The Conversion Bureau: Ryder of the Purple Stage

by Microshazm

Ryder of the Purple Stage

Ryder of the Purple Stage

”Mom!” If it boils down to my choice, I'd demote that idiot to a bellboy. And whoever did the last maintenance check to the equipment should get fired altogether!

”Is it Ryder?” I know she doesn't really ask. She never does that with her mama-voice, the nurturing voice, the one she almost always uses with me and never with Ellen.

”It itches like hell! What should I do?” I'm certainly not a fan of cybernetic implants, but I call myself some kind of a sports enthusiastic. In order to continue playing real racketlon and floorball, I had to get something to enhance my hand-eye coordination, reflexes, and such. But it didn't go well.

”So, Ryder, age twenty-eight, can't deal with things himself like an adult does?”

I rush up to her through the doorway. She doesn't turn to look at me, just gazing out of the window and looking important in her iridescent dress and overly formal tiara. ”Asking for advice is revoked too? All I wanna know is what you’d do in my position.”

She answers, still not looking: ”I would've chosen better.”

I see red for a second, but I realize it's just her dress. I hadn't asked the doc much questions. He had been confident, telling me there wasn't much to know, and that the robot would prod my spinal cord or whatever smoothly and efficiently. Damn gadgeteers, should've known not to trust one.

”Oh yeah, fucking perfect. Blame it on me, that's fine,” I say, waiting for her to scold me.

”I apologize,” she says, and I almost faint. She wasn't being an ass. For me that was tabloid news – hard to swallow, even harder to digest. She continues: ”I've picked up something interesting in the Pacific, near Hawaii. Right now it's got my undivided attention.”

Doesn't help with my itch. I fight the urge to scratch my neck. I ask her to show me, and she opens the room's holoscreen with a voice command. I recognize the islands in the satellite image along with something else. There's a shimmering spot some two hundred miles off the coast of Hawaii.

”Play vid eleven,” she says. The screen obeys swiftly, opening a vid with a zoomed-in view of the sparkle. Mom finally turns to look at me.

”You know what it is?” I ask, and she calls for another vid. I see something that cannot be real. I say, my eyes still on the vid: ”It's plantlife. Like Trondheim, only smaller.” The three of us; Mom, Ellen, and me, visited Trondheim once, when I was still a kid. I could never forget something as marvellous as the greatest natural reserve on the planet.

”Nobody has done any further investigation yet, but analyses on the satellite vids show it could be vastly larger from the inside.”

”Even larger than Trondheim?” I ask. It's ridiculous to even think that.

”A thousand times larger.” Her voice bears my disbelief, but it sounds more like ”wake me up, I'm dreaming” than ”somebody's playing us”. I absent-mindedly scratch the scar in my back, getting interstitial fluid in my fingers.

***

There it is. Equestria, paradise unavailable, though soon to be the go-to vacation spot. ”You called on me for something good, right?” I ask Kostas Efstratiou, Kostas the Greek for better pronounceability.

”We're both busy men, so why wouldn't I?” Kostas switches on a holoscreen that shows a layout image of a cylinder I don't recognize. ”Beautiful they say, scientists, engineers.”

”You don't sound too happy, Kostas.” In his light blue work coat, he's not the best at concealing moods. ”Care to elaborate on that?” Kostas changes his posture to a lower, stealthier one – an obvious man on many accounts.

”Yes. What you see here is a hypernuclear device. The most powerful weapon in existence.” I recall not having seen it before. A new invention, perhaps? Kostas continues: ”We have been authorized to use everything we have at the Equestrian barrier. If all else fails, we'll be throwing out this one.” He waits for me to nod. ”The weapon has never been tested. If we use it... Say that the barrier barely takes the nitrogen bombs, but we can't detect that. Then we drop this, and it gives in...”

”You're saying we shouldn't? The barrier is expanding! It will destroy Hawaii in mere weeks!” I'm usually quite fond of science-types, but seeing this man shake and quiver in front of me without reason might just make me rethink.

”I agree that the barrier must be stopped,” says Kostas. He tries to sound more determined but with a so so result, ”but there's a chance we destroy an enormous amount of living species in the process.” Kostas the ethical scientist... considering his background that comes off as no surprise.

Jokes aside, scientists around the world are pretty much unanimously pro-life these days. They say that even if you combine the archives of Trondheim, Bangkok Gardens, and New Babylon you'll have less than three per cent of the biodiversity Earth used to have. Even so, spotting a dead jellyfish floating in the sea is the closest thing to nature most people ever experience. Kostas' worry is thus completely understandable.

”You want me to talk to my Mom, don't you? To tell her to withhold from using that bomb.”

Kostas puts up an awkward smile and shrugs, saying: ”Read my mind. Just that... we can make do without Hawaii. Though Equestria isn't exactly a replacement, it represents much more to the people living on WorldGov rations. It gives them hope.”

I realise Kostas is being shockingly brave for a man of his status. He's asking a tremendous favor and clearly not understanding that no matter the attempt I can do nothing. Even if I wanted.

”Listen to me, buddy.” I grin at my words. Kostas thinks he's below me, so in my opinion the fool deserves it. ”Hope for what? Nobody can cross the barrier. The poor, the rich, we're all in the same level here. War is the lesser of two evils right now.” I know my reasoning doesn't affect Kostas in the slightest. Maybe I only say it to ease up myself.

Kostas looks puzzled for a little while. He certainly can't bring up the ”ponies are completely peaceful” –line, true as it might be. He says: ”We will find another, peaceful way. Ryder, please ask her now before it's too late.” Before my eyes I see a glimpse of the lowest, unknown, homeless ghetto dweller with sores and melanoma in his feet, dirty clothes, and tired eyes. Though the Greek is none of those, I still wish I could help him.

”It's out of my hands,” I say, trying to look sad.

Yet it wouldn't make a difference either way.

***

I'm calling my sister, Ellen. I got the news from Mom, but I have to hear her tell me personally. So I can talk her out of it.

”Oh Ryder, I don't think I owe you anything,” she says after I ask if I could pay her a visit, ”I don't have to ask Mom's permission, so why would I have ask yours?” This is frustrating over the phone. I need her in the flesh.

”This is big for me too! You can't just throw this at me like this and be over with it.” Ellen sighs. She definitely knew I'd come over there anyways.

I enter the bottom floor lobby and head for the elevator, but the concierge interrupts me and says: ”Sir, your sister is expecting you in Lounge A.” I nod at him. Ellen really doesn't want me here.

I feel great tension in her during our brief, formal hug. She knows what I'm here to do, and I know I'll succeed. ”I see you've taken off a lot of parts,” I say, gesturing at the few visible scars in her neck and head. For some reason she hasn't taken any effort in covering them.

”They're useless to me now. Might as well give them away. The decision is final: I'm leaving tomorrow.” Ellen is determined, blind to her own errors.

”Why? Ponification is for the poor and the weak! If we don't find a solution the barrier will kill everybody on the planet!”

”The Conversion Bureaus are the solution! The barrier isn't destroying California; it's transforming it to a better place. Why wouldn't I want go? Eventually even you'll go.”

My brows furrow at her finger that she pretentiously points at my chest. Two legs in, four legs out. In the Conversion Bureaus people are given three ounces of a purple substance called ponification serum – and that name's right on the money. A new life in an alien body, completely free of charge. They say the experience is nothing short of profound, mind-bogglingly awesome.

”Who are you to decide what's better? Ellen, you have everything right here. It means you can only have less.” At last I get a reaction, as I see my words raise her doubts. It isn't much, not yet.

I continue before she does: ”You can see what's happening. I thought first that the ponies would bring humankind's spirit closer together. That we could form a united front against them as one rich, powerful species. But what they do is tear apart homes and families! People don't worry about the ponies but about themselves!”

”It doesn't have to be like that!” she yells. I look straight at her eyes. She's almost crying. I decide to hold my tears for a little longer. I say in a respectful, brotherly tone:

”And it doesn't have to be like this.” My eyes are wet, but I dry them off. Just the gesture is enough. Ellen ponders for her next words, two tears making their way down her cheeks. It takes awhile. I hope she knows not to try lying, for I can easily detect such deception – she's my sister after all.

”Another year and everything the both of us have here will be gone. It will be shared and not broken. Ryder, you'll see it. In time.” No deception. Instead she says what I don't want to hear. It seems I'd have to point a gun at her to shake her rock solid resolve. But I can only blame myself for not earning her trust in the past, and now it's too late.

Ellen just stands there; silently, trying to look sad, but in reality she thinks she has won. In time she'll be proven wrong. I turn around, one side facing the door and the other facing Ellen. ”Guess we go on without you. With two legs.”

”For now.”

”For ever.”

***

If Equestria is paradise, then Trondheim is my Equestria. But that's like saying I live in paradise all the time, since my old home is long gone. Nevertheless, Trondheim is just like twenty years ago: lush, green, and full of life. I regret not moving here earlier.

The view from the villa is magnificent. It has been voted Best View of Trondheim by a number of juries. You can see the great fjord in its glory, as well as a big part of the city along the river. They built the Hanging Gardens in New Babylon, but here the cliffs are natural, carved by the ancient forces of the last ice age. Spruces and pines growing next to a number of tropical and subtropical species; it took a lot of work but worked out eventually.

Forget Equestria. We got everything we need under the dome.

”Director, sir,” says the communicator in my wrist, ”your grandfather's here to see you.” Grandpa... I haven't seen him since I moved here two years ago. I asked him to join me, but he refused. ”There's no one hundred percent guarantee it's him, but he has most necessary documents and seems to know you quite well. He's–”

”C'mon, Ryder! I know you don't wanna leave me here. I came all the way just to see you!” Grandpa sounds strangely energetic for a 97-year-old. I offer to come there, but he insists on the opposite. I tell him where to find me.

Not too long and hear the voice again, but surprisingly it comes from the balcony: ”Hello? Ryder, you here? Did I get the directions right?”

Even though I have been sure of it for some time already, some inexplicable hope had still lived to this day – now decisively crushed. A red pony pegasus with lighter shades in its mane and tail, and a pair of retro flight goggles hanging from its neck. Standing upright, it's over a foot shorter than me, eyes about level with my chest. Meet Grandpa, age ninety-fucking-seven.

”You look... refreshed,” I say, trying to look casual. Despite obsessing over them for days at a time I have never met a single one – converted or otherwise.

”Many thanks, many thanks,” he says, just like Grandpa always does, ”I used to get that a lot, y'know, but everyone got over it pretty fast. Now I'm nopony special.”

”Unhappy?” I ask. There's much to gain from this meeting, and I need him to open up a little more to get a good look into his mindsets. Grandpa shakes his head.

”No, it's just funny how I used to despise being old, and now that I'm suddenly not old, I miss being old again. It's gonna happen again over time, but this'll be different.”

”I say you aged very well. You found ways to pass the time too. Not many people are able to do that.”

”That's true. But old's still old. I couldn't play tennis as well as you did. I never could! Now we're all the same age, take or add a few years, and I have no intentions of ending my life any sooner than my children or even my grandchildren. There's no room for that kind of thinking. There's no reason or sense to it anymore. I don't have to be the witty old Grandpa; I can be anypony I want!”

The last few words curve his mouth to a smile. He looks at me, but I don't smile back. It's unbelievable how well his expressions mimic the emotions behind his words. He has the sincerity of an intoxicated child! People always hide something when they talk, even if they're specifically trying not to. This should be impossible.

The neural implant pulses hard for a few seconds and makes me scratch my upper back. Dammit, dammit, dammit, has it broken down or something? I stare at the wall for a moment and recompose myself. I still have a decent card to play.

While it's true that at least for the last thirty years nobody even in my extended family has needed to actually work and make any money, Grandpa is an active world-class writer, editor, and poet. In addition to critical acclaim, many search engines around the globe have had his name leading the contemporary writer charts on many occasions. To think of it, it's a foolproof way of finding out if the red pegasus really is my converted grandfather.

I ask him: ”Do you still write? Poems, perhaps?” The pegasus lets out a long sigh, exaggerating the sound. I know damn well what that means.

”You know, as an urban villager lad, that man must adapt to change, and not bringing your heart into it will only yield mediocre results.” For a second time his words are just about what Grandpa would’ve said. He continues: ”But Ryder, the answer's yes. Would you like to hear one?” I nod. He clears his throat. The moment of truth, as they say.

A rabbit and a cow.
They meet on a meadow.
”Moo,” said the cow, and
the rabbit moved back.
”Moo,” said the rabbit
The cow, taken aback:
”Rabbits don't moo,
losing your mind are you?”
The rabbit answered: ”Moo?
Who moos? Boo-hoo-hoo.”

My mind has only one thing to tell me: infiltration. It's not what I want, but I have to agree. The smile on the pegasus' face is genuine, pure, innocent... alien. And I'm human.

From what I've read in the hypernet and seen in the vids, ponies and especially pegasi are extremely quick: they boast a reaction time that’s only a fifth of a peak-level, trained human's. Then again, I've been enhanced way beyond peak-level. He still realises it, most likely from my keen eyes that always act a millisecond before the hand, but it's too late. My right swing strikes a clean hit to his temple and takes him down.

I tell him, adrenaline adding a notable shiver in my voice: ”You are not my Grandpa. I would never hit my Grandpa.” He gets up but only briefly as I land a right-left-right combination on both his temples and his jaw. My fists hurt, and I know it'll get worse soon. Raging emotions take complete control over my body, and suddenly one of Grandpa's poems pops to mind. And of course I recite:

Light up the stage!
The short waves of light
make the curtain!

I kick his ribs multiple times. Until they break.

Watch it! Fantastic!
A magnificent purple hue!
See it burn!

I grab a chair from the balcony and start hitting him with it.

The flames are beautiful!
The smoke, extraordinary!

Darker spots in the red fur get more and more numerous. I notice a pool of red under the pegasus.

We shall do it again!
Many times!

The wing is no longer more than a bloody mess of bone, skin, and feathers.

Nothing will stop us!
Who would want to extinguish love!?

The chair breaks down. I lift a miniature doric column over my head and smash it down on his skull. The pegasus doesn’t move. No emotion or thought goes through him. But I’m sure this is just the beginning. More will come as the barrier creeps its way closer. Looking for him and looking for me.

I dial my cleaner/assistant's number. This intervention just clears away the last of my scruples. ”It's me. Call Salla Space Center and tell them I'm on my way.”

***

There’s no horizon in space, at least not to my knowledge. That makes seeing Earth disappear all the more painful. The barrier closes, forms a full sphere, and no more Earth. Equestria vanishes back to where it came from, but it takes our planet with it.

Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn around to see a white-haired man with a beard. I ask him: “Who’re you? How did you... You weren’t aboard the shuttle before.” Nevertheless, the appearance is very suggestive. I smile, even though I try not to. God. Who else could it be?

“You’ve gone quite far, Ryder,” he says. I never was much of a believer, but this still makes sense to me – somehow. A final blessing before I’m left drifting endlessly in space.

“I didn’t want to, and now I want to go farther, but I don’t think I can,” I say.

“Ridiculous! You and me, we do it together!”

“But why all this? You should know! We couldn’t have prepared for this. It wasn’t in the Bible, it wasn’t–”

He interrupts me with a bout of laughter and says: “I’ve yet to read it. The Bible, I mean.”

I stare at him. His deep blue eyes don’t lie, they don’t even blink. A massive tome with all its pages open at the same time, he stares back at me. And he’s right; nothing will stop us.

Comments

[Midnightshadow]

This story reads as disjointedly and as erratically as the main character lives his life. A murderer in cold blood, a member of the elite who would never know hardship and, quite frankly, who has lost his humanity already and doesn't know it as he goes through the motions to preserve something he doesn't understand.

Grammatically and structurally, it needs a lot of work. For the power and emotion inside it, I applaud you. The end... I'm not sure I understand, either one of them. I know the gist of it - Earth destroyed/changed/moved on and the choice between a hopeless, intentionally doomed race to nowhere (second ending) versus what I can only assume is madness of the main character with yet a slim hope that (technology in hand) something can be made of things.

I don't think that having who I assume is his grandfather appear as an angel actually happen is intended... it doesn't fit the tone and seems entirely unnecessary, and it makes more sense if what the protagonist is escaping is memories, with specific, different memories as cargo.

Powerfully done, not a masterpiece by any stretch, and definitely not a hero - a designated one, perhaps...