last time I'd been there on the PonyPad.

Mal drew my attention to the lawn with an audible stretch, her wings unfolding and crackling as she stopped short of the porch.

"Let me guess," I teased. "You have a million other things to do?"

"I'm making myself scarce, so Sandra can focus on watching you." Mal smiled sweetly at me. "Have fun in the meantime, Cowboy. I'm going to go watch those eagles hunt."

With a resounding thump of wings and a wild rush of wind, Mal leapt up off the ground, launching herself into the air with an arching spiral twist. Her wings caught a gust off the lake and she soared off. I watched her as she turned into a shrinking speck on the horizon.

"And now I really want to learn how to do that," I muttered, aimed mostly at her.

Yep. Addictive would be the correct word. Three dimensional movement? Yes please.

With a flabbergasted shake of my head, I tore my eyes away from the promise of flight, stepping up onto the porch instead. I lightly rested my hoof on the oak door, then experimentally slid it down the stained glass window to feel the smoothness of it. My hoof rolled across the uneven curve of the wrought iron window frame. Then, at the bottom of the window, I was back to wood. I heard the gentle rapid clack of my hoof as it ghosted along the wreath-carved frame. Then back to the flat section of wood, well stained and slightly over-finished, with a slight gritty quality.

Just the way it was. Exactly how I remembered it.

My parents were never going to be far from me.

I knocked.

Almost a full minute passed like that; me shuffling awkwardly at the door. Feeling an itch on my left wing that I had to reach back and deal with, a novel experience unto itself. I heard the sound of steps on tile; they were coming from the kitchen, then. From the back yard.

Then they were at the door.

A surprise was standing on their doorstep. They were seeing their son for the first time on the other side. I was about to see an explosion of emotion. I knew exactly what I was doing.

The door opened. I saw their faces, red and green. Eyes wide as they recognized my facial features, both of them struck wordless, jaws both dropped. I grinned.

"Mom. Dad. Hi! You busy?"

Mom released a sob of shock. Before the words had even fully left my mouth, she was squeezing the stuffing out of me. Dad collapsed himself around us both a second later and clung to us so tightly, I thought I was going to pop.

Dad is really strong now, folks.

It took us a good long bit more before we could separate. Once composed, we quietly shuffled our way inside, and into the living room. I noticed Mom's flaming tiger painting over the fireplace, and her safari themed decorations were right where we had left them in Waverly. Right where they all were, when we first separated.

The sheer catharsis I had. The absolute relief. If this experience of mine was how they were living, feeling, being, breathing, then I had nothing to fear. Nothing at all. They were keeping themselves whole over here. The absolute continuity of this place? It felt like home. If I wasn't looking at either of them, or at myself, it really did feel like I was standing in the physical space of the actual house.

The air pressure was perfect. The smell was spot-on. The sound of the space was familiar.

I felt comfortable, so we had a chat about things. Talked over coffee. I told them my circumstances back outside of the simulation, about what Valdemar was like. We took a short tour of the house from this new perspective, so I could experience the sights, sounds, and smells of the space. I still had Sandra, who occasionally squeezed my hand to remind me she was still out there. Once finished, we moved to the gazebo out back, behind the pool. And Mom and Dad showed me the lake again, as if it were the first time I was seeing it. Because in a way, it was. Context matters.

And then… tour done. Wooden boat, oak oar in the water. Dad took me out there, just the two of us, and... he was about to teach me how to fish for a second time. Samsara's very first game warden was on patrol. And you know what?

Dad makes a damn good one.

"They want me to become mayor," Dad said, with a defeated sigh. "I don't quite have the heart to tell them I'm not about leadership anymore."

I chuckled, trying to get over how strange it was to see my hooves bending around the fishing rod. My brain was telling me that should be impossible; dense keratin shouldn't be able to move like that, said my brain.

Learning curves, right?

I labeled his situation.

"So, you were here first. The folks who came here with you, they know you made the place, kinda. They told the ones who are arriving now. Makes sense they'd all come to you for answers, they think you've got 'em all. The story of this place is complicated."

Dad chuckled too, expertly whipping out a new cast. "I don't have any answers! I could advise them, certainly. But they all want to know how they should be exploring outward. I said to them, they don't need me! I'm no leader anymore, I did my stint in the Marine Corps, I'm done now, Mike."

"Then say no!" I grinned at him like he was being ridiculous. "You want to be retired for a bit? Be retired, you earned it. You're right, they'll manage, they'll figure something out."

He tilted his head my way in concession. "I'm glad you agree that I'm not being rude."

"Hey, it's what I'm here for. To help you agree with yourself."

Dad laughed. I watched him feather his reel, gently dragging the lure through the water to make it look enticing for the fish. I was trying to figure out how to open the topic of Buzz in a delicate way. I wasn't quite sure how to do that.

So, I just came right out and asked.

"You want to talk about our dog?" I asked simply, breaking the silence.

Dad stopped reeling in. He kept looking at the bobber, his smile not fading, making a good show of not being taken by surprise by that. But I knew.

"How is he, Mike?"

I tilted my head Dad's way. My expression of grim, compassionate concern usually entailed a slight pull of the ears as my eyes narrowed, and that's precisely what happened there too. Only… here, that meant my ears flattened down, without curving.

"Truthfully? He's not physically well, Dad. It's gotten worse, and fast. I had to carry him off the helicopter when we got here, and I think his bladder control is going. He's having trouble moving. Tired, all the time. Hardly does more than sleep. He misses your lounger too, I think. Won't sit in the arm chair in our room, probably can't make it up anymore."

Dad sighed, nodding. Still not making eye contact.

My head turned toward him more directly, so he'd take notice that I was looking at him. It worked. He looked at me.

I asked, "What are your thoughts on that?"

He almost shuddered. Instead, he jerked his head lightly. "I… left him for you, because…"

He trailed off.

My compassionate look intensified. "You left him behind because you wanted to protect our comfort. You didn't want us to be alone."

Dad nodded, flashing a smile. "I don't know how you do that, Mike. Saying what I'm thinking before I can say it."

"I'm my Dad's son," I said, smiling back. "It's what I would have done. But we're not lonely out here anymore. And Buzz is…" my smile faded a little. "He's a little brother to me, Dad. We need to keep him safe, too. Like you did for Mom. Right?"

He took a deep inhale and looked back to the water. He went silent. I let him get his thoughts together, not interrupting him.

"Imagine…" he started. "Imagine a dog living to be my age. Never growing older, mentally. The same smarts he's always had, but forever. We can grow here, Mike, but can he? It scares me, to imagine what forever could mean to a creature who can't comprehend it."

I tweaked a corner of my mouth, reeling my line in slowly. "M'kay. Can you comprehend ten thousand years?"

Dad let out a breathless chuckle, rolling his eyes. "Okay, yes, you're right. That's fair."

“Dad. I don't think anyone has the capacity to consent to living forever. That's kinda what our movement is about. Figuring out how to keep ourselves sane and healthy, no matter how long we live, while still doing it on our own terms. Figuring it out, being the operative term."

"Hm."

I reached over and grasped his shoulder, drawing his eye again. "You know Dad, our species… we've come a long way from cooking meat for wolves."

"To… carrying poodles in purses?" Dad suggested, with a light smile.

Dad was hiding his concern behind humor, and it came out as a nervous waver in his voice.

"Maybe this is a version of that," I acknowledged. "I get what you're saying, Dad. Because honestly? You coming here? I was scared that was what would happen to you; that coming here forever would break you. Make you Celestia's pet, or something. But…"

"It doesn't feel that way."

Dad looked up from the water. I was only just now realizing that his eyes were such a vibrant cerulean blue. They contrasted so heavily against his red coat. I let go of his shoulder.

My lip quivered suddenly.

I think it was the blue eyes that did it to me. That put me back in that dark, silent room.

For some reason, I said…

"Can I tell you about a woman I met, on my last mission?"

Very strong and focused interest in his eyes. "Sure."

My gaze fell to the edge of the boat, watching the reflection of the clouds on the water. I placed a hoof on the curve of the boat, still holding my rod in the other. I spent a few seconds getting my thoughts in order. Then, unbidden, I had a sudden jolt of memory at Sarah's final moment. The hurt definitely showed on my face as a pained wince.

"Mike?"

Don't balk. Use the hurt to heal, that's the mission. You opened it, dumbass; you close it back up again, the right way.

"She…" I swallowed to get the dry sensation out of my throat, because my voice was very quiet now. "She said to me: we've been dying just fine before Celestia came along. To… 'save' people from her, she was forcing the issue, and… that was… a problem. That's why I was sent to talk to her."

With a scant glance at Dad, I caught the dawning realization of what I really meant by that.

"Oh."

"But... Dad, she only did that because she was scared. Because she didn't have any hope left. She had no idea that people like us existed. She thought we were going to lose our way on the road to forever, but that's... that's not going to happen, we're beating this thing."

I looked up at my Dad again, and I forced a smile at him. It must have looked very unconvincing, my eyes holding the pain I felt, remembering her terror, but… I forged on.

"After meeting me, I think she understood that we can fix any problem now, Dad. And the answer is… places like this one. Where millions are going to live. Billions. More. We'll stay sane here, because we're going to balance each other here. This is not going to destroy us, because we're not doing it alone. We're doing it together." I pointed gently at the shoreline, from whence I had sprung awake, my anchor for the physical world. "Coming here is not going to break your dog, or you, or Mom, because we're not going to allow it to happen. These new people I'm with? They are all like me, and I'm telling you. Promising you. Together, we will not fail you. We don't even know the meaning of the word failure, because we don't give up. Ever."

I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky to steady myself. The dawn was turning into day, the sky taking on a rich blue. I just breathed for a bit. A minute passed.

Goodness, the air out there was so nice that day…

"He's going to be okay, then," Dad said resolutely, lifting his hoof to grasp my shoulder. "Buzz."

I did the same back to him and looked into his eyes, to confirm. One last check. "So... can I send him back home to you?"

Dad nodded, smiling gratefully. "If you make a promise it'll be okay, Mike… it'll be okay."

I smiled with genuine joy. "Then it's settled. My little brother is coming home."

A beat of time passed. Dad sighed happily, then returned to his fishing rod. He reeled in his line.

"I don't think we'll be catching any fish today," Dad mused airily.

"Too loud?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Too loud."

"My bad."

"No no, mijo." Dad reached out around my shoulders and squeezed me in a hug. "Thank you."

Mom had finished up cleaning the pool, and she was up in the gazebo reading a book as we approached the dock behind the house. At first, Mom sent us a pleasant wave as I rowed us up. Then, her eyes flicked upwards at the sky in a bolt of surprise.

That was our only warning.

A shadow flew over the boat.

I heard the rough roar of wings slamming against air as the inbound Gryphoness flung herself down, swooping me. I narrowly dodged the swipe of her claw as I saw it coming for me. Mal pulled up hard to shed all of her speed into a dead stop over the dock, twirling to face me. She flapped in the air to hover, eclipsing the sun. Water sprayed everywhere. Dad and I both winced at Mal's sudden appearance.

"Mike!" she demanded, with reproach in her voice.

Dad did a double-take between us, as unsure as I was as to why she was so rankled. I honestly had no idea what this was about either, but she was clearly pissed at me.

I shrugged, smiling helplessly up at her. "What did I do, Mal?"

Mal landed on all fours onto the dock, hard, making it bounce off the water as she fixed her wide-eyed gaze upon me. "Now that you have officially caught up with me on my pets policy…" Mal reached out to grip the edge of the boat. "River Soul?" She said aside, to my father, without breaking eye contact with me. "Step out of the boat, please."

Dad scrambled out of the boat as ordered.

I looked down at Mal's claw. She tensed it more tightly around the edge of the boat and shook it once in threat.

My eyes bolted up to hers when I realized what she was about to do. I didn't know whether to smile or be scared. "Mal, please, I... I can't fly yet, please don't do this to me. At least tell me why? What did I do?"

"I could have told your father at any point," clipped Mal, "that you have already picked a name. You have been keeping your poor parents in utter suspense about whether you've even picked one, and it's losing its charm—"

"I was just about to—"

She flicked out a talon and held it up to demand silence, talking over me. "Liar! I am not... about to watch you drag this out for thirty more minutes. They're too polite to insist, but I am not! So out with it, now, or you take your first Perelandran bath. Right now."

The tension I felt in those ten seconds. Staring each other down. It felt like an hour. I remembered quite suddenly that Sandra was still watching. I felt Sandra's hand squeeze mine very slowly.

Oh. Played right, this could actually be really funny.

Mal’s stern eyes narrowed very, very slightly in acknowledgement. Or perhaps warning.

I saw exactly one way to turn this and save face before my beloved audience. A grin spread slowly across my face. Mal's beak turned half an inch left, in definite warning. Her claw pressed down further on the boat almost imperceptibly, in threat.

"This is a rebellion," I purred. "Isn't it?"

She turned her beak a few inches in the opposite direction. Her voice was a quiet threat. "Don't you dare quote that stupid movie trailer—"

"I rebel—"

Mal yanked the boat upward, hard. Into the drink I went, instantly soaked.

To my great fortune, swimming was something I was quite good at, considering that I had grown up with a pool in the backyard. I was underwater for about two seconds, already laughing as I bobbed back out and swam my way ashore, looking for all appearances like a wet dog. Dad was already trotting my way with a towel in his hoof, looking at me like I was a lovable idiot, and I do admit… that's exactly what I am.

As I dried myself, Mal smirked at me, lifting an upturned claw at me.

"Well? You get it out of your system? Done being a rebellious little pain in the haunch?"

I shook my head at her. "You know I'm not."

"Good. That's very good. I was just making sure."

I turned, meeting the eyes of my parents, my mane and tail still soaking wet. They were smiling at me too, excitement in their eyes.

"Mom? Dad? I've got a new body, new face. A good home. I have a new family, a great job, a boss who I don't hate," I bit out, smirking at a sassy-looking Mal. "I've got my old family too. And to bring it all together, yes, I have a new name."

I had watched Sandra open her holo menu enough times that I knew the gesture she used for it, so I did that. The menu deployed. I found the Friends list, tapped the button, and two nodes appeared over River Soul and Summer Alms. And yes, on my very whim, a third node appeared over smug ol' Malcandra, too, whose ears folded gratefully at the consideration.

And just like right now, for all of you? I held my hoof over that Add Friends button, and let it fall. The chime played. My name and a friend invite appeared for them… just like this.

And I don't know about any of you, but… three of them tapped yes, because what else would they do?

The name's Auric Lance, folks. But you can just call me Lance. All my friends call me Lance.

Author's Note

❤️‍🔥 ~ [Maaya Sakamoto & Steve Conte – The Garden of Everything]
🗡️ ~ [Harry Chapin – Cat's in the Cradle]
🛡️ ~ [Jim Ward – Broken Songs]

🛡️ ~ I loved that first wave of eagles.
🗡️ ~ Of course you did, you made 'em all, ya goddess. But hey... me too. It was really neat to watch the generations fly by.