Memory Collective

Driftwood stole a split-second glance at the clock and turned back to his audience, trying to ignore the two security officers standing vigil at the meeting room entrance. He had less than a minute left in the oral defense of his dissertation.

Thoughts of what had taken place overnight distracted him, despite how the presentation represented the epitome of years of diligent work. He knew that after he was finished, he would face two volleys of questioning: one of the academic sort, and the other of legal import. It was the latter that loomed in his mind like a forgotten final examination not prepared for. He took a breath, parted his white hair and prepared to savor the time that remained in his presentation. As he once again conjured the bittersweet notion that this was the conclusion of his project, the words to articulate came to him.

“So, to re-iterate, after we noticed pronounced electrical activity in hyphae placed in proximity with subject ‘Redcap’, we used four methods to test that she had attained primordial communion. The first three tests required occupying the clean room for an entire week in order to isolate her from all fungi, including the ubiquitous mold.

“The first test was spatial, in which her critical thinking abilities were diminished with distance from all forms of fungi. In the second, she demonstrated a stunted memory of facts given to her while close to fungi, but had recollection of them later when reunited with them. The third, which was inconclusive but documented, involved the incineration of nearby fungi while in sensory isolation. In that one, pain receptors in her brain exhibited activity that was not only measurable but comparable to the firsthand response to the actual stimulus of heat. The fourth was of a more historical nature, wherein she recounted the events leading up to Age of Discord, having never opened a single of the ancient chronicles in Canterlot.”

In the moment of silence that follows, Driftwood remembered he should have said and that concludes the presentation when one sitting near the front cleared his throat.

“Dr. Shale?”

“Yes. You say that she recounted these events with accuracy, but in the last test, I don’t believe you explained well enough why and how her accounts were accurate.”

Naturally, thought Driftwood. I’ve gone out of my way to study fields wholly unrelated to mine for the defense. It is good to know it wasn’t in vain. “Very well” he said.  “First, let me just reiterate that, as part of the enrollment process in the School for Uniquely Gifted Youths, exhaustive background checks were performed on her family, and her file indicates that her family has never set hoof out of Whinniepeg nor been in contact with anyone outside that city. Redcap was, in fact, very sheltered.”

He touched his horn to the projection signal conduit — a small triangle of moonstone. The translucent screen behind him illuminated again with crisp chronological diagrams. “And now, as for her assertion that magic was not the solution but the cause of the disasters that preceded the inception of the Draconequui.

“Near the beginning of the Second age, the Equestrian colony had its first encounter with Gryphonkind. When the land began exhibiting unnatural hostility, the Gryphon ruler Regolos offered unspoiled land to the east of his territory for ponies to settle until the land had returned to equilibrium. The terms, however, were that no magic was to be used on it. Those who settled there reverted to ancient traditions of eschewing magic.

“Now, according to the accounts of the explorer Kitalpha the Bold, the flora and fauna in that land never exhibited any of the instability known to have happened in Equestria at that time. Furthermore, there has never been any reason, historically or scientific, to conclude that the Great Wave and the Great Abomination of Discord were global events, or that they had any effect on the settlers. In very recent history, the Chimera of Chaos himself has made a comeback. It was an observed fact that although Dragonia, Minotauria, the Changeling Dominion and even the Gryphon Principalities were not influenced by the corruption, Discord’s subversive power was able to make playthings of the native Buffalo who dwell near one particular Equestrian frontier city. And, as it turned out from the study I mentioned earlier, the one published in Ecomagical Almanac just last month, Appleloosa has been around long enough for measurable concentrations of the subtle, passive soil magic of the earthbound nonunicorn ponies to start showing up in that region.”

His lungs exhausted by that statement, he inhaled furtively and maintained composure to give an air of professionalism. The next questioner, a casually-dressed and bespectacled old emeritus, gestured to speak.

“Dr. Chrondrule?”

“Yes, I was hoping you could explain again how exactly geological data is best fit by the rapid growth of the fungal chimera, and if you could show us those awesome visualizations again.”

Some found his faux enthusiasm droll; it sparked a round of muffled chortles.

Driftwood tapped the conduit. The projector screen changed to a glowing soup of diverse colors limned in topographical curves and white city-dots — a representation of early Equestria.

“Again, this heatmap is a representation of the magite concentration, and the data was provided by Dr. Whitestone’s study published in Supernature last year. Magite can only form in the presence of magic, as we know, especially the common kinds used to control the seasons, weather and growing of plants. Its use has always been widespread, so magite accumulates in the ground over time.”

He pointed to an area near Canterlot and Ponyville, which stood out as two orange peaks, where there lay a broad dip in color to greens and blues. “As you can see, there’s a plateau and even a shallow basin in concentration near the center where, historical densities of population and magical usage considered, there should be more of a peak. We’re talking the heart of ancient Equestrian civilization, which is now the Everfree Forest. The model is thus based on a difference between the expected concentrations of magite, from historical estimates of populations of Equestrians, and the actual measured concentrations of it.”

Driftwood tapped the conduit again, and a dark red patch appeared in that subdued region of the Equestrian heartland. It began growing slowly like blood soaking into a handkerchief. Patches of it appeared outside the main body in cooler nearby spots and were assimilated as the rest of the red moved outward. He paused the visualization. “As you can see, patches of the fungal chimera began the initial fruiting body phase earlier than the main advance of the wave due Southwest of the main bloom. We can infer this because the bloom absorbed magite, and the longer it had to grow, the more of it was consumed.”

Driftwood resumed the visualization. The small red patch grew further, enclosing its first white dot. “Again, this is the demise of Eponapolis,” he explained. The crimson tumor engulfed three more dots. “Redcap listed the cities exactly in the order that they fell, and described the diversity of unspeakable horrors that sprouted and crawled out of the earth in near the exact details that were historically recorded. Oatathica, Palfreyon, Damarescus.” Homes, towns, markets, farms and temples alike, consumed in a mere day, he reflected. So many lives, gone in so short a time. “The climax of the greatest natural disaster in history.”

The red tide swelled further, sweeping over all but the highest ground. There, tiny oblong topological bubbles of pale yellow stood out among the affected red landscape. When the red tide had nearly reached the crisp edge of the map, beyond which lay a black void of missing data, Driftwood paused the visualization again. Nearly all of pony civilization lay within the inhospitable red lake of poison.

“Any more questions?”

There was a long pause. Driftwood drew a breath, looking around and expecting further questioning about that final detail. Instead, a calm ripple of applause spread across the small audience.

Driftwood bowed modestly and left the podium, pulling the memory unit from the projector with his telekinesis and gathering his notes. Most of the audience left quietly, returning to their own offices and laboratories. Some approached him to give their compliments to his work before doing the same. When all of the placid audience had left, the two who had led their silent vigil through his presentation came to his sides.

One of them cleared his throat. “The Chair wants a word with you.”

“I know,” he said firmly.

The two officers assumed positions on either side of him. They escorted him down long white corridors, up bland gray stairs, through casual lobbies lush with indoor foliage and flooded with window-filtered daylight. Finally they traipsed into the section of the research center where no one pinned cartoon strips on the message boards outside their office doors, and the name plate by every door was etched in pristine glass backed with brushed platinum.

The door of Chair Nobel’s office was wide open, revealing a reception desk at which sat a bespectacled gray mare poring over a roster.

“Through that door,” she said, returning immediately to her work.

Driftwood glanced back at his escort as they departed with smirks on their faces. The mare at the desk did nothing more. Apprehensively, he entered as beckoned, finding that the windows inside had been covered in opaque drapes and its lighting had been disabled. His blood ran cold; everything about the room seemed an omen of a grim interrogation. Dark shapes about the room leered at him.

Then, all at once, the drapes were yanked from the windows and the lights flashed on. A shout of “surprise!” arose from two dozen ponies who stood around him in a half-circle. A modest, shoddy cake sat on a table in the middle of the room, and banner was hung across the ceiling that read congratulations, you’re one of us now.

“W-what’s going on?”

“We’ve decided you’d make a fine member of our team,” proclaimed Chair Nobel, “so here’s to finishing a great thesis!”

Driftwood looked around and realized that he didn’t recognize any of them. This has to be the top echelon of scholars. I guess they finally decided to accept me.

“Well, I didn’t expect a celebration, let alone such a promotion, considering all that’s happened lately.”

“Of course you didn’t! The look on your face... Look, we’ll get around to discussing recent events soon enough, but for now you’ve earned a break.”

“Any idea where Dr. Humus went?” Driftwood asked. He looked about at those present in the room, who had already devolved into casual conversation.

“Your advisor? He’s on his way. He had to to stop by his office to get a surprise. Try some of the cake while you’re waiting.” He turned away to retrieve a beverage.

A black unicorn then approached, bringing a plate with a slice of the cake.

“Hi, I’m Obsidian,” he said. “Congratulations. Here, take this.”

The spongy, cream-white confection had a red-orange frosting flecked with white sprinkles. Just like fly agaric, he thought. How novel. It had been a long morning; the post-climactic fatigue suddenly became appetite. He took a bite.

“Most call me Obs,” continued Obsidian. “I’ve been working with several of the subjects who reached primordial communion, including Snails. You know, we really should give the kids more time together.”

The youngsters, reflected Driftwood. With any luck, the two that escaped are beyond capture by now, but the ones remaining are far less fortunate. No child deserves having their brain made into a plaything of supernatural research.

“You going to finish that?” Obsidian said, nodding at the cake, a grin widening on his face.

Driftwood looked down at his half-eaten slice of cake, then at the rest of the cake on the table, which stood alone at the center of the room while the semicircle of strangers kept their distance and smirked at him. A small, solitary gap in the cake frowned at him. His slice was the only one that had been taken. No, he thought, the realization sinking in. No, they couldn’t really mean to do this to me. His lungs quavered, refusing to draw a steady breath, and a cold sweat crept across his body.

“Had too much? Here, let me take that from you.” Obsidian telekinesed the cake away from Driftwood just as he was about to drop it.

A whimper escaped his lips. “W-Why?” His muscles spasmed gently, and his knees buckled beneath him.

“You’re all we have left of Redcap, until we can locate and bring her back” said Chair Nobel, who had returned to his side. “We know you had some real mind-to-mind with her. That’s extraordinary, you know, for a nonmagical pony to be gifted with telepathy. She’s one of the best chances we had of understanding the Great Wave, and you’re going to help us find her. So, a toast to your great mind and the prevalence of Equestria!” He tipped some of the sparkling grape juice over Driftwood’s face.

“I...you can’t,” he sputtered.

“Don’t take it personally. We want to see all of what she showed you, and without anything held back, including any inappropriate thoughts, Epona forbid.”

“I...never!”

“But of course not. We aren’t interested in your perversions or lack thereof. We just think you’d be far more useful to us in a condition where, oh, let me just say, you’ll be easier to work with. We also want a more appropriate setting to discuss your collaboration with Dr. Jade.”

“...Jade.”

“ She’ll be there too, you can count on it.”

The room around Driftwood swirled with unfamiliar faces, magenta flashes of his optical nerves misfiring, and air that seemed to glow a pale yellow. As he fell on his side and faded from consciousness, he thought of all he had taught Redcap, and where she might be.

When Driftwood awoke, he could not breathe. Fear faded in and out as he came to realize the absence of visceral spasms that life yields during suffocation and panic. An ethereal numbness enveloped him like a cocoon, though he could still perceive himself to be in the shape of a male adult pony. He felt a hard, smooth surface pushing against his dream body, and then came to perceive it was not the surface pushing against his body, but something else pushing him against the surface. It was a silent, inexplicable force that passed through him like wind through a tree.

“He’s finally waking up!” said a filly’s voice.

“Good,” said the voice of a familiar colt.

Driftwood weakly moved his form to “stand” upon the reflective plane, held to its impossibly smooth surface by the closest imitation of gravity that he knew he would ever experience again. Opening his ethereal eyes, he beheld a dizzying matrix of crystal facets that stretched in every direction and spiraled off into infinite fractals of internal reflection. Before him stood the ghostly images of two young ponies, translucent, but with every three-dimensional detail preserved as Driftwood had remembered. They gazed at him forlornly, their eyes betraying a trace of hope.

He spoke. “So this is disembodiment.” There were no fleshly vibrations in his throat, and no breath; his words seemed to radiate from his mouth and mind. He looked back at the three foals with an inner sigh of surrender.

“Cheer up, we’ve got each other. Do you remember me?” said the olive-green colt -- the taller of them.

“Greenbriar. Yes, I remember you. Your mentor was also working under Dr. Humus. I ran into both of you a lot in the terrarium.”

The small brown filly who had a frog mark on her haunch spoke up. “I’m Amphibia, but ‘Briar just calls me Froggy. I’m glad to meet you and can’t wait to start working with you.”

“That’s right, Froggy. We’re glad you’re here, Driftwood. Obs and the other elite kooks think they’ve got us under control in here, but now that we’ve got you, we have a better chance of doing things our way.”