Equestria 1939 - Weird World War

Equestria 1939 - Weird World War
What Lies Beneath

Poles surrender Westerplatte Fortress in Danzig Harbor.
— New York Times, September 8, 1939

Humans had a peculiar way to react when confronted with unexpected information.

Ponies were sensible. Threats meant running around so predators could not pick out one victim in the milling mess, with screaming to disconcert the attacker. Sherbert had never told a human about her mother’s situation, but Prime had taken the news with considerable un-reaction, and Mixed State had simply absorbed the news with little more than warranted curiosity about the details and asking if this would affect his educational stipend.

Mister Guttman had reacted in a very non-pony fashion. He froze, remaining completely immobile except for breathing.

After a certain amount of time spent staring at the ACACD structure, Guttman held onto the beaker of water that Sherbert returned to him, took several sips, then managed in a very small voice, “You put your own mother into…” He rather redundantly pointed at the complex amalgam of stainless steel pipes and wires that made up ACACD.

“It was her last wish. She wanted to continue her work.” Sherbert patted the top of the last steel flange holding the plexiglass cover secure. “I thought that maybe when I’m too old to continue, or if there’s some sort of accident—”

“It’s not that bad,” said Mix once he saw Mr. Guttman was at a loss for words and that his sister was wandering into territory that unnerved the human. “Madame Vernier has gone on to the Eternal Pastures. ACACD is only a shadow of her mind, an echo if that helps you understand.”

“I understood Mary Shelly did fairly well in Frankenstein,” muttered Guttman. He remained quiet for a moment, observing the metallic mother and the faint clicks that came from inside as various discs rearranged to different configurations.

“Mother has been listening to radio reports coming in from Europe,” said Sherbert, who had returned to her soldering. “The printout is in the bin.”

The human sat down with the stack of paper and seemed to gain some grasp on his wits by reviewing the plain text of the teletype. It kept him quiet, which was fine for Sherbert because she had work to do. The circuit she was creating had little chance of solving the issue, but it made a good practice piece while waiting.

It took less time than Sherbert expected for Guttman to reach the bottom of the printout, and she was relatively unprepared for his simple question.

“A crossword puzzle?”

“Oh, tear that section off and we’ll send it to the Canterlot Sun. Mother always loved crosswords, so she’s been making them for the newspaper over the last few months.”

He eyed the last section of grey-bar paper and asked another question that made Sherbert up his estimated intelligence by a few notches.

“Are you certain she is not passing information to the Germans by way of this?”

It was a logical extension of the classification process which she could not answer, but ACACD responded before she could give the question full consideration.

NEVER STOP INFORMATION SENT TO FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE COULD COMPROMISE OFFSPRING SAFETY STOP

There was a brief pause while the teletype whirred, then added, INCLUDING MIXED STATE STOP

“It’s nice to know she still cares,” said Mix. “And your next question is going to be how my big sister managed to put Madame Vernier into ACACD, right?”

“It… would help,” admitted Guttman, who sat down on one of the uncomfortable tall lab chairs and dropped the printout on the table in front of him. “Use small words, please.”

“I have to,” said Mix. “There are several thousand disks included in ACACD’s central core, photographs of Madame Vernier’s brain after she was crystalized by a runaway experiment and killed. Or more correctly, copies of the photographs. Watch my sister for a moment. She’s about to do her little trick.”

It was not a little trick. It was a complicated spell she had found by accident when she got her cutie mark and used ever since, although mostly Mix thought of it as a way to get more candy out of a box. She focused on the wire-wrapped circuit next to the box of bakelite fragments and metal samples, picking it up in her magic and concentrating until two circuits could be gently placed back down on the lab table.

“Sis broke into the… Well, we broke into the storage room where they had stored the photographs. She made copies in Mom’s lab, and then we returned the originals without anypony knowing. Thousands of pages of microfiche, newspaper archives, reference books, and anything we could find that had been processed that way were placed on more silicate disks and mounted on spindles, all suspended from each other by a liped membrane as a cushion and transmission medium. They rotate independently when calculating or storing information. She’s highly inefficient and has substantial eccentricities, but she can derive things that would take rooms full of calculating devices years to finish. Weather predictions, crossword puzzles, protein folding configurations, thaumic charge evaluation. Building ACACD never could have been done in other countries because only Equestria has the magic concentration necessary.”

“Or the laws regarding scientific experimentation,” said Guttman, who promptly moderated his tone with, “At least the way the laws used to exist.”

“You cannot expect us to hear that kind of line without the explanation behind it.” Mix cocked a curious eyebrow at his sister, but Sherbert shook her head.

“If Prime wanted you read into the documents I’ve seen, he would have.”

It took a while, but eventually Mixed State nodded. “I’m exposed to far too many external contacts. Even though I know about this project, it would be best if you kept me in the dark about any progress. What I don’t know—”

“You can’t leak.” Guttman heaved a sigh. “Every nation is trying to read each other’s codes. Knowing that we are trying is not a secret. Knowing if we succeed is. Mix, if I could have a few minutes alone with your sister?”

“I have another appointment, anyway. No kissing.”

And with that, Mixed State was gone before Sherbert could form an adequate retort.

* * *

Guttman was a splendid conversationalist. He spoke very little and read quietly, making a list of questions rather than asking them intermittently and otherwise allowing Sherbert to continue her work without interruption. It was a peaceful kind of research, stopped hours later by the whirr of the teletype and a short message.

PRIME ARRIVING STOP

“I suppose this means I should make a formal decision on this project,” said Sherbert. “I’m in.”

EVERY POST IS HONORABLE IN WHICH A PONY CAN SERVE HER COUNTRY STOP

“My mother was a student of fractious humans,” said Sherbert. “Static and unchanging means decay. Mold. Death. She appreciated the revolutionary, how they broke the chains of routine and brought forth new ideas. She always said the difference between good change and bad change could only be determined years later, if at all.”

She put the electronic circuit she was considering redesigning into the parts box for use as raw material. Ponies were so inferior to circuits and wires. Once created, they were. There was no going back. Minor changes could be made during upbringing, for good or ill, but they were fixed in one course. Her own cutie mark of matched flasks was only a bump in the path her mother placed her upon. This new project could only be the same. She lived to perfect her mother’s work. When this project was over, she would return to the path. Nothing would change, and it bothered her the more she thought about it.

“I sense hesitation in your voice. Just a bit of fear,” said Guttman, who had not moved from his perch on one of the tall laboratory chairs. “Fear of trying, or fear of failure?”

“I don’t like to lose. Neither did mother.”

“Losing what?” asked Guttman.

Sherbert did not have an answer.

They continued to work in silence until there was a quiet knock at the door, and Sherbert opened it with a touch of her magic. Prime stood there for a moment, looking at the two of them engrossed in their own studies, then shook his head slowly.

“She’s in,” said Guttman. “Both of them.”

“Expected. Ho, ho, ho.” Prime continued into the room, towing an overloaded red metal wagon behind him. Brown paper packages the size of books piled high threatened to spill over with every step, and the sheer incongruity of a child’s toy being used in that fashion cut a hint of levity through Sherbert’s overlaying concern.

“You are not Santa Hooves,” said Sherbert. “He’s a myth.”

“More like Nightmare Night,” said Prime. “If you are to carve this pumpkin, you deserve the sharpest knife available. The organization has a number of resources acquired by our agents over the last few years. Many of them were obtained by… immoral methods, from immoral people. I’m not sure how much good they will do, but I’m positive you will find them more useful here than sealed up in a room somewhere. Good luck.”

And then he was gone also.

Guttman got up from his chair and looked the little red wagon over from top to bottom before taking off the first paper package and opening it. “I’m not certain how much confidence it shows that our superior is delivering our research materials in a Skippy Racer children’s wagon.”

“I brought that from home,” said Sherbert. “My father gave it to me. I used to pull my brother around when we went out into the city. Interesting payload, though.” She opened several books, creasing the brown paper along straight lines and placing it to one side until she found a thick folder. “The Germans have broken the British Administrative code.”

“That’s based on subtractor tables,” said Guttman from behind the book he was reading. “Totally different than a rotor based system. But how does Equestria know—”

“Spies.” Sherbert continued to open books and folders, making a stack of the folded brown paper covers to one side. “It appears the Poles cracked an earlier version of Enigma without an actual machine, although the device has been modified since then so the same approach will not work. Mister Rejewski has quite a collection of notes in this folder. I’m quite certain he’s unaware of their distribution.” Sherbert concentrated for a moment. “There are hints of my duplication magic on this copy, leading me to believe Q branch had a hoof in their acquisition.”

“It’s hard to think of you ponies as espionage agents,” admitted Guttman. He scratched his bare chin and thought. “I suppose that makes them more effective.”

“One of the tasks of Q branch is to provide agents of Equestria with resources, as it seems my mother had during the Great War.” She picked up the clacker and spun the propeller absently. “A trinket, with several intentional design flaws to appear cruder than it is. Mother never liked to show her whole talent to others. I was more trusting of Prime, and I’m unsure if I should be angry at him or relieved that my enchantments were used in this fashion.”

“I understand. We made chemicals,” said Guttman with a nod of his head. “Never knew for certain what they were used for after they left the factory.”

Sherbert winced. “My duplication spell is different than mere chemical formula.”

Guttman gave her a skeptical look. “I’ve seen duplication spells before.”

“Mine is permanent.”

He raised one bushy eyebrow and put aside the book he was looking through. “Thaumic material created by spell has a finite lifespan. I did pay attention in class, after all.”

“I don’t create anything out of thaums,” said Sherbert, floating another book onto her pile.

“Newton would have a coronary if he saw what you unicorns do, but you can’t just create something out of nothing.”

“Issac Newton was a human with no insight.” Sherbert placed a promising book on top of her priority pile, then opened it and examined the flyleaf on a whim. “Some of these are your books.”

“Duplicates. Most of them are not mine.” Guttman ran a finger down the spine of a red book with handwritten lettering on the cover. “The unicorn paper duplication spell makes sense. It takes blank paper and an ink supply to replicate a written work. Unicorns have used it for generations. A unicorn with the spell never lacks for employment in the human world, no matter how much other humans despise it and seek to replicate it in machines. But yours…”

“My personal trick is a little more complicated,” responded Sherbert curtly. “It requires an equivalent amount of each element involved in order to make a duplicate. Organics, even, although the end result is not fertile in the case of fruit.”

She did not bring up the time that Mixed State had an ailing pet lizard and wanted to see if she could make a healthy duplicate. Even her mother had agreed post-experiment and cleanup that some scientific thresholds deserved to remain uncrossed. Sherbet took a breath and continued, “If done correctly, the duplicate is identical to the original, and permanent.”

“Permanent? Well, of course. You wouldn’t lie to me about this.”

“Yes, I would.” Sherbert lifted the last book out of the bottom of the little red wagon as the words spilled out. She had never felt so rudderless in a storm, not since her mother died, and she could not keep her emotions bottled up any more.

“If it would allow me to proceed along my chosen path of unrestricted scientific progress, I would lie to you, to Prime, to every creature in Equestria. I would cheat, steal, or murder. I’m a monster in a pony skin, who can only destroy. We strive for creation, but my creations have only proven useful for destruction, and by the time I am fed into the fire, my way will be lit by the destruction I have caused. Just like my mother.”

“Huh.” Herr Guttman said nothing else for a long time, turning pages and making notes with a fountain pen in a small book, much the same way Sherbert was keeping her own. When it grew dark outside, he blew across the ink to dry it before standing up and stretching.

“Fräulein Lemon, your mother was far from an unlimited force of destruction, and your creation proves it as well as my own situation. Even though it was her device which caused my incarceration, I left your custody in far better condition than I entered. From a mere child who held the position of second engineer on a Unterseeboote to an actual adult, ready to face the world. My course was further improved by our correspondence over the years. She was pleased when I wed, passed on pleasant congratulations to our children on their mitzvahs, gave me advice when I was lost, and comfort when I grieved over the loss of my wife. When I needed to flee my home, there was only one place to go.”

“Really?” Sherbert looked up, blinking away tears.

“I kept all five letters with her words of encouragement,” said Guttman. “It is only appropriate to return them to her daughter, her ultimate creation.” He reached into his suit pocket and removed several folded sheets of Equestrian paper, faded with age and wear, but with Vernier’s exacting script in neat precise lines.

She let them sit on her lab bench for a week before getting the nerve to open them. It was odd to her perceptions that a human could become a friend, but over the next few weeks of work, he became a near-peer, more than a convenient foil to bounce ideas off. His experience with practical industrial chemistry turned out to have practical applications in her lipid membrane research as well as their impractical primary goal of decryption.

Still, after many weeks of strenuous effort, they had managed to put together a generalized script to test their collection of encrypted messages…

And nothing more.