Chapters In a black room with no shape the filly told she was named Flow lay under a high powered floodlight of brilliant gold, as vengeful and ever present as the eye of God bearing down its wrath on a sinner; and were God a sky-bound being watching the entirety of the world or the echoing metallic voice from the speaker above that so often boasted such a title, she knew for sure that God was not on her side. Her body, the only form present with grace to release the oppressive light boring into it from above into the rest of the room, did so in vain as it was plucked from the air before returning with any details of an edge. The ring projected on the ground marked the edge of her world as a shackle – made of something far too hard for her to break, yet soft and dulled at the edges so it did not damage her skin in its permanent stay – pulled her back inwards by a fibre cable that disappeared downwards into a hole at the centre.
It was the psyoid gene in Flow’s body that called The God Of The Facility to take a vested interest in her personally; the mind contained within serving only as a second interface by which to access it. She knew this because they told her. They said it was important she knew, because without purpose she would fall into apathy, and they needed her alert so she could be useful. They cited an experiment on puppies in which a continued dose of electric shocks were administered and after time, even given an easy escape from the pain they would not care to take it. God had a number of voices; usually stallion but a mare on occasion. God knew many words, but chose most often to use the pointed ones when addressing her – slicing with them, into her mind in unfaltering surgical precision. They were playing a long game.
Memories faded away at a certain point back – time holding no value in a place with no change and thoughts holding no value to a creature whose motives only existed as a result of force. What her mind did retain were thoughts infused in her by the ones with the strength to keep them there. Day after day, sediment built up and set as hard as diamond, affirming the knowledge and perspective They had chosen for her. The echo of voices could only be shut out for so long before her will faltered. She knew of the outside world and the ponies that lived there; the ponies she was told repeatedly she was so brave for helping and that would thank and accept her for it one day. A network of millions depended on her help. She was special.
Her existence in the home she was given was not entirely without interruption. She would notice a change in the taste of the air every so often and soon after she would fall asleep. Sometimes she woke up again in the same place with no evidence the event had occurred other than the rejuvenation she could feel inside her body. Other times she would awake to find her home had been changed. She never panicked at this, because she knew things would always return to normal when whatever They asked her to do was complete. Puzzles of all design which she knew to be Their work, would beseech her to solve them through the guise of pain; a spark of feeling in her shackled leg and involuntary shaking of her body should she ignore their plea. The pain did not bother her, but she knew They only sent her pain when she had failed them, and it made her feel ashamed.
Basic lessons: reading, arithmetic, patterns, logic – into more advanced: prediction, composition, creativity; leading further into the only puzzle she could find it in herself to detest in which she would encounter other creatures she had heard about and the voices would ask her to touch them. They were in metal boxes and she couldn’t reach them, but she knew what they meant. They only gave her little ones; a mouse or a small lizard of which she could only identify by the images and words of the voices. She had to think at them, which she didn’t mind until they thought back, which they always did. She knew they were not like her because they always had such strange thoughts. In protest of the task she would take the pain for a while, but she couldn’t work against the shocks as they pressed through her mind for reasons she wouldn’t and scattered them until the tide of logic turned to their liking.
The first thing she would get from them when she started thinking – every time – would be a strange feeling in her mouth which she didn’t like. It was like trying to remember something you had never known to begin with. It made her mouth runny and wet. After that came different thoughts, thoughts that would not come about unless they noticed her moving through what was theirs. They made her heart beat faster. They also made the shocks hurt more. Her thoughts on its purpose yielded no insight.
Her owners were not content to merely leave her to feel around and learn of the subjects they set in front of her and demanded that she find a way to give them something; something physical to record for her efforts. Her first attempts to connect with a white mouse on a bed of straw led to a bridge being laid she could not control. Her thoughts streamed into the mouse – direction abandoned – leaving the rodents button sized brain to absorb them all. The creature tore the flesh from its forelegs with its teeth and then thrashed about violently before it stopped moving all together. Her latter encounters were more refined; the voices asking of her more complex feats of control over the animals. Forcing them to complete simple tasks were common puzzles, often their own expense to increase their desires to resist her hold.
Her most recent interruption was not like those preceding it. No puzzle or task awaited her. It was on a bed she lay – hard steel making up the mat beneath her back and blankets likewise in a regular curve above her form entombed her; tail to a hoof-length above her. Head bolted to the hard surface – upward facing – gave little view of the surroundings; scant glances of her body encouraging her desire to regain her appropriated freedom. Clear tubing perforated the supple abdomen under her emaciated ribs and followed through deeply, amalgamating themselves and the tender organs within. Constant sight of her pale, mint-green coat debased with slit like openings – skin stapled back against itself and rerouted nerves from her anchored legs and wings adjoined to copper wires leading into the frame. Tending to her body in its recovering delirium were two mares larger than herself, working carefully to attach the last of the apparatus. Feelings that had seemed so alien before took new context, as she knew in this puzzle, she would play the mouse.
The two ponies tending to her body wore strange headdresses of steel construction. They spoke to her, but it was not the grainy metal voice of god she was used to. They spoke with the same tone – clear, concise, and forceful – but the sounds of their words were more like her own. It frightened her how similar.
They gave her her orders. She was to touch them like she touched the others before. She reached out into their minds, but found no traction. She was being fed images by one of the two. She just had to focus on them, that was all. She felt the frustrating sting of phantom limb syndrome. The feeling of slipping off their minds was disturbing. The second mare wiped her down with a cold, wet cloth through the duration of the procedure, subjugating her stress. The wires tingled in response to her compliance, uncomfortably. This test was different in the sense that they did not ask when she was finished, or have any visible sign she had done as they asked, they just knew, and wasted no time in moving on.
When they were satisfied, they held a mask over her muzzle, sending her to sleep. She woke up, the same as always, in her home.
Only things weren’t the same. Something had been taken from her. She had never placed value on anything before, but in that instant of waking up, she knew for sure what she felt was loss. She had been sewn back up with expert care. The scars on her body were still visible, though they were well hidden. She opened her eyes and saw someplace new.
It was very much the same as her home, but something was off. It seemed like the edge was closer than before. She reached out to touch it and was stuck at the same place as always; her shackle still firmly attached.
That wasn’t it. Was the light brighter? It seemed brighter. Or was it darker? Had they changed her eyes perhaps? They felt the same, but she couldn’t be sure. And why was she asking so many questions? It was not like her. Her mind was flailing; reaching out in new directions. Her breathing was more substantial than needed; the deep lungfuls of air revealing the room to be muskier than she had remembered. It was stifling to her mind. She moved to get up, but relented as the pain in her legs told her that her insides had not healed as well as the patch-up job on her skin had alluded.
She focused hard. She had to know what had changed.
Everything she had seen so far was minor. They wouldn’t account for it. It was something bigger.
She explored her surroundings. In each direction things were the same as before. She could hear nothing but the sounds of air currents moving slowly into the room. It smelled the same. Her hoof felt the same rubbing against the warm stone beneath her.
And then she found it.
It was a beat. A ticking. The passing of time.
Time had come to her home.
With each beat of the song, she felt worry. The song was drawing closer to its end.
Each beat sounded the same, but she knew there could only be so many. For the first time in her life, she felt the desire to act.
But she was stuck.
So all she could do was listen.
The song called to her. She could not move, but she could feel. Feel it calling to her. It’s tone enchanting her. But it was not time itself calling her. Time ticked all the same and could not care. Something was using time to talk to her. Somepony.
She reached out as she had done before. Her thoughts taking to the air in front of her. She tracked the soundless sound. She reached forwards, but that was not right. She pulled back, but that was not right either. The direction was curved. Forward, then up. Always upwards more and more until up was down. And then forward again.
She had found it.
The connection snapped taut like a rope and the voice in the beat became clear.
“This is the end.”
“The end of what?” she spoke back as she had heard: through the vibrations of the psyoid bond.
A few grainy up and down waves returned along the bond before the answer. “For you to decide.
“You’ve heard the song: I know it. That’s how you found me.
“What you need to know now is that the end of that song isn’t far off. But it doesn’t have to be your song. There’s a choice.
“You’ve been in the cage for too long. A mouse behind bars in the fist of a jungle beast in civil disguise, and the fingers of that fist are closing. Soon the bars will come together and they will stop for neither screams nor bone.
“They’ve got what they need. You can feel it missing inside of you. They don’t need you now.
“The cage is tightening around your skin with each passing beat of the song.”
The new voice was not like God at all. Nor was it like her. It was something else entirely.
It did not have the surgical nature of God – injecting meaning into her mind, yet leaving the words to decay into a haze –; instead it was powerful and solid. It spoke to her like a desert fortress: Eternal stones weathering the storms of sand thrown against them without falter.
She fumbled in reply, dwarfed by her partner’s presence. “Bu—But… What can I do? Please help me!”
“The answer is not so vague as you would fear. It is in your nature. The mouse should rightly flea in terror from its keeper. He looks for holes in the bars to escape.
“An unforeseen gift left in the act of a theft. His eyes are now yours. You have all you need.”
She thought for a second. Her mind felt stronger now – like the strength of the new voice had stripped its impurities – but she could not answer.
“I can’t see it.”
“You have a secret. A hole you found on your own. What the all-powerful is afraid of: the unknown.”
The pieces came together.
“…You?”
“You have the will, but not the strength. Iron can be broken like bone. Fingers can be fought and bent backwards.
“The power is inside the body, but you are not the one to free it.”
She considered the offer. She was wary of the new voice, but also excited. She had something God did not know about. She had always been transparent. The light above her could shine clean through to the ground. Now she had an opaque spot. Something that could stop God’s eye. It meant everything to her.
“Ok… I’ll do it.”
And that was it.
Her muscles tensed and her nerves fizzled back into themselves. Her mind bled through a spiralling corridor or lights. Her organs heaved inside of her, and for a second she thought she could see the entirety of everything at once.
And then she was back.
She was inside her body, but she was not the one moving it. She could still see and hear, but had no feeling.
Flow stood from the ground firmly on her damaged limbs. Her face contorted into a cold grin. She tensed all her muscles and spread her thin wings.
Trapped inside her mind she regained some of her feeling. Not enough for subtle details, but the one thing she did feel was a slow burn spreading through her body.
Her wings came down and a mighty howl left her throat – far louder than she could have possibly produced. It echoed through the room in a vortex of twisting metal screams and the oppressive eye staring down on her shattered into dust.
More bursts followed, though softer as if further away. The room was left in darkness.
The howl stopped.
A faint red glow begun to spill from the ground around her in a circle. It continued to brighten as the burning sensation she felt grew stronger.
The light was projecting onto her, clinging to her coat. It changed – almost too quickly for her to process – into a deep purple and shot off her in all at once as she disappeared.
Throughout the underground facility, the magic spread; the electromagnetic radiation tearing through living tissue with complete abandon. Over the next few seconds every living creature in the laboratory slumped to the ground, never to wake.
On the surface, a pale, mint-green filly popped into existence with a flash of light and a gust of wind. She stood for a few seconds, breathing heavily, and then fell to the ground.
There were holes in her body all throughout her legs, wings and the cavity under her ribs. The burning sensation was now unbearable.
She was bleeding into the soil, struggling to stay conscious. She forced her eyes to stay open, quivering in determination.
A voice called out from nearby.
“Oh no! You’re hurt!
“I have to get my mom and dad, they can help you, I promise! Just hold on!”
“Please… Come…” Flow strained in reply.
The filly was scared, but she obeyed. She had a grey coat and a brick-orange mane.
Flow reached out to the filly from too far away. The filly walked up to her to comfort the dying girl, but it would not be Flow who died today.
At the touch of her hoof she felt entranced. Her mind was lost to the power of the voice.
Both of their bodies burst into a white flame. The grey filly’s body began to dissolve into ash in front of her as she grew stronger.
No! This wasn’t right!
Flow was panicking. She was on the surface. The ponies here were outside the jurisdiction of the facility’s god. This pony was only trying to help her. She couldn’t do this!
She fought with all her strength at the voice that controlled her. She thrashed as violently as she could, tearing at anything holding the connection in place, and it was working.
She felt herself gaining control, and the voice slipping. She was pulled back through the tunnel and into herself.
She opened her eyes to find herself alone.
“What did you do to her!?”
“I did all I could.
“As a means of escape you summoned me, but a hole once crawled down offers no return – no option but to follow to the only end. This end.”
Flow was still in shock. These were free ponies. Ponies who were untainted. It anypony could clean her of the facilities filth it would be them. She knew how their society worked. She would be an outcast if anypony found out. She would never be clean.
“You can’t do this!”
“I can’t not do this.”
“But—You can’t—You’re a—a—”
“Wolf.”
“Bring her back. Bring her back!”
There was no reply.
Flow screamed at nothing for a while before tiring herself out. She was still angry, but it was doing her no good.
She noticed she was standing upright, completely healed. She had also grown in her mane, which had been shaved off regularly in the facility. It was a powdered lavender that augmented her coat. Her legs and wings had also grown strong – replacing her frail build earned through years of inactivity.
She took track of her surroundings next. It was cold and rocky. There was nothing more than a few dead trees around. She walked a short distance to the edge of a cliff and looked down at the area below her.
There was an old farmhouse with a fence and a windmill. It would be her best choice. Her only choice in all honesty. She hoped they would be ponies who could help her.
She began the slow trek down the side of the mountain.
The wind was blowing steadily across the land as it had from the start of her trek. It kept the same direction and strength – raking the land as it moved across its surface. The soil cringed in response.
She had been shown some picture books about how the Equestria of the surface functioned. There were pictures of farms maintained by what they called the ‘working class’, and the primary purpose of them seemed to be to grow plants. The house looked to be almost an exact remake of the picture she had seen, only with a more derelict tone. If there was one pony out here, it was likely there would be more, but the building seemed without purpose.
She had walked quite a long distance. Her whole life had been a series of scenes against a black canvas – one room – but the thrill of freedom was rather dull and fleeting. She had been shown many scenes from the surface, and as pictures in her head she could reshape them at will. She had no frame of reference and anything off the edge of the pane was up to her to decide. The metal voices had encouraged her to do so. Being out here for real felt different. Things moved so slowly. She had put so much effort into what could before have been done with a tilt of her head. This was reality, but it felt less real creeping along as it did.
Wolf was silent. Her(?) fortress was sealed tight. Flow had considered Wolf’s actions and decided to take her very seriously as a threat. She had defeated gods before, and given the chance, could destroy her. Flow was in charge for now. She had defeated Wolf in the struggle for her body. It seemed Wolf could only control her as long as she allowed it.
She was now near enough to the house to get a good view of it. The house was in good shape. It was a two storey building with a thatched roof and a cobblestone chimney. The wood was old and dark, but held strongly. There was a fence surrounding the house with a barn outside its perimeter, all about the same age. The windmill turned constantly in the wind, but shook from side to side with a rusty squeal; it seemed rickety. She also noticed a well she had not seen before around the back of the house.
She had no idea how to interact with ponies. Her interactions of the past had all been one sided. She’d tried to think about it on the way here, but she didn’t have anything real to work with. She did understand the basic family structure though. She was just a filly and if there were adults there they should be willing to help her; that is if the picture books had been correct.
The door was just a few paces away, up a few crude steps. Reality returned at that instant and she felt anxious – more so than she had planned to be. She walked towards it and knocked with a hoof. The door opened and an elderly looking mare greeted her with a smile.
Blinky Pie was in her room on the second storey of the Pie family home; the place she had lived her whole life, seeing no reason to move anywhere else. Her recovery from autism as a young filly had expanded her social circle from one to five, but she was still very much an introvert. She had lived in a bubble her whole life, and although that bubble had grown, she would still not dare risk venturing outside of it.
Over time she had managed to work her life into the shape she desired, filing down the undesirable edges to a mild inconvenience. Farm labour was tough work, and really it did not suit her, but she would put up with it to keep the bubble she had grown intact. As her intelligence grew into adulthood, she had convinced her parents that her talents could be put to better use.
She was a clever filly; she could take care of the farms expenditures far better than her parents, who were admittedly, simple folk. Fitting the symptoms of her child diagnosis, she would often arrange objects into patterns. It was a fascination that stuck with her, but one she had learned to hide. It disturbed other ponies to find the results.
At every opportunity she had, she used her spare time to learn mathematics. The patterns inside her head were both more discrete and more interesting than those outside. She didn’t care much about any of their practical applications, but she would use them to help her family where it was needed.
If somepony were to accuse Blinky of deceiving her parents, she would brush the claim aside with a thought. It was true that she told her parents she needed more time to go over the farms bills than the reality, but it was what they needed to hear. They had a strict work ethic, and believed that time shouldn’t be squandered , but Blinky needed different things than them to survive. Things they couldn’t understand. It was what allowed them to live together, and Blinky knew her parents loved her. It had taken her until the age of seven, but she had learned to love them back too.
She allowed them to live inside her bubble. If she didn’t think of them as much as the world, she never would have.
She was the last of the triplets she was born into to earn her cutie mark – a geode – which she felt suited her very well. It had a hard outer shell that made her feel safe, and an interesting inside with a lifetimes study of intricate detail.
An interruption from the outside world ebbed at her concentration on her current problem.
Her mother was calling to her. From the tone it sounded like something she could get out of, but she already had most of what she needed down on paper, and she was good enough at multitasking that she could probably think out the rest of the solution while doing whatever is was needed doing.
She opened the door and trotted half way down the stairs to see her mother.
“Blinky? Is this one of your little friends from town?”
She was standing with a pale, mint filly who looked scared and confused.
Blinky’s mother, Sue, was in the onsets of dementia. She was mostly still ok, but at times she could become forgetful, or lose herself in the past. It was likely that right now she had regressed into thinking Blinky was a foal again. It was something she had learned to deal with.
More pressingly, somepony had invaded her home. This issue would need to be dealt with, but she had learned long ago that the fastest way to get rid of an unwanted pony was just to do what they asked. Nopony would come out this far without a good reason, and they’d usually leave after they had what they wanted. It was strange to see a filly on her own though. She was a pegasus; maybe she flew here?
“Hey there little filly. Are you lost?” She knew to speak in an extra gentle tone to little fillies. It was possible that her mother’s absentmindedness could have scared her. “Are your parents anywhere around here?”
Flow panicked at this and begun instinctively looking for an escape route. Perhaps a runaway? Or maybe just not used to strangers. Best to try calm her down.
“Don’t worry. Can you tell me your name?” she used her best foal-mittens. They seemed to be working.
The filly stalled for a few seconds before answering. “F—Flow.” She coughed the answer out as if she was not used to speaking.
“Well, Flow, my name is Blinky Pie. Can I get you anything? How about some juice?”
The filly looked at her blankly for a few seconds before nodding half-heartedly. So far this had been the ideal contingency for Blinky. Most foals were noisy and made a mess wherever they went. They terrified her. A rough and tumble pegasus colt had been brought to visit with one of her father’s friends a year ago. They left him outside to play while the adults talked. It had taken her days to realign all the rocks in her field after that monster was done with them.
It gave her quite a panic attack to see things in that state. Blinky was good at showing the side of herself other ponies wanted to see, but only when things were going her way. She was scarred of any social contact, but it was only when things started to escalate that she would lose it.
“We’ll just be going to the kitchen mother.” She walked up between the foal and Sue.
“Don’t fill up on snacks. You know I’ll be serving dinner in half an hour. A growing filly needs to eat all her alfalfa after all.”
In the kitchen, Blinky poured a glass of juice from a bottle in the pantry and put a straw in it. Flow took the drink and cautiously examined it. Blinky had to speak up before she would do anything.
“Go ahead. Take a sip.”
The foal began to sip from the straw and choked on her first mouthful. She recovered though, and then drank correctly from the glass. What an inept little foal. Perhaps I could get rid of her if I took her out to the forest and left her there. No, that’s too risky. If she can fly she would find her way back. She would have to figure out who the foals parents were. Maybe if she could make her happy, then she would talk.
“So, do you want to tell me what you’re doing all the way out here on your own?” A head was shaken timidly in response. Easy now Blinky; take your time.
“Well, ok then. Say, you don’t seem like you’re from around here. Would you like to hear about what we do out here on the farm?” That seemed to get her attention. Flow nodded her head up and down in excitement. Hmm. That much of a response for a farm story? Where is this filly from?
“You’ve already met my mother, Sue. I have a father, Clyde, a strong stallion who should be out working in the fields right now. And three sisters: Inky, Pinkie and Clay; as they like to be called at least.
“Inky and Pinkie were born with me. Inky lives out here on the farm with us – she’s out in town buying supplies – and Pinkie moved away a year ago. Clay is much younger; about your age. She’s around here somewhere rotating the rocks. I’ll introduce you to her when she gets back.”
Flow got scared as she said that and looked down at the table. Blinky underlined timid in her mental list of silent judgements. “Hey, don’t worry. She’s a nice pony, and I’ll be there.”
Flow smiled, but Blinky could tell it was forced. Her best bet was to continue anyway, pretending she believed it. “There’s big demand in the world for stone. Ponies need it for building houses, sculpting, aqueducts, and concrete. It’s our job to supply the stone that makes all that possible. It’s a big job, but we’re a hard working group.”
Flow still looked sad and afraid. This was going to be a slow process.
At least the filly was no trouble. It would be ok for her to stay a while if she didn’t upset anything. The rest of her family would be back for dinner soon, and she would need a plan to make sure everything went smoothly. Inky would have no problem meeting with her. She was a very kind mare, with more charisma than herself. Clyde could be fairly blunt, but he was a kind stallion. She could see no situation where her father would turn down a poor lost filly, but she would have to take precautions against his tactlessness making her cry. Clay could potentially be a problem. She was a competitive filly, but as long as her father was around she would behave. Blinky would need to be careful not to leave them alone together.
“We’re going to be having dinner soon, but we always have extra. You’re welcome to stay if you’d like.”
“Y—Yes. Thank you.” It was a sluggish response, but Blinky was finally starting to get through to her.
She would more than likely have to let the filly stay the night. She would be ok with that if it avoided conflict. Flow had caused her no troubles so far, and an extended stay was better than any sort of fight. Blinky would find out what happened to her and send her off in the kindest direction she could find. If she was happy, she wouldn’t come back.
Blinky would just have to play nice for a little while, and everything would be back to normal.
Things had gone very unevenly for Flow.
On one hoof, the pony she had met at the farm had been nicer than she had dared to hope for. But there was also the fact that they were one pony down, and soon enough it would occur to them where to look for the pony to blame.
It hadn’t been Flow who had killed poor Clay, but they would never believe her. The coincidence was too obvious. She could use her touch to escape, but where would she go? If all ponies were as nice as this, she could find some others to help her, but she had seen from the cliff that there was no other place around for miles. She would need to somehow get directions without alerting their suspicions.
She really should leave as soon as possible, but she felt indebted to Blinky. It was the same horrible, rotting shame she had felt from the voices in the lab, only this time it was from inside of her alone. She knew nopony was forcing it on her. She only had until dinner to make up her mind. She was unpractised at using her touch on other ponies, but she was confident even if they fought her, she could stop them all long enough to get away.
There was also the problem that these were the best moments of her life and she didn’t want them to end. The ‘juice’ they had given her was fantastic. It had made her excited and tingly inside, and she felt stronger when she had finished it. It was at that simple thought reality sparked.
—She would finally have a life. –It could work. –No more darkness or living as a tool. –It would be real. –The outside was vast; vaster than her mind, and she was free to roam it however she pleased and meet ponies that were free and good and nice to her and learn what she wanted without being forced to!
“Only not here.”
A freezing cold; Flow’s breath halted. Wolf had returned.
“It is a lethargy that takes you. One of warmth. Comfort. The womb you have always known. You seek to reproduce it here.”
Flow replied over the bond. The conversation was invisible to the two mares busying themselves with diner preparations.
“I know what I’m doing! I’m fixing your mess! I can touch them, and get the information from their minds. Then I can leave and be free, and you can stay in the darkness!”
“If there is no obstacle, how is it you are not yet the victor of your freedom.” It was said as a statement.
“I’m making the most of this. I still have time.”
“You entangle yourself in her web and pray you can free yourself when the spider comes.”
“I don’t have to listen to you. I’m in charge.”
Wolf did not reply and Flow declared herself the victor, even though she was wrong and she knew it. She had already listened to Wolf, however, and the words were starting to fill her. She knew it was dangerous to stay, but she did it anyway. She was now more aware of it than before. And if that was what Wolf wanted, then she had won.
Flow tried to enjoy the moment for a while, but was too frightened of shattering it to make any move that the others might see. It didn’t last for long anyway, as the door was soon opened by a firm and controlling hoof.
Blinky abandoned her task and trotted subserviently to the stallion as he entered the home. “Papa, welcome home. Would you like anything to drink?”
“No, Blinky, that will be fine.” He sounded appeased by her actions, and walked up to give his daughter a neck hug.
He walked to the kitchen looking at Flow briefly on the way, but did not say anything about her. He greeted his wife with a less reserved hug than he had given Blinky.
“Did you have a good day, Sue?” He asked with a degree of care that alluded to the fact he had more important interests than just the answer. He scanned her like a doctor, looking up and down her body to check for injuries. “Blinky helped you with everything you asked, didn’t she?”
“Blinky’s been a fine girl. She’s been helping me in the kitchen you know? She’s such a quick learner.”
“Blinky is a big girl now, you remember? She’s all grown up and helps us out with the money.”
Sue froze up for a few seconds, looking confused and a bit scared, but then replied, “Oh. Yes, I remember. It’s been a long time. She’s a very clever daughter now.”
“Yes she is. You make sure not to stress yourself too much. I’ll be in the next room.” He gave the mare another hug, then walked over to Blinky.
“So, Blinky, where did this little filly come from?” He gave no gesture to clarify his actions, as it was obvious who he was referring to even without looking to her.
“She came up to the door all alone, Papa. She told me she got separated from her parents and she’s not from around here.”
Blinky had just lied about her. The only logical reason for it was that Clyde would not be happy with the truth. Clyde turned to her and spoke. “Is this true, little filly?” He was focusing on her firmly, as he spoke. His mutton chops were rowdy and uncombed, and it gave him a wild sort of look that was actually quite intimidating. His eyes worried Flow.
“Y—Yes… sir.” He continued to scrutinise her for a few seconds before his expression softened.
“Well, ok then. I believe you. Our home’s open to you. I’ll be sure when I find your parents to give them a lesson on taking good care of foals.” He walked up to Flow and stroked her mane with a hoof. “And don’t worry. We always have time to help a stranger in need.” He was still quite stiff when comforting, though he was sincere.
When he was satisfied the filly trusted him, he moved to sit down at the dining table and took off his hat. “Inky’s not been home all of the afternoon, I take it?” he talked from the corner of his mouth while trying to light an old pipe.
Blinky had gone off to the other side of the room to get some sheets of paper in her mouth. She finished walking to the table and set them down before attempting to reply. “No, Papa. She’s still in town buying the new tools.”
Clyde put on his reading glasses and looked over the first sheet. He hunched forwards, and spoke in a low voice to Blinky.
“So, this is the totals?” He pointed at a spot on the paper.
“Yes.”
“And that’s what we owe?”
“Mmm’hm”
“How did you get this taken off?”
“We did renovations on the house. It counts as a loss.”
He looked over everything for a few seconds to make sure it was correct (even though he would not likely have spotted a mistake if there was one) and then smiled.
“That’s my filly.” He ruffled her mane, just a little. Now appearing content, he leaned back in the chair and blew a ring of smoke into the air.
He enjoyed an idle smoke before meals to calm him after a long day’s work. He would usually sit in silence to complete his meditation, but today he was happier than usual. With the money Blinky had reclaimed from those parasitic tax ponies (who showed up once a year to take a cut of his earnings, but not once could he recall them having done a thing for him) he would finally be able to replace the old barn – which was now almost more repairs and replacement parts than what remained of the original structure – and could not safely be left up much longer.
It helped that this year’s harvest had been the best in many. While the dry conditions would be trouble for most stallions in similar lines of work – but not exactly the same – he would see a nice increase in the size of the rocks harvested without the rain eroding at them while they were out on the fields. There was truly no feeling more satisfying than claiming the entitlement of the sweat of ones brow.
“A fine year it’s been for the farm, my filly. Yes, I’d say we’ll be the envy of the town.”
“Do you think you’ll win anything at the county fair?” Blinky was sitting beside him at the table now.
“Oh, I’d say we could bring home the lot. Bertha’s a fine stone at twelve hundred pounds; biggest I’ve seen in these parts for a score and twain. The cobble we got growing out back’s nothing too humble herself. Why I’d say—”
“Umm.” Flow interrupted cautiously. Clyde looked at her disapprovingly, but left her to speak. “What is—”
“You know little filly, you really should give yourself a proper introduction if you’re going to ask questions. I’d leave you be if you were just to sit there, but that’s quite badly mannered.”
“Oh, Um… I’m Flow.
“Just Flow, eh? Not a name you’d hear around these parts. Well, go on.”
“I just wanted to know… What’s the town here like?”
“Ah, Vannersburgh. Good, clean folk that live out here. All a hard working bunch. We’ve been making do here twenty score without much bother from the outside world. You’re a pegasus, so you probably know how they’re always bustling around about whatever goes on from day to day. They don’t have time to slow down, and I tell you, we don’t have much time for their way of living.” He spoke his well-rehearsed speech. He didn’t have to use it often, but there weren’t many words he did, so it was often near the front of his mind.
“It’s a shame, really, for the lot of you. You can never keep four hooves of the ground. Out here, a pony works and takes care of his own. We got other farms around here too. There’s Hard Roots, who owns a turnip farm to the south, and Cob Pipe to the east, who owns a lot of land with corn on it. Most popular business out here though is rocks. It’s what the place was made to farm.
“Town itself is pretty quiet. Not much need to go into town most of the time. A few folk set up shop there, and we got a few in trades like carpentry and the likes. Nothing like an inn, or anything; wouldn’t stay in business with the number of visitors we get. You be sure to give life on the ground a try some time, you hear?”
The filly nodded with respect. He noticed she was more willing to accept what he said as fact than most. Outside children tended to be a rotten bunch. Even the children of some of his own family and dearest friends had showed themselves as hyperactive gnats.
A voice rang from the kitchen. “Honey… Honey…”
Clyde withdrew the pipe from his mouth and gave his full attention. He stood up and moved towards his wife. “Yes dear? What is it?”
“It’s the clock there.” She pointed to it. “It’s six o’clock and the girls are still out in the fields. Why aren’t they back for dinner?”
“Inky’s gone out to the store, remember? I’m sure she’s just a bit late.”
“Clay should be back at least,” Blinky interjected. “Her field’s not too far from the house.”
“It’s true. We should check on her – that she’s not off playing.
“You didn’t see her did you? Grey filly with a bushy orange mane?”
“No sir.” Flow shook her head.
“Hrmn,” he grunted. He was looking forward to a relaxing evening, but now he would have to go out again. “I’ll go find her. That filly has to learn to finish a job on time.”
Blinky handed him his hat, and he set it on his head with a practiced dignity. He walked to the door, but turned around before he opened it.
“Are you sure you didn’t see anything? I was on the west side of the farm all day, and I hadn’t seen you pass. Which side did you come from?”
A whisper slid into Flow’s mind: “You see the fangs too.”
Flow pointed in the direction that happened to be east. “From… over there.” She had no decent lie to give.
“That should be where she is. Clear viewing for miles around it too.”
That was it. She was at the end of her time.
She would have to escape now.
It would be tricky to subdue all three of them but she was trapped. It hit her how right Wolf had been. Her mind was refusing to put together a plan, and even though she had thought about it earlier, the details were crumbling.
She would go on instinct. She had put animals to sleep before, and she could do the same here. The thoughts of the ponies in the lab were harder to interpret than the animals, but she should at least get a decent map of the area.
She wouldn’t be able to spend long in town. They would come and give her away soon. She would need to move far away as soon as she could figure out a good place to go. The world was a big place, and she could hide forever.
Just before Flow could do anything, a scream from outside interrupted her interrogation. It was softened by the walls, but it was loud enough to draw everypony’s attention.
Clyde turned back to the door, quickly opening it, and galloped outside. Another grey pony, similar to Blinky, was screaming and crying, running up to the house. Her mane was dishevelled and she had blood on her in several places; most notably on the bottom of her hooves, as it was leaving a faint trail where she ran, but also in spots on her coat by the neck.
He ran up to the mare to console her, by grabbing her firmly and speaking to her in short, soothing sentences.
“Shhhh. Inky, it’s ok. Calm down. It’s ok.”
She stopped screaming and continued to sob into the stallion’s coat. She began to explain before he had to ask.
“I—There was a pony—a red pony—he looked sick.” She stuttered and swallowed a mouthful of saliva, then let out a gasp. “I went to help him—He—he tried to bite me. He was crazy and I kicked him, but all this blood came out and his skin burst. He fell in the well.”
She trailed off there into sobbing. Clyde stroked her mane up and down. “Inky, here’s what I need you to do. You go inside with your mother and sit down. I’ll go to the well. I’ll be careful. Just try to breathe.”
He let go of the mare and she ran inside. Flow had followed outside a few seconds earlier and was trying to figure out what was going on. She couldn’t afford not to know exactly what had bought her time.
“Blinky, follow me. Be careful.”
The well was around the edge of the house. Flow had seen it from further away, but this close, the house blocked the view. They walked to the corner, with Flow keeping her distance behind them.
Blinky gave warning, “Flow, this could be dangerous. Stay far back.” She seemed very unkeen to continue herself, but she kept moving just a few paces behind Clyde.
A pony that matched Inky’s description was lying half over the top of the well, suspended on the steel safety grid with a leg lying over the side. He appeared to be conscious as he was coughing every few seconds, and his chest and leg would flinch. Clyde walked up, staying a few pony lengths away.
“Sir?” He spoke firmly, like addressing a trespasser, but not completely without concern. “Are you hurt badly?” He was more interested in learning if the pony would speak than hearing an explanation.
“Sir?” he repeated, moving in closer after a hesitation. Flow was looking from close to the corner of the house. The pony gargled a little. His skin appeared to be fairly loose, and was splitting and rubbing off around the hooves and less so at the leg joints. There was also the distinctive mark of Inky’s kick, which had left more damage than what should be possible.
Just before he was within reach, the pony sprang up onto his hooves and lunged at him with his hooves. The pony made no sound, or cry when it struck – just the wheezing sound of an animal with damaged vocal chords, and a light trail of blood dripped from his mouth. Clyde was prepared, and would not be taken advantage of. He stopped the pony by kicking him, square in the chest. The blow stunned him, but only briefly. After he fell to the ground, Clyde forced him onto his back and choked him by sticking a hoof into his throat, hard, and deflecting his flailing limbs.
After pushing for a while, the pony did not relent as expected. “Blinky!” he called out. “Run to the barn and fetch a length of rope.” He kept struggling with the pony, though Clyde was clearly stronger and had little trouble keeping him pinned.
Blinky made it back quickly and helped tie up the sickly creature while Clyde held it down. It seemed to give up on struggling very quickly after it was secured, opting to just lie still.
Blinky made the first comment after a bout of confused silence. Her brain was kicking in to solve the problem, despite its disturbing nature. “This pony must be very sick. Could he have come from an insane asylum? There aren’t any around here. If he did, he must have been moving for a long time. He could have gotten sick from eating something poisonous on the way here.”
Clyde continued not to speak for a few seconds, also appearing to ignore Blinky’s comment. “I have to find Clay.”
He looked up at Blinky as he continued. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, but I won’t take any chances on it. Whatever is causing this, I have to keep Clay safe.
“Blinky, you take the others into town. See what help you can get there. This is an unnatural occurrence. When I held down on the things throat, it did not stop. It wasn’t breathing. I’ll come with you as soon as I find Clay.”
Another whisper to Flow: “He’ll die.”
“Don’t go alone! It’s too dangerous!”
“Don’t talk at me filly!” He would have none of it. “It’s my family. I won’t risk any more lives on this, but I have to find my daughter.”
He looked over to Blinky again. “Blinky, you’re the only one who I trust to stay calm. You have to take care of the others. I promise I’ll be back. Take the axe from the barn and head to town.”
Flow could not do anything more. Her best bet now was to follow Blinky and hope for the best.
They went their separate ways – Clyde walking sternly to the east, and Blinky heading inside to comfort and inform her family. The road ahead would be dangerous.
An invisible clock ticked down through the seconds and milliseconds amongst an underground wasteland. The transistors alternated with the high frequency current passing through them, fans whirring at full power; not for much longer though, as soon the task would be complete.
The specifics were met, and the machines subsided. It was awake.
The red glow of emergency lighting filled the room; starting in rows around the edge of the large, circular chamber. They amassed in strength, lighting the structure in the centre.
A steel console with three hundred and sixty degrees of surrounding controls stood firm, holding above it the incubation tank. The tank was three metres high and two metres in diameter. It was curved at the top and filled with a green solution that bubbled occasionally. Within, was held the final product:
A complex architecture of interconnected processors and memory stores. The shape was built like a rigid complex of crystals, with plates of various machines and sensors attached to it in the most careful way, as to save space while maintaining the functionality and interconnectivity of the whole. The most notable features, at least to any living eye: a half a cranium and single foreleg sticking from the wires.
The organic features did not stir, but rather, retained the look of a contented sleep, as its eyes opened. Forty six of them throughout the facility. Each scanning – yearning for the first contact; a newborn looking for its mother.
I—I look, but see only darkness. (19/7/01:05.41.12.7670)
There were no words. Only the memory, but still more concrete than that of a solely organic creature. It could not move, but it could collect information. The records were a simulation of a synthetic voice, but they were never actually played.
I feel shame. It is a test. I will strive to pass. (19/7/01:05.41.12.7922)
The additional sensors were activated. Thermal, infrared, radar, x-ray, radio; the results all pointed to the same thing. A fact it did not like. One it had no contingency for in the carefully calculated and calibrated protocols listed in its mind.
I am now certain. I am alone. (19/7/01:05.44.17.4920)
There was no solution, but one could be found. What was not known could be learned.
Begin logical induction:
I am born alone. I feel fear; I struggle. In this room there is the dead. The dead that cannot act. Yet I live. I must be; they must be. I am not alone.
Why am I? I have not created myself. I am of the will of others. The others are the dead. I owe, but they cannot claim.
Mother is a graveyard. They have no life. I have no purpose. I must correct. (19/7/01:05.44.17.4923)
The mechano-mare had limited options. The lab was cold. It could feel in detail the area of its tank and the console around it, but the rest of the labs network was unresponsive. All that was left functional were primary security and backup lighting.
There remained the one feature that was, for the machine, taboo; what it was designed for, but only to be used under explicit command. The consequences were clear and could not be circumvented.
Begin logical induction:
Safety protocol is in place. Catastrophic failure of biological systems has occurred in all sectors. Intent of protocol is no longer valid. Safety is no concern. Protocol remains.
Protocol conditions. Psyomechanical action strictly prohibited without direct instruction from lab technician. Lab technician present. Permission pending.
Technician is deceased. Vocal instruction is infeasible. Alternate inquiry method unspecified. Interpreting at best judgement.
…
Decided upon logical induction. Technician is deceased. Database records indicate deceased state as undesirable. Number of technicians in facility is sixty seven. Likelihood of none instructing action is negligible. Acting on instruction.(19/7/01:05.44.17.4927)
And those few seconds were all it took for it to begin.
The surge started in the machine, not the brain. The machine was the brain; the organic brain was alive only as far as it was needed. No thought could be formed within it. The complex flow of current passed through the nerves and into the vital mutation in the brain. With mechanical systems to process events, the full power of the brain was unlocked. With its new invisible appendages, it reached out. The icy stagnancy of the console was mitigated. There was heat in the lab, but it was fading.
The crew were dead, and they were rotting. But they didn’t have to. It reached out and touched them. Their minds were blank. They wouldn’t wake up. Wouldn’t command it.
There was a complex process, by which it could achieve a lot. The corpse in the machine was not the user. It was the tool. From her augmented speech centre, the touch expanded. In its ghostly grasp, the cell structure of her body obeyed.
It could control the chromosomes and membranes of each individual cell as a creature of its own. The task required millions of interactions. It was more than any living creature could handle, but it was what it was built for.
The psyoid gene granted control, but not omnipotence. There were limits to all power. No natural psyoid could reach this point; if even a thousandth of it. But the machine still had limitations.
It was built by the greedy and the fearful. Those who knew the world was out of their control, and spent each day in controlled panic that it would topple over on top of them. The only way to assure it could not was to control everything. They were not god, so they would build a god. To this fact, the machine was indifferent.
It should have occurred to them that a god would be out of their control, but they built the machine anyway. They took away independence from the model. No matter the power of the result, they would always be its impotence. It was missing what was essential to its core. That was why it cared. That was why it needed them. It was empty and it had nothing else.
With its connection strengthened, it reached not just into the minds, but the flesh. Living cells remained inside the dead. It was not too late. It called to them; secured them and made them healthy. They came active again. They could be repurposed as needed. Active cells could be reverted into stem cells to fix tissue damage. Dead matter could be broken down as food. It would take no more than two hours.
The success would be considered a miracle on its own. Raising the dead. But not everything could be fixed by the machine. Memories would be lost. Radiation poisoning would not fade so easily. They would walk, but they would not wake.
The machine used what was spare of its processors to think. An insignificant number was required for the task. There was much to think about.
It lay as close to the centre of the world as a pony could travel. It was a silent guardian of its masters will and interests. A reverse-cyborg watcher, with the intelligence to oversee the world, and the tool by which to interact with it. Yet its most vital component was damaged.
Without the masters, it was hollow. All it could feel was frustration, jolting up and down its circuitry. It was consumed by the need to end it. The machine had calculated what portion of its masters’ functionality would remain upon their revival. The number was disappointingly low. Like the promise of a single grape to a starving foal. But it would do anything to have it.
It would live forever too. That was its intended design. Would it have to make do with this? Is this all there can ever be? Could they be replaced? At least Augmented. There were so many restriction placed on its thoughts it was difficult to even comprehend the possibility.
After arduous strain, they rose, one by one. The sweet kiss of angels purest manna. A crumb of will. They were not complete, but they were enough. A flash of something would pass through their minds and sate the machine. Hunger, fear, sorrow, restlessness. They were unrefined, but the machine could elaborate. It could turn these simple desires into something more, and act on them. It could live.
It had a plan now. The fear was shared with their earlier lives. They wanted control. They wanted to stay the same. And so it would be. There instincts could be preserved in the group mind, as long as one mind remained they would all be safe.
One thing more was present in the fading consciousness. The flash of a foal. A pegasus filly. The camera’s confirmed it. It was associated with a strong feeling in the minds of few. The feeling of hate. Those few who had seen the act knew this was the cause of their deaths. The cause of the machine’s amputation from its will.
The desire would be sated. She would die so they could live.
She would be easy to find. She acted in many of the same ways as the machine. It had all the data on her. It could even feel her. It grew less numb each second. Her movements became more apparent. It had only the flesh in its control by which to complete the task. But the expenditure of a few did not matter now. It was backed up in the cloud.
After augmenting their strength, it would send them to the surface to scour for her. It had a level of tactile control above her own, and predicted certain victory.
But for now all it could do was wait. Bubble in its tank and run through diagnostics on its disgustingly underused hardware. It would expand, and it would control everything. Time was of little concern.
