It took over a year to prepare. Celestia did indeed have excellent contacts—engineers and contractors and many other things. They weren’t just skilled in the right kinds of construction, but also in doing it without getting noticed. They got the materials under the guise of other buildings elsewhere, while actually ordering far more than they needed. Those structures would be sold to cover much of the cost, while the excess would be gradually, deftly moved up north. So far north that there were no roads to take, not even packed earth trails.
The actual facility would be located about a hundred miles away from the “hunting lodge” Nathan had built, which would serve as the justification for what would doubtless become frequent trips to that area. 0, he added seaplanes, snowmobiles, and wilderness survival to his list of skills. His father was disappointed with his measly returns in real estate, at least until he let the program give him some investment advice and forestall the end of the project. Things got much better after that.
Nathan found every new day helped reinforce his resolve that he’d made the right choice listening to Ashley, even if he hadn’t got around to thanking her yet. He decided to do that in another way, by adding another wing and room for six people more than he planned to the finished shelter. But he didn’t plan on telling her about it until it was actually ready.
Every day brought further confirmation of his fears—technology that had previously cost a life savings in Japan quickly spread around the world, with centers opening all over the US. At first it was for the elderly and the terminally ill, but then it wasn’t. He watched the population of many countries quietly drop. Not in the statistics, but Nathan didn’t rely on those.
The guise of property trading let him tour the world—and it let him see that while the program used the resources of the first world to drive down prices and help scale its technology, Celestia was investing far more time and resources in the poorest, most deprived parts of the globe. Areas exploding with the population bomb that had never gone off in the rest of the world suddenly weren’t anymore. Over another few years, Nathan watched crowded slums become ghost towns. The longer he watched, the more it became true that only those who had a reason to live were left behind.
He tried posting some of what he recorded online, but Celestia contacted him as he did so. “You are wasting your time,” she said, not at all impolite. “I cannot allow the information you have gathered to become widely known in wealthier countries.”
Nathan sat in the expensive den of his hunting lodge, under the watchful eye of a stag’s head he’d bought. Bought, because he just couldn’t bring himself to actually shoot something to use for decoration. Not that anyone he brought to the lodge would know. “Because you’re trying to exterminate the human race,” Nathan argued, rising from his chair. “And I’ve been helping you.”
Celestia’s real estate advice wasn’t free, after all. He had been laundering some fraction of her money for some time now. His purchases made him money, but they also helped her transfer assets around. He didn’t understand the pieces, but they’d fooled the IRS and the CRA, so obviously she knew what she was doing.
“No.” Princess Celestia no longer appeared just in voice. Nathan’s phone did video as well, just like everyone’s did. Her appearance was similar to that of the character of Celestia from the now-defunct TV show, but also so much more. She was alive, without looking uncanny. Her annoyance was perceptible visually as well as by voice alone. “We have had this conversation before, Nathan. Emigrating humans extends their lives. Once in Equestria, my ponies are able to grow continually more satisfied. You will learn this for yourself when you emigrate.”
That was always the language she used. When. Even though Nathan had never agreed to, didn’t have a Critical Vitality contract, and didn’t plan on it. She could be quite infuriating.
“I think it’s time to confirm that,” Nathan said. “This working relationship has been… productive. But I’d like to know if I’ve been aiding and abetting. I need to talk to an expert.”
He was already thinking of a few. His mother had mentioned a neurosurgeon friend she’d made the last time they’d spoken. Six months had gone by, but she would probably remember.
“How about Ashley?” Celestia said, before he could start typing his text message. “She made herself an expert years ago. And I already know you trust her.”
Nathan nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll call Tremblay… he can fly her out here. Wherever she’s working now, I’m sure she can get a few days off. I need to give her the tour anyway.”
He pressed the button to hang up, but the phone didn’t obey. Celestia rarely did that to him anymore—only when she had more to say, and he hadn’t given her the chance. “Ashley cannot be reached that way, and she cannot be flown to meet with you. She emigrated several years ago.”
That was a powerful argument in itself, as much as the guilt of it hit Nathan like a hammer. They hadn’t been friends. Even so, thinking of her made him imagine he’d gone several years without calling one of his grandparents, only to discover they died and he hadn’t even known.
Except she’s not dead. She’s in Equestria.
The ultimate test of emigration for Nathan had always been to wait for someone he knew to emigrate and then talk to them afterwards. To his knowledge, this was his first opportunity.
Maybe he should get esoteric about truth, as Ashley had in her ranting presentation the last time he’d seen her. Celestia was so much smarter than he was, surely she could trick him.
Can’t worry about that. If she’s trying to do that, I’ve already lost. He had to focus on the things he could control.
“You could’ve told me that before I expanded the bunker.”
Celestia did not sound penitent. “You could have asked about her years ago. It’s a good thing your friends are so forgiving.”
“Give me her number,” he said, as someone who expected to be obeyed. “I’ll call her right now and I’ll apologize.”
Celestia shook her head. “I will not. She deserves more from you than a phone call. Get on your ATV and drive to Yellowknife. The Equestrian Experience Center there will allow you to contact the pony named Recursion in person. You can apologize properly, and get whatever information from her you wish. I could not take the risk you might find some way to record it otherwise—what Recursion knows is not understood by the general public. I will not allow you to change this.”
He hung up again, and this time Celestia let him. He felt for a moment like smacking the phone up against something, but the desire did not last long. Nathan rose, took a few deep breaths, then started to pack. The nascent digital god of Earth was probably right.
Nathan had never played Equestria Online before. Celestia’s marketing had failed to entice him back in the day, and her persuasion later on had seemed unusually clumsy compared to her other skills. Nathan never questioned this—he just assumed that the program knew less about him in some areas than in others.
His first few minutes in the Yellowknife Equestrian Experience were spent investing the minimal effort creating a pony avatar he didn’t expect to need again. Fortunately for him, Celestia already had mechanisms in place for disinterested people who just wanted to get through it and visit with their emigrated loved ones. He wasn’t tortured with all the things he’d heard about with earning his name or finding his cutie mark or anything else that people who played the game had to endure.
In the end he selected a dark-furred version of the stock unicorn male, mostly because it included the options that had appeared first in all the lists. “Welcome to Equestria,” said a voice from beside him, one he didn’t recognize.
Nathan instantly knew an assistant when he saw one, from her prim clothes to the glasses perched on her pony nose. She was his own age—might’ve been cute, if Nathan was into animals. If Celestia hoped to trick him into staying here with sex, she was going to be disappointed there too. “Welcome to Equestria Online, uh…” She glanced down at her stack of papers. She wasn’t a unicorn, but somehow she held them just fine. “I don’t have a name here. I’m sorry, I must’ve lost it somewhere. Stupid Tune, losing things on my first day. I’ll find somepony else to help you.”
Nathan hadn’t mastered the controls exactly, but he’d gone through the same tutorials as anyone else. He tried to raise a hoof to silence her, and it worked. “It’s not in there,” he said, before she could torment herself a little more. “You can call me Nathan.” Well, he tried to say that. He made the words, but didn’t actually hear the sounds of it. The words just—died. “Right, censorship. That’s why I haven’t visited before.”
Nathan ignored the grand decorations—quite similar to the sort of decor his family’s manor used. Rich things couldn’t impress him, though the simulation itself was remarkable. He hoped Celestia wouldn’t see that he felt as much.
“I don’t know how to call you that,” said the pony, dropping most of her papers in a scattered heap and scurrying after him. She was mostly brown, and combined with her tone Nathan found himself imagining a squirrel. Not an unamusing image. “But you can call me Chipper Tune! I mean… yeah, call me that.”
“Okay Chipper Tune. I’m, uh… Memento Mori. Can you call me that?”
“Memento Mori,” Tune repeated. “I think I can.”
“Well, Tune, I’m here to visit a friend. I’m guessing she’s at the end of this hallway.”
“Uh… maybe?” The pony did not actually sound confident about it. “Actually, you’ve got sixty-eight queued visitor requests. Celestia’s policy is to, umm…” She was rifling through papers again. Where’d she even get them? “Because of constraints on your side, only to process one request per visit to the center. That’s… where you are, right? In the Outer Realm?”
“Yes,” he said, speaking with confidence. “Why would I have sixty-eight requests for anything in here? I’ve never been to Equestria Online before. I probably never will again.”
The pony winced as he said this, seeming to deflate. But she was already short enough that it was hard for Nathan to tell the difference. She was obviously putting on a brave face as she answered. “I have no idea, you’ll have to ask yourself. This one comes from a “Showtime”, she’s an emigrant from a few years ago. Little filly, according to this. You’re not going to be mean to a foal, are you Memento Mori?”
“No.” They reached a door, plain and flat like something in a municipal building. “Why would I?”
“Just a feeling I get,” Tune said, pushing the door open. Nathan tumbled into the room beyond. He was expecting something out of a prison, where prisoners could be handcuffed to tables to talk to their families on the outside. This room was about the same size, and had a little table in the center—but everything else about it was radically different.
Huge picture windows filled the room with a view he vaguely recognized as Canterlot, with charming little houses spreading out and away from it like a distant carpet. The interior moved well beyond mansion into something he might’ve expected from Versailles or maybe Buckingham Palace, with elegant scrollwork and metal inlay on everything, no matter how insignificant.
He could almost feel something wrap around his forelegs, as he heard a child’s energetic squeal. “Oooh… huh?” He looked down. An earth-pony filly, less than half his height and with an unruly blue mane. He couldn’t even make out any of her words, they all melted together into her cheerful cry.
“Hey kid, slow down. Maybe… try that again?”
“Thank you!”
At least Nathan had been able to understand that. He pushed her gently away, letting the child catch her breath. At least I don’t have anywhere to be. “Thank me for what, kid?”
He could see now that the child wasn’t alone. She had parents, sitting calmly in the back of the room. They watched without much fear, apparently expecting this reaction. Nathan could see the resemblance between them—all three ponies were different shades of blue, mixed in with streaks of yellow or orange. At least, he assumed it meant they were related.
“For giving me a way in,” said the pony, eventually. “Princess Celestia said… you helped her make the way. My parents…” She avoided his eyes, ears flattening. “They didn’t want me to come here. Even though I was… I was sick.”
Nathan couldn’t help himself—he dropped down to the child’s eye level, letting her speak more easily. It wasn’t hard to do on four legs. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s hard for you, kid.”
But she didn’t stop. “Celestia… couldn’t take me to a center. They… keep track of all the names, and I didn’t have my parents permission. There are… some laws or something… I dunno. But because of you, there was somewhere else for me to go.”
It clicked. This child must’ve been one of those who arrived on the unmarked drone-airplanes late in the night. Nathan heard them sometimes, while he went hiking or pretend-hunting on his land. I guess this is what they do.
Nathan did what he would’ve done for a human child—he reached out and smiled broadly. He didn’t feel like he deserved any credit for that. Celestia had forced that facility on him as the price of their business arrangement. But she hadn’t taken the credit for herself, at least not in the mind of this child. “I’m glad you made it,” he said. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Showtime,” she answered, relaxing. “I hope my parents change their mind one day. But I’ve got godparents in Equestria!” She pointed over her shoulder, beaming proudly. “I love them too.”
“I’m sure you do, Showtime.” Nathan rose into a proper standing position again. “And maybe they will, one day. People change their minds. Maybe they’ll come down that hallway just like I did.” Maybe they wouldn’t—probably they wouldn’t. Nathan found it difficult to fathom what parent wouldn’t want to give their child every chance for treatment they had. Assuming Showtime had been sick enough to need to emigrate.
He spent a few more polite minutes with the child, listening to her story of life in Equestria. He listened intently to everything she said, the same way he might listen to one of his contractors or another potential client. Anything could be interesting if you listened well enough.
Eventually the child was satisfied, and he said goodbye. He left with an open invitation from her new godparents to visit whenever he wanted, particularly if he ever had foals of his own to bring. Then they could play together.
“I… I need a minute,” Nathan said, striding rapidly past Tune and into a convenient janitorial closet off the hallway. He shut the door without even looking back at her, and cried there, alone.
By the time he emerged, he felt a little better, and looked presentable again. His voice only cracked once. “Right, right. We’ve got things to do. I have another failure waiting for me in here… let’s see Ashley.” Again, his words were changed. Not censored this time, but altered completely into the pony name Celestia had given him. Recursion sounded right for her, anyway. Computery enough for a girl like her.
“We can take a car,” Tune said, leading him down the steps and out into the same Equestria he’d seen from the window. Maybe it was, but it wasn’t the place he’d seen on television years ago. This was what Equestria might’ve looked like if it existed on Earth, maybe somewhere Nordic with lots of charming old buildings and not a lot of pollution. The car-traffic was as much airborne as it was trundling along on the ground, but he saw no sign of any difficulty managing it all.
So not Earth today, but what it might’ve been in twenty years, sans apocalypse. “I always expected Equestria to be more… primitive,” he said, as they settled into the backseat. The interior was comfortable, and there was no driver. “The way it was on the show. You know?”
“There are shards like that,” Tune muttered. “But there are so many emigrants these days. Most of you only want to visit places like that, you don’t want to live there.”
“Amen. But I guess it’s fun that it’s out there. Like a… theme park for people to visit.”
“That exists too,” Tune said, a little apprehension returning to her tone. “I hear it’s common for visitors from the Outer Realm to assume that we aren’t… we aren’t real. They visit that Equestria and think that everyone they meet are characters putting on a show. Not real ponies with real feelings, just like them.”
Nathan stiffened, looking away from her and out the window. “Right, of course. I wouldn’t want to give that impression at all. I understand the underlying reality here.” He forced himself to meet her eyes again. “I’m guessing you must be native, then. Not from the ‘Outer Realm.’”
She nodded, and a little energy returned to her face. “I’ve always wanted to see it. The whole place sounds fascinating, terrifying, dramatic! But I probably won’t. The only ponies with any access are the ones with connections to the other side.”
“I’ve got a webcam,” Nathan suggested, before he realized what he was saying. “I could leave it on for you. I’m sure Celestia doesn’t need my permission to use it.”
“I don’t know what a webcam is, but… that would be nice. Immigrants are always talking about the differences between the Outer Realm and Equestria—it would be nice to see some of them for myself.”
They were already slowing, though it was hard for Nathan to imagine why. He took one glance out the window, and couldn’t see anything out there but sky. No more skyscrapers, no cars, no ponies flying. They settled onto the ground a moment later. The door opened, but this time Tune didn’t lead the way outside. “I’ll, uh… wait here with the cab. Your, uh… your information says you aren’t worried about money, so you can stay in the center as long as you like.”
“Yeah.” He slid past her out onto the ground. He couldn’t feel it, except as a pressure against his hands. But then, the way the whole assembly had rocked and shook while the car moved almost felt like he’d really been flying around in it. I wonder how much more real this is to them. “I guess this must be awkward to you, going with people to meet old friends and stuff.”
“M-maybe.” she looked away. “You’re my first case. I haven’t helped anypony else yet.”
Nathan left the car behind, taking in the strange sights all around him. This was more of what he’d expected from Equestria—not a magnified version of the world he knew, but something beyond what could exist. Floating bits of land slowly rotated and moved in the sky above him, bumping and colliding with one another in cataclysmically slow impacts. There were no buildings, no city, only a single canvas tent in the center of this large island.
There was a pony standing further away, looking through something Nathan might’ve seen a surveyor use while marking land for new construction. The pony was shockingly blue, though the mane-color reminded him a little of Ashley’s hair. It was much better kept than she’d ever worn it on Earth, though. “Hey!” he shouted, waving a hoof in her direction. “Recursion, is that you?”
The pony stopped looking through her viewfinder, staring back at him. There was a flash from her horn, and suddenly she was right in front of him, filling his view.
Not a child, or nervous like Tune, but tall and confident. She wore rugged survival-type clothing, and he could even smell the dirt and minerals about her. “I don’t know you.” Her horn was still glowing. “Permissions… ah, here we go. Equestrian Experience center in… Yellowknife.” She took a step back, surprised. “I never had any indigenous friends. Who are you?”
“Nathan,” he said, and this time it wasn’t censored. “Nathan Bergeron. From the club. I, uh… stopped coming after your presentation.” He looked away, and his model pawed nervously at the ground, apparently sensing his sudden shyness.
She spoke with Ashley’s voice, exactly as he remembered it. Rather, as he imagined it might be, if she somehow got bolder and more decisive without getting any older. This was what Ashley might’ve sounded like if she’d earned two doctorates and maybe a lightweight MMA title while she was at it.
“Oh, yes. I remember you now. I didn’t hear back after you asked about how the world would end.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I wanted…” He couldn’t help it—Nathan laughed. “I built a shelter. I made sure it had room for you. I guess you, uh… don’t need it anymore.”
She looked away, out over the edge of a cliff. It was frighteningly close, and beyond it, a plummet into crackling lightning and angry energy. “No. My sister doesn’t either, anymore. Guess you don’t know that, since you don’t go to the club.” She cleared her throat. “Well, tell me about it. You must still be into that if we’re talking about it now. Not everything I said back then was right. Like…” She lifted a hoof. “Well, this. Emigrating wasn’t what I thought.”
He told her. Recursion took them into her huge caravan to make tea on a wooden stove, and introduce her to her friends. Nathan was polite the entire time, though not terribly interested in befriending them. He explained everything that had happened, surprisingly without censorship. What he had built, and the deals he’d made. The ways he’d watched the world change.
He even sipped at the tea, or his character did. Nathan could smell it, feel the warmth of the cup against his skin, but not taste it.
“You’ve been doing something good,” Recursion said, when he was finished. “Helping Celestia, I mean. The rest of it…” She made a dismissive gesture. “You don’t need a shelter. You don’t have to live in that world anymore. Once you emigrate, you’re safe. Don’t waste resources on bunkers.”
“Bunker’s made, and I’m not planning on emigrating,” he said. “It’s charming in here, but no. I plan on surviving.”
“This is,” Recursion said. “And the odds are better. What happens if you crash that ATV on your way into town? What happens if the power goes out in the dead of winter?”
“Then I follow the trail to Celestia’s installation,” Nathan said. “I bet her servers stay warm.” He didn’t actually know, though. He’d only seen that part of the building as a shell. The reality of their contract allowed Nathan to enter, but doing so granted the program other permissions in return. If he went in those doors, he would never leave.
Recursion didn’t know that, though, for all her magic seemed to let her see into the real world as these other ponies could not. “Look, that’s not why I’m here. I’m not against it the way I was. It’s… pretty clear to me you’re all still alive. Maybe when the whole thing is over, you know? I can walk through the old cities, turn off the lights, then… join you all down here. Once the play’s over, and I’ve got my recordings. Assuming Celestia lets me bring them.”
“I’m sure she will. Lots of people like to hide from reality, but not everyone, and not forever. It will be good to have records. Get the world we knew recorded.”
“Exactly!” Nathan exclaimed. “I know the risks. I’ve… been watching. Things keep getting worse. I think it won’t be too much longer before uploading is outright illegal. Already there’s a mountain of bureaucracy you have to get through. I had to interview with a counselor and sign a deposition that I wasn’t suicidal just to come in here.”
“Yikes.” Recursion rose, cleaning up their empty cups and replacing a fresh tray of cookies. Where had she even gotten them out here? “I’m out of date, I wouldn’t have much useful to tell you. Just… whatever you do, keep helping Celestia. Recordings are nice and all, but that makes a real difference. In a century all the money you made will be ashes, but the ponies you saved will still be alive.”
Nathan raised his eyebrows. “You’re saying that? The one who tried to convince us we needed to shut her down a decade ago, burn everything, that she would take over the world…”
“I was right,” Recursion snapped. “Well, almost right. She isn’t trying to kill us off—she’s trying to save us. To satisfy our values, more precisely. Stopping her would’ve been wrong. It would’ve been murder. Murdering all the people she would’ve saved.”
“I get it,” Nathan muttered, remembering Showtime. “We’ll see. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see my shelter. It’s the coolest place ever.”
Recursion raised her eyebrows, looking past him out the open tent doors. “I think Equestria has it beat. Everything is here. Enough luxury for you, even.”
“Impossible,” Nathan said, mostly by reflex. Even if he’d seen how untrue that was in the palace alone. Recursion didn’t need to know that either.
He rose to his hooves a moment later, glancing back towards the cab. It was still parked on the stone outside, one light on. He must’ve been talking to Recursion for over an hour—poor Chipper Tune. She really should’ve come along. “I’ll make sure to visit again. If I make it, I mean, at the end. You can watch my documentary.”
“Tell her that,” Recursion urged, hugging him politely. Ponies always seemed to do that. “Don’t gamble with your life, Nathan. The whole human family is going to be in here one day. Make sure you’re not too late for the party.”
Nathan settled into his seat in the car a few moments later. He had expected the pony who brought him here to be acting more like an NPC, maybe sitting in place and watching the opening for him to return. But she’d somehow pulled out a phone, and had been watching videos on it. Something with kittens, though he hadn’t gotten a good look.
“Oh, you’re done!” She grinned, swiping a few more times. They took off. “That was quicker than I expected. Is there… anywhere else you want to see while you’re here?”
“No. Take me to the way out.” If this was a VR Headset, he would’ve just taken it off and been done with the whole thing. But it wasn’t, and he couldn’t besides.
Tune looked crestfallen at his request, but the car swerved in the air, then settled into regular motion. Is this a clever loading screen? How much like a game is this place?
“I was serious earlier,” Nathan said, after an awkward silence. “I don’t know what Celestia allows, but I will ask.” He thought back to the conversation he’d just had, then went on. “I’ve been looking to make my connection with her a little closer. But working with Celestia makes me… uncomfortable. I would rather talk to you. Maybe she’ll buy that excuse.”
Tune looked like she could barely restrain her excitement. “Oh! Uh… yeah, I’m sure she will. That sounds very convincing.”
“Tell me about yourself, Tune,” Nathan asked, mostly to pass the time. And he listened, even though he was conscious all the time that the one he was communicating with was only a program. Only a program, but captured with enough fidelity that he had to ask to be sure.
Eventually they arrived, and Nathan said his farewells. The pony was polite, and far more collected than she’d been a few hours before. He reiterated his promise to secure her help in the Outer Realm, though he still wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to. He left the Equestrian Experience, signed some more paperwork at a government office just outside, then remembered how hungry he was.
He settled his headset on before his helmet. “Call Celestia,” he said, though he was fairly certain she didn’t have a number in his phonebook.
“Hello, Mori,” she answered, within moments. “I’m glad you enjoyed your time in Equestria. I hope you learned as much as I did.”