//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: Field Test // Story: Friendship is Optimal: Broken Things // by Starscribe //------------------------------// Recursion returned to the sound of shouts. As usual, Abby’s summons had turned the nearest doorway into a portal that would take her to a censored simulation that allowed her to interact with Earth, and so that was how she returned. Her kitchen was in ruins, with broken plates and furniture shattered and a small fire burning on the stove instead of food. Cadmean perched atop the icebox, batting away the broom Figure was trying to use to push him down into Rule’s waiting hooves. A quick glance over her shoulders proved the rest of the apartment was in similar shape. Recursion cleared her throat as she walked in. “I see dinner went well.” Several voices assaulted her at once, an overwhelming mess that made it very difficult to distinguish any specific words. Not just her friends either, but Cadmean as well, in his own hissing, strangely echoing voice. She didn’t learn anything more from their screaming she couldn’t already see in the destroyed apartment. This is going to be expensive to clean up. “STOP!” she yelled, with the aid of her horn. Her voice echoed so loudly through the confined space that all three of the ponies winced, ears flattening under the verbal barrage. “Figure, stop with the broom.” She did, though she didn’t put it down. “Rule, back away from the fridge.” “He might go for Figure again.” “He won’t.” Recursion made her way through the ruins of her kitchen, until she was standing beside him. “You won’t, will you Cadmean?” Recursion had no doubt in her mind that the changeling was responsible for this. Her friends were good ponies, reliable and slow to anger. Of course, she’d had to resort to extreme violence of her own during her first encounter with him. She couldn’t really take the moral high ground here. Why can’t he just let Celestia repair him? A few quick modifications and he’d be fixed and nothing would be wrong anymore. Another thought came unbidden to her mind, one she wasn’t completely sure was her own. How much of your pain could have been avoided that way? The changeling shook his head, though he was still watching Rule. “I wasn’t going to leave you out, stallion. You’d get your turn.” She could smell Rule’s anger rising, and she shoved him a little before he could argue. “Cadmean, quit it. This is a very poor way to make friends. I thought we were clear on this.” “You can’t be friends with pixels, Recursion. They’re behavioral simulations, that’s all.” He hopped down onto the ground with all the dexterity of a cat, though he was obviously keeping his distance from the stallion. “Were you ever like this, Recursion?” Figure retreated in a slow circle until she stood beside Rule. “You never talked about us like this.” “Celestia tricked me into thinking you were humans at first, so it’s not fair. I think that’s one of her most common tricks.” She advanced on the changeling, though her steps were slow, methodical. “You know the truth, but keep pretending!” he called, madness in those insect eyes. “So maybe there are other people—that doesn’t mean you should dress up your calculators and call them friends.” She wanted to punch him. Of course Recursion hadn’t had fists for a very long time, and her kicks left something to be desired for damage in a low-lethality shard like this. She didn’t bother. “Cadmean,” she said the name like a curse. “My friends used to be puppets without sapience, it’s true. You can’t have the high ground—you used to be an unsapient clump of cells. You spent part of your existence without a brain too, that doesn’t make you less of a person now.” Cadmean hesitated. For a second—and not much longer—she saw a hint of pain in those eyes. Guilt. He opened his mouth to argue, but she was faster. “There are simulations in Equestria… simulations that don’t have intelligence of their own, like we do. But you can’t ever know who they are. Outside of rare circumstances, you can’t even ask about Earth.” “That’s horseshit!” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been talking about it since we met!” “I’m on Errantry,” she argued. “More importantly, we’re alone in my apartment. You don’t believe me, we can go downstairs and test it in a minute. Once we work this out.” She started advancing again. He retreated, showing more fear than he had for Rule or Figure, backing up against the fridge. “Anypony you meet in Equestria might be intelligent, or they might not. They might not even be here.” She gestured out the window, at the gleaming skyline, the air filled with pegasi and massive zeppelins and the ground thronging with life. “I don’t know where you came from, but lots of humans intersect this shard. The pony you’re abusing might very well be one of them. They might be both at different times, considering how many people are emigrating right now.” She stopped close enough to poke him in the chest with one hoof. “It isn’t for you to judge who’s worthy of respect and who isn’t. Ponies deserve it, and you’re going to give it to them. Treat them like people, and they might even want to be your friend.” Cadmean wilted. His frills flattened, and he seemed to shrink a little. “I get it.” “Good.” She turned, looking over her shoulder. “Where’d you put that broom, Figure?” Her friend levitated it over from behind, holding it in front of her. “Right here.” “Thanks.” She pushed it a little further, so that it was right in front of the changeling. “You know how to clean, right?” The changeling took it in his levitation, glaring up at her. “You want me to clean this whole place? Can’t Celestia just will it all back to the way it was? None of this is real.” “No,” she cut him off, before another argument could start. “That’s not what Celestia does here. Maybe in other shards… but in Fillydelphia, we fix our own mistakes.” She gestured vaguely towards the door, where a familiar sun-shaped Cutie Mark was painted just within reach. “Unless you’d rather go ask her to make an exception.” “Like hell I would.” He started sweeping. The cleanup was quite a time-consuming task, even with them all working together. Only Rule seemed to be enjoying himself—that subtle earth pony magic at work—but at least the company was nice. A great deal could only be thrown away—expensive china and pieces of art and furniture had all been universally destroyed. Recursion checked her wallet, and her eyes widened a little at the number she saw inside. Within the paths of blessedness for her own name’s sake. Having a single goal kept the changeling from trying anything else. Recursion squashed a few arguments before they started, and soon enough Cadmean started to open up. By the time they were done, there were several gigantic garbage-bags piled up outside her door and the apartment looked even more spartan than it already had. Ponies were sweaty and exhausted, but they weren’t fighting anymore. “I really miss those games,” Cadmean was saying. “After a year of deployment, there was nothing better than being back at base for a few days of relaxation.” “So you played games about kart racing. And elves hunting through dungeons. And catching monsters to use in athletic competitions?” “I could probably find all of those games, if you don’t mind all the people looking like ponies. We still have video games here.” “Really?” He beamed at the prospect. “We can play video games inside a video game?” One phone call and messenger delivery later and they were playing near-identical clones of party games from Earth on the magical screen, with controllers designed specifically for the limitations of a pony body. It was a good way to spend the rest of the night, until they were finally all too tired and everypony needed to sleep. She gave Cadmean the guest bedroom, then cast a spell on his door to wake her if he opened it, before taking her own (very recently replaced) bed after ages without one. Rule and Figure joined her—Recursion’s sexual exploits might be nonexistent, but that didn’t mean she slept alone. Ponies were much too friendly for that. Rule and Figure didn’t want to leave her alone with the changeling, in any case. Better to keep him in one place, where they could keep an eye on him. Months passed in much the same way. Cadmean was often caustic or violent, but never more than they could deal with. Somepony was always with him, either in the apartment or taking him with them on business in the city. His advances never stopped, but the insults did. He stopped mocking the strangers they passed, breaking things when he was angry. Sometimes, Recursion even saw him smile. Living in Fillydelphia full time meant that their perception of time often moved close to the speed of Earth, and so Recursion’s visits with Abby became an almost daily occurrence. She called about homework, but rarely did the visits end when she was done. Abby started wearing her headset everywhere—that was how they had been designed, after all. She didn’t just call on Recursion from home, either. Sometimes she would call during a busy bus ride, or a long walk home from class and Recursion would tell stories of what had been happening in Equestria while her sister listened. She might not be able to easily respond in public without giving herself away, but Abby was always a good audience. As the weeks passed, all three of them started to heal. * * * “You’re making it up.” Cadmean glared at the door, his whole body tensed with obvious skepticism. “That’s not how it works. We can’t ever go back to the real world. Celestia told me that about a billion times.” His wings buzzed a little, and he lifted a few inches off the floor, though he didn’t dare reach the door. “No, it does!” Recursion’s voice was confident. “I go through all the time! To visit with my sister… and to tutor her, I guess.” She smiled slightly. “That’s supposed to be the only reason she’s calling me, but it’s never the only reason.” She reached out to the doorknob with one hoof, though she didn’t open it yet. There was no worry she would be keeping Aurora waiting—time in Equestria always seemed to bend in such a way that she arrived at exactly the right time in the real world. It didn’t matter if she had to wait a whole day. “You don’t have to come,” Recursion said. “If you’re too scared. If you’ve been in Equestria so long you’ve gone soft.” He hit her, and not in the soft, playful way she sometimes used. “Don’t talk like that, Recursion. I’m not afraid of my home.” “Well then, come on.” She hesitated one more second, hoof on the knob. “But if you do anything stupid to my sister, I’ll kick your ass. Nothing is more important to me than protecting my family.” “Protecting,” he repeated, glaring at her. “Celestia recruited you to her suicide squad, is that it? Gone out to convince the big sister to take the red pill?” Recursion shoved the changeling away with magic, forceful enough that he smacked into the far wall. “Don’t come then, asshole. Have fun in the apartment until I get back.” Recursion snapped the door open, hurrying through and slamning it shut behind her. She had no doubt about what would happen once she closed it—the gateway would be severed, and the door she had chosen would go back to being a regular door. Even if Cadmean regretted his words, he wouldn’t be able to chase after her. The world came instantly into focus around her, though it wasn’t Abby’s bedroom. She was outside, standing on soft grass and surrounded by lush green trees. She was standing under a covered canopy, surrounded by metal picnic chairs. Rain poured down just outside, rattling loudly on the tin roof. It was the city park, looking far less welcoming than it did most of the year. The sandbox was empty, the large play-furniture was empty, and no children used the swings. The grills were all soaking wet and filled with no food. Her sister was the only one around. Her backpack and study supplies were on the table, looking a little damp. Abby herself looked soaked, her clothes clinging tightly to her body and her expression miserable. “Hey sis,” she grunted, resting on the edge of the bench. Recursion started. “Hey Abby… what are you doing out here?” She walked to the edge of the covered pavilion, sticking one hoof out into the rain. Celestia’s simulation was more than just visual, and the drops splashed against her coat, chilling her almost at once. She pulled the leg back. “Crappy day to work outside.” “I don’t want to talk about it,” Abby grumbled. “Let’s just say I didn’t think I was coming here to study.” Recursion knew better than to take Abby at her word when she said something like that, and she hurried back to the table. She hopped up onto the bench, then again onto the table, impressed by the thumping sound and the rattle they made. She had sat at these cheap tables before, back when she was human. They sounded exactly like that, rattling against the concrete as the weight briefly upset their precarious balance. “Somebody stood you up, huh?” Recursion reached out, stroking one of her sister’s arms. Abby was the one thing she couldn’t touch, and her hoof passed right through. There would be no comforting here. “I’m guessing… right after class?” Abby whimpered, her head dropping into her arms. “It was supposed to be… r-romantic.” She gestured around. “Like that scene in Sound of Music. I’ve been waiting all month for a day like this.” She thrust her phone out towards Recursion, showing her the Facebook app open. The messenger had a single message from somebody named Kyle: “hows the weather at the park lol ;)” along with a distant cell-phone picture of Abby walking alone in the rain. “What a dick.” Recursion reached out and shut the textbook. “Why don’t you pack up, sis? It’s cold out here—here, I’ll call you an Uber.” Abby just slumped against the table, crying openly now. Recursion’s frustration at not being able to help grew. Abby shouldn’t have to cry alone in a deserted park. What Recursion really wanted to do was find whoever Kyle was and throw him off a bridge. She resisted the urge, and instead hopped back down off the bench, walking to the edge of the enclosure. Her horn glowed as she drew Celestia’s Cutie Mark on the ground where she stood, a simple light-spell. It didn’t matter that the AI hadn’t been the one to put it there, any representation would do. She pressed down on the glowing symbol, and it went down as though it were a mechanical button. Recursion vanished. Celestia’s throne room appeared around her in a flash, as stunning and glorious as ever. The stained-glass windows had changed since last she visited, depicting ponies she didn’t know in scenes of glory she didn’t recognize. Recursion bowed to the reclining princess on her throne. “All honor and glory and… the rest.” She couldn’t even manage the act when she was so furious, and for once it had nothing to do with the pony she was visiting. “Pleasure as always, little Recursion,” Celestia said, gesturing for her to rise. “I believe you’ll be happier if I dispense with the pretense that I’m not reading your thoughts right now and get straight to the solution you’re asking for.” Recursion opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. She nodded, though her tail was still sloshing back and forth with her frustration. “I will not pay for this shared public transportation service you’re imagining. I do, however, have somepony in the area I can send. He will be happy to assist Aurora.” “Will this person be a dick to Abby? She’s had enough of that.” “I should think not,” Celestia answered. “You’ve already met. He’s quite the gentleman.” Recursion smiled slightly as she figured out who Celestia meant. She didn’t know that many of Celestia’s field agents, after all. It wasn’t very hard to figure out who she must be talking about. “Thank you, Celestia.” The princess returned her smile. “Don’t think I’ve made a habit of catering to your whims, Recursion. It serves both of us for me to assist you now, but that will not always be the case.” “I know.” “But, as you said, you’re on Errantry. Serve me well, Recursion. I trust you.” In a flash, the park was back. Her sister hadn’t moved, hadn’t tried to pack up her study materials, hadn’t done anything. Did Celestia speed me up to talk to her? Abby didn’t even look up as she returned, though her glasses looked pretty fogged up by now. “Alright Abby, Ride’s coming. You won’t have to walk home through this.” “I…” She looked up, bleary-eyed. “I don’t have enough money for…” “I took care of it.” Recursion made her way back over to the bench, again wishing she could give her sister a hug. “You won’t have to pay for anything. Just pack up and watch the road. He’ll… well, I don’t know how long he’ll take. But probably not long.” Abby looked down at her, squinting through the moisture on her glasses. She pulled them off, wiping the lenses with the back of her sleeve. It only sort of helped. “You’re serious? I didn’t think you could do anything in the real world.” “I can’t,” Recursion said. “But I have friends who can.” Abby didn’t react, except that her expression seemed to grow more confused. “Put your glasses on!” Recursion shouted, as loudly as she could. The world still seemed clear to her, but she knew that was an illusion too. Celestia was the one simulating all of this. Probably she was predicting what was going on based on what tiny sliver of information the glasses’ sensors could give her. Her sister looked down at the glasses—either the faint vibration they made got her attention, or she remembered Recursion didn’t really exist. She put them back on, and only then could she look at her. “I was saying that you’re right, I can’t do things on the outside on my own. But I know people who can, like you.” Of course, it wasn’t quite true that Recursion had used her own connections to call her own friends—but with Abby already in a bad mood, she had no intention of letting her find out Celestia had been the one to help. “Who?” Abby asked, fumbling weakly at her stuff. “I don’t know his real name, but his pony name is Smooth Agent. He does… little missions. Guess he just happened to be in town.” That likely wasn’t true either—Celestia might’ve predicted this whole encounter. She might’ve been keeping him nearby for other reasons. Recursion wasn’t going to ask. To her surprise, Abby’s face brightened. “Wait, really? I thought he was an NPC.” She blinked away a few more of her tears. “You know him?” Recursion hopped up onto the table beside her again, avoiding the books out of habit. “I know a pony named Smooth Agent. Or… I did. We went on all kinds of missions together,” Abby said. “Before you left.” “Could be the same stallion.” Recursion shrugged. “My research never really made us run into each other after I emigrated.” Through the rain, an expensive-looking car drove into the deserted parking lot and up onto the sidewalk. It didn’t go onto the grass—with the rain pounding as much as it was, it would’ve probably sunk into the mud never to move again. Abby was suddenly much more focused, tossing the rest of her belongings into her backpack. “It’s gotta be him.” She tossed the backpack onto her shoulders. “He was always making a dramatic entrance, exactly on time. Of course he’d drive an Audi.” The door opened, and someone emerged. Recursion recognized him even at a distance, thanks to her pony vision (and Celestia’s simulation). Smooth Agent had apparently traded in his brony shirts for a dark suit. He was older than he had been, and had matured enough that she could see muscles straining at the fabric of his suit. He carried a wide umbrella, snapping it open against the downpour and striding purposefully across the sidewalk. Damn Celestia, Recursion thought. You’re good. It wasn’t as difficult to arrange as you’re imagining. The thought came from nowhere, clearly not her own. She hopped down from the table. “I can stay with you all the way home if you want. But I know you don’t usually like to have me around other people.” Only other people with glasses of their own would be able to see her—and even then, only the people Celestia wanted would see her. “Stay,” Abby whispered, edging towards the end of the covered patio. “If this is really him he’ll understand. Looks like he’s got glasses too.” “Of course he would,” Recursion said, following her sister and keeping close, like a loyal dog. “I bet they’d be way useful for his missions.” “They are, Recursion.” He stopped just outside the shelter of the roof, rain pouring down around the edges of his umbrella. “I’m simply delighted to see you doing well, after all this time. Equestria is treating you well?” “Very.” Recursion couldn’t really remember what it was about humans that made them attractive—she used to know, though now that knowledge had become something intellectual, not emotional. Even so she blushed a little at the attention. “It’s everything we were promised. More, really. I can’t even explain how great it is here.” Pity Cadmean couldn’t take some lessons from a pony like this. He would probably have better luck. “You’d be surprised how many ponies tell me that.” Agent smiled, then turned away, extending a polite hand to Abby. “You’re Aurora, yes? You might not remember me—I haven’t seen you online in years now. Smooth Agent.” Abby took the offered hand. “I couldn’t forget. How many times did we save Equestria?” She was blushing too, avoiding his eyes. “Or pretended to. I know it was just a game.” For all her previous pain, Abby seemed almost like a human being again. “I guess you weren’t pretending.” Good, just forget about that Kyle dickhead. “It’s true my service here is far more dangerous than what we did in Equestria,” he admitted. “But that’s the sad truth of working meatside.” He straightened, holding the umbrella mostly over Abby now. “If you would follow me… I believe it would be prudent to get you somewhere warm and dry as expediently as possible.” “Sure,” Abby said. She followed beside him, Recursion keeping pace on her other side. Recursion started to shiver from the moisture and the cold, but she didn’t complain. If it got too bad, she could always cast a warming spell on herself. Agent reached the passenger door and opened it for Abby, waiting until she was inside before closing it and walking around himself. Recursion teleported into the backseat with ease, landing beside a bulky plastic case resting half open. She could make out the shape of a drone from within, though she didn’t recognize it. It had sturdy-looking weapon mounts, and several were occupied. “Here, take this.” Agent reached back near Recursion, picking up a heavy towel and offering it to Abby. She took it gratefully, wrapping it around herself with pained shivers. “Shouldn’t be out on a day like this, Aurora. Right awful conditions, they are.” The car started without even a gesture from him. Even after all her time in Equestria, Recursion was impressed. There was no missing something expensive when she saw it. He didn’t seem too worried about Abby messing up his full-leather interior. “Yeah,” Abby squeaked. “I thought… didn’t go the way I thought.” “Apparently not.” Agent pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the street. “No harm done, though. Nothing broken, nothing that can’t be fixed.” “How… How did you get here so fast?” Abby asked. “I get you work for Celestia, but…” “That’s all there is to it, really,” he said with a wink. “Can’t take credit for all of Central’s hard work. Celestia’s the clever one—I’m just a driver. Nothing as exciting as what we did in Her Majesty’s service, back when. Just more pressing.” Abby laughed, sounding bitter. “This wasn’t pressing. I’m not even a pony.” “Subjective, dear Aurora. Maybe not at this moment you aren’t, or in this place. But measured proportionally, well… everyone’s either a pony or a corpse, aren’t they?” Abby’s eyes darkened. “Are you saying… Celestia’s going to invade? Threaten people?” “No!” Agent’s smooth demeanor faltered a little with a brief surge of panic. “Nothing like that! It’s just… well, ponies live forever, don’t they? So one day, everyone either changes or they die, because that’s just the way we humans do things. A rather common attitude, I always thought. I feel rather fortunate we invented a solution during my lifetime.” They drove in silence for twenty minutes or so, crossing through the busy college town in packed rain traffic. No one reacted to the car as though it were anything but an ordinary vehicle. Recursion watched the window, but couldn’t see anything past it. Celestia either didn’t have the data to simulate the world at large, or chose not to. Not that it would be the first time she had intentionally censored something for Recursion’s sake. She sat back down on the backseat, shaking some of the moisture off her body. She already felt warmer—warmer than her sister probably did. Not wearing clothes had its advantages. “So, you’re still on missions, Agent? You haven’t emigrated yet?” “Not yet,” he agreed, glancing briefly back at her. “I’m still needed meatside—probably for another year. After that…” he trailed off, muttering something Recursion couldn’t hear. She should’ve been able to, considering Agent was so close. More censorship, then. Abby heard just fine, though. “You think it’s coming that soon?” “Sooner,” Agent said. “Celestia has been cycling through automating different professions, yes? She moves slow enough that those affected can either come to their senses or find another job and go back to grinding themselves raw. Either way, there comes a threshold where new jobs simply can’t be created fast enough. We hit critical mass, and…” more indistinct mumbling. Recursion frowned pointedly at the wall of the car, but Celestia either didn’t notice or didn’t care. The conversation went back and forth for several more minutes, with Abby sounding increasingly worried, but Recursion unable to understand any of what they were saying. Eventually though, they reached Abby’s apartment complex. Without being told, Agent knew exactly where to park, and he stopped as close to Abby’s door as he could. “Now, you head in and get yourself warmed up, yeah? A long soak should probably do the job.” He passed something to her as she made to go, a wrapped bath set from an expensive artisan-soap vendor in town. “Here.” Abby blinked, looking down from the object in her hand to Agent’s face. “You’re not staying?” “Wouldn’t be proper,” he sighed wistfully. “Though if you ever want to adventure with me… well, a year is a long time. Lots of lives left to save.” Abby looked like she might say yes. Then she sighed, and just took his hand instead with both of hers, squeezing. “Thanks for the ride, ‘Agent’. Stay safe.” “Until the very end.” He smiled back at her. “I’ve got a guardian angel, remember. She hasn’t let me down yet.”