Nathan doubted his intruder had gotten what she wanted out of her night with him. But she’d been drunk, hungry, and desperate, and he’d been raised better than that. At least being so drunk made her easy to get into one of the guest bedrooms, where she couldn’t hurt herself.
“You are not what I expected,” said her pony, in a voice like a surprised guard dog. “The way Chipper Tune looked at you. You look as lonely as she is. But less drunk.”
“Humans aren’t always what they seem,” said Chipper Tune from beside him. “I thought Mori was something else when I first met him, too. He surprised me.”
Nathan shrugged. “I’ve never seen your like before, Mr…”
“North Star,” said the pony. “I’m new. I might be the first one who isn’t Pinkie Pie.” Now he sounded proud. “Celestia was worried about the climate researchers. She wanted us to make sure they made it down to civilization safely.”
“That can’t have been easy.”
The pony shrugged. “She made it. That’s the important thing.”
Nathan left him alone in the hall, to watch over Brooke’s shut door. “Would you like a body too, Tune?”
“Nah.” She didn’t even hesitate. “I don’t wanna be a robot. Celestia’s got holograms that don’t need glasses these days, but that would be worse. It’s better if they don’t see me.”
Nathan cleaned up the downstairs, then cleaned himself up while he was at it. A razor made quick work of the beard he’d grown, which he didn’t expect to need again.
He slept in the master bedroom, with the door locked and a gun on the nightstand, just in case.
He woke much earlier than his guest, and made his way downstairs. No longer dressed like Emile Roy, instead wearing slacks and the kind of white shirt he might’ve worn a few years ago back when appearances still mattered. He didn’t bring the gun this time.
Given Brooke’s weight and how much of the bottle she’d finished on her own, he didn’t expect her anytime soon. He made breakfast, using up the last of the eggs as he did so. Guess we won’t be getting any more of those.
The downstairs was open-plan, and the windows in the sitting room doubled as projection-surfaces. Nathan switched on the CBC, some American news, and a few others from overseas. It was all being recorded of course, footage he occasionally reviewed and cobbled together for his documentary. Though he liked to watch as much as he could too.
It was the same stuff. Food lines, desperation, martial law. Toronto was just as bad, but up here—well, the Northern Territories didn’t have enough people for all that. Many of its inhabitants hadn’t even noticed the world ending below them, given how little contact they had. Remote tribes didn’t get Experience Centers.
Yet. I’m sure Celestia has a plan for them too.
A bedraggled-looking Brooke made her way downstairs sometime around noon, trailing blankets like a ghost. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she half-covered them as she walked. “What time is it?”
“Here.” Nathan opened a cabinet, tossing her a bottle. She dropped it, but the pony following her offered it up to her helpfully.
Brooke winced. “The bastard still has Excedrin?”
“Yep. And orange juice in the fridge.” It had come in a can, instead of airlifted from some Florida grower. But it was a tremendous luxury these days. Just like a warm house and pancakes.
Brooke wandered in and out of the kitchen a few times, not really seeing him. He heard the shower again, and eventually she entered, trailed by North Star and staring at him.
She froze then, her hands shaking. “You… you look different than last night.”
He nodded, pushing the typewriter away from his fingers and glancing back at her. “Yeah. I don’t shave when I’ve got a long way to walk.”
She took a few cautious steps inside. She wasn’t wearing one of his stolen bathrobes anymore, but dirty underclothes that looked like they’d come a long way. They were still damp, but whatever she’d done to try and wash them couldn’t get all the stains out. She had a pair of bright orange trousers as well, with a few little flag patches sewn into them.
“You’re the asshole on the walls. Not a hobo.”
He smiled weakly. “Recovering asshole. Why don’t you have breakfast.”
“So you can keep me here until the police show up?” She took a step back. “I don’t think so.”
He laughed. “The police won’t come out here. They don’t have fuel for their snowmobiles anymore. I didn’t call them.” He gestured back at the table. “I did cook breakfast. You look like you need it.”
“What do you think, North Star?” She glanced over her shoulder at the little pony. Nathan could see the joints in the pony’s body, now that he knew what he was looking for. It was remarkably lifelike even so.
The stallion shrugged. “He isn’t lying. He didn’t call anyone.”
“You’ve just got a different angle then.” She sat down at the table anyway, investigating the pancakes with a fork and a few cautious sniffs. “Go on, tell me. It’s drugged, maybe?”
Nathan shook his head. “Give me anything on that table. I’ll taste every one of them so you know they’re safe, if that’s what it takes.”
She did give him a little—a few little slivers, a spoonful of eggs, and he ate it in front of her. She waited, watching him carefully. “Tell me if he reacts, North Star.”
“He’s reacting,” said the pony, hopping up in the chair beside her. “He’s annoyed.”
“Truer words were never spoken.” He pulled the typewriter back up to where he sat, focusing his attention on the screens again. She didn’t start eating, just watching him.
“Why, then?”
“Oh, this?” He reached out to the control set into the table beside him, switching off all but the Canadian news channel. He listened for a few seconds to the “mandatory resettlement” announcement. Canada would be adopting the US system, centralizing their population in a few areas so they could pool what little resources they had. “I’m making a documentary about the end of the world. You should check it out when I’m done, I’m sure it’ll be real good. I’ll win the Academy Award for sure.”
“What do you want?” Brooke asked, a little more of her annoyance coming through. “You must want something. People don’t give this kind of thing away anymore, even the rich ones. Especially the rich ones.”
Nathan gestured at the screen. “I don’t know how long you’ve been in the arctic, Brooke, but ‘rich’ is kind of meaningless at this point. There are enough empty mansions for everyone who wants one. The people I knew weren’t less likely to upload than the people you knew. Some might’ve been more likely.” He turned. “There’s a type—the ones who are never satisfied. Remember that dickhead who thought it would be cool to buy medication patents and make it a thousand times more expensive just because? Those types love Equestria. Celestia can give them an entire universe of conquests.”
“Good,” Brooke said with her mouth full, voice bitter. “Get them as far away as possible from the rest of us.”
For a few minutes she ate, and he typed.
“Why didn’t you go?” she finally asked. “You can see how shit it is out there. I bet you could pay off the right people to get into a Center if you wanted.”
He pointed back at his typewriter. “I told you, I’m working on a documentary. It’s hard to get footage when you’re in Equestria, it turns out. Celestia doesn’t let very many ponies get a good look at what’s going on out here. It’s not very satisfying. But if you want to go, I do know a guy.”
She shook her head. “Fuck that. Not in a million years.”
Nathan felt himself stiffen a little—but could he blame her? There wasn’t a whole lot of neutrality left in the world. Celestia had already convinced all those sorts of people. Only the stubborn were left. Dregs like himself.
“Well, I mean what I said. I don’t want anything from you. Feel free to stick around, I’ve still got a little food left. I’ve got a warehouse full of trade goods I’ve been sitting on since… maybe a decade ago? I don’t know how long I can keep bringing stuff into town to trade. I’m guessing another year before Yellowknife decides to have itself some kind of revolution.”
He sipped at his mostly empty glass of orange juice, sounding properly disinterested.
“You don’t… care? Are you going to keep filming when a mob comes down here?”
He grinned. “Probably, yeah. But you don’t have to be here. I could give you as much as you could carry. Send you off towards… wherever. But honestly, I don’t recommend it.” He gestured vaguely out the window behind him, switching off the last of the televisions. “These people have been living up here for a thousand years. Some theories suggest they survived the last ice age. They’re tough, but there’s just not enough of us to be worth anyone south caring we exist. You won’t find a better place to hide.”
Brooke finished eating before she finally spoke again. “So that’s it? Stay up here, film the end of the world… until the mob shows up and you can’t trade for food anymore? Maybe they take this nice warm mansion from you while they’re at it…”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “If they can keep it warm, more power to them I guess. I won’t be sticking around. I…” He pushed away the typewriter again. “When this was all starting, I had a friend who tried to stop it. I told you last night, but you might not remember. I listened to her then, while the rest of the world laughed at the idea that Equestria Online was anything but a video game. So I’ve been prepared.”
“You must be so proud,” Brooke said, exasperated. She was silent for a long time. “I guess they aren’t hiring many climate scientists.”
“Celestia is,” said North Star’s voice from the ground, ever-helpful. “She’d love to have you in Equestria where your skills could be put to use.”
“I’m sure,” Brooke said, with the same tone she might use to announce she had agreed to drink paint. “Need any help with your documentary?”
Nathan grinned in response. “Lost my last working drone about six months ago. I could use a cameraman.” He stuck his hand out across the table. Brooke hesitated for another few moments—then took it.
Drone flights over Celestia’s facility behind the bunker became much more common in the next few years. Nathan tried (unsuccessfully) to get the digital princess’s permission to interview those she brought before they uploaded.
Indeed, the program was completely unyielding when it came to anything that might change peoples minds’ about Equestria.
With Tune’s help, he did manage to get some concessions.
Travel south became increasingly ill-advised, as even leaving the residency camps became a punishable offence in many areas. Yellowknife escaped most of the worst of it—though it was a city balanced on the knife-edge of tearing itself apart. Only the steady trickle of residents away using the now-unregulated Equestrian Experience kept the city from collapsing.
A few times someone threatened Nathan, or his new partner, or just robbed them.
There were no more broadcasts from the south anymore, at least no legitimate ones. Nathan’s only updates from living people came from pirate-radio broadcasters, either lone survivors who had escaped being rounded up or people working secretly from inside the camps.
But where travel became impossible and broadcasts no longer happened, Nathan supplemented his records with footage from Celestia’s own growing array of sensors. She had deployed an increasingly robust team of robotic drones, which after a few destroyed generations were now basically impervious to any harm that the last few drops of civilization could do. One arrived to bring a new set of computers, which would allow them to see through the eyes of these drones and export the footage in a format his own computers could use.
Not control them—they had their own missions, and he would not be permitted to interfere.
Not that they wanted to. Even with a partner to help with his mission, Nathan soon felt overwhelmed by the data flowing in. More than one person could possibly process. He had to settle on picking only a few of the camps to watch, and hope that what they learned would be generally applicable.
Eventually Yellowknife itself became a target. “The North American Combined Air Service is on its way,” warned Princess Celestia—not just to him, but to the entire city. Many people had assistant ponies by then, not just Brooke. So Celestia had many mouthpieces. “They intend to capture every person in the city, and bring them back to the Toronto residential district. Every person should flee to Equestria—through the Center, or whatever alternate method you may have.”
Nathan happened to be together with Brooke at the time, enjoying a “warm” spring day on the balcony of the second story.
“See, no riot,” Nathan said. “They’re going to get kidnapped instead. Awesome.”
“There’s no way they don’t know about this place.” Brooke didn’t wear her old arctic survival gear anymore—she’d sewn herself a new wardrobe using some of the cloth supplies he’d stockpiled for trade. She wasn’t good at it, but at least they’d had North Star to show them how it was done. She rose from the table, setting down her cigarette in the ashtray. “Guess this is it. Goodbye luxury, hello work camp.”
“Nah.” Nathan left his lunch uneaten. “Tune, get the garage open. Do we have time to drive?”
“Most of the way. But the Air Service guys probably have heat-tracking, so you’ll have to ditch it in a river when I say.” Tune vanished in a flash of her horn, off to obey his command. She still didn’t have a body, which made such things easier.
Nathan took the stairs two at a time, running straight for his studio. He grabbed a bugout bag off the wall as he ran, then stopped in the computer room to start removing his work drives, packing each of them into the backpack.
“Don’t tell me you’re giving up now. You’re not actually going to run off to Equestria, are you? What happened to growing old together?”
“I’m already older than you,” he pointed out. Even thinking about it was strange. Such a difficult lifestyle and healthy eating felt like it was keeping him young. Brooke too, though he’d always expected her to age more gracefully than he did. I’d be close to retiring if that was still a thing people did.
“No, not Equestria.” He split the mirrored drives between two packs, passing the second one to her. “They’ll just assume we emigrated. Hopefully most of Yellowknife does. Not us, though. No fucking work camp either. Come on.”
He took her hand, and together they made their way into the garage. Tune had already started the ATV, and filled it with the last of the biodiesel. He didn’t know how the supposedly insubstantial pony had been able to do more and more that was real, but this was hardly the right time to ask. He strapped his bugout bag to the cargo rack, then climbed on the front, making room for Brooke behind him.
“This is why I stayed with you,” Brooke said, pleased. “Maybe if a few more people cared as much as you did, the world wouldn’t be over.”
He shrugged, but wasn’t able to talk much after that. Nathan had the way to his bunker memorized, even though he’d never taken Brooke there or even suggested that it existed. It was one of the few secrets he’d kept, even as their time together had deepened their relationship. But she would learn about it now.
I wonder if my parents are still alive. I hope Celestia sent some of those emigration robots up into the Alps. Even knowing all his father had done, it was heartbreaking to imagine some bunker full of old people starving to death in the cold.
“You’re coming up on the river crossing,” Tune said into his ear. She didn’t try to run along beside him, as North Star was doing. The projection could just make her appear as soon as they stopped. “Once you’re on the other side, get that quad completely submerged. Maybe take the river as far as you can, instead of the trail. You can go under when they pass and let it hide you.”
Nathan slowed to a stop in the center of the tiny wooden bridge—one made from a pair of fallen logs, which were painted so as to seem further apart than they were. Only in person would it be clear they were the exact same level, and the perfect distance for his ATV.
“Why’d you stop here?” Brooke asked.
“Engines are hot,” he said, gesturing for her to get off.
Only once he’d pulled off the gear did he shove the whole thing off the bridge into the river. It was at least ten feet deep, though the current wasn’t particularly strong. “I’ll miss that quad.”
“I’m sure the military will let you bring it with you to your new job as a… I dunno. I wonder what jobs they’d give us. I guess not scientists…”
“Well you’re the scientist,” he said, gesturing the direction for them to go down the riverbank. Broke joined him without complaint. Any trace of the starved, suspicious wraith he’d first met was long gone.
“I knew you had something out here,” Brooke said, as they walked together along the riverbank. “You always went north. I knew it had to be something. Somewhere safe to finish the documentary, I guess.”
He nodded. “Celestia promised she would keep it safe for me. Part of that deal meant never talking about it, until it was time to use it. I only ever visited once a decade. Even let her take care of rotating supplies.”
“You’re a filthy collaborator,” Brooke said, nudging him playfully with one arm. “I knew it all along.”
“Guilty.” He grinned back. “Honestly, I’m a little surprised they didn’t lock me up on some kind of money laundering thing. I was definitely laundering Celestia’s money.”
“Because the princess keeps her promises, obviously,” Tune called from behind him, annoyed. But then, Tune was always a little jealous when he was physical with Brooke. She’d never completely gotten used to their relationship, not after all these years. “We should’ve moved there years ago, Mori. You’ll really like the upgrades. The lodge will feel like… camping.”
They still had a long way to walk—at Nathan’s guess, at least ten miles. It was further than Nathan felt comfortable traveling in one trip, particularly after such a rough ride this far. He might feel like he wasn’t as old as he should be, but his body didn’t always bear out those predictions. He was old enough now that sometimes things he thought should be easy just weren’t anymore.
“There they are!” called Tune from beside him, pointing up into the air with one hoof.
At once, they darted under the cover of the trees. Best not to give them a reason to come out this far. Nathan squinted off into the distance, back towards Yellowknife, and he could make out a few faint specks, along with a distant sound. They looked like big planes, whatever they were.
“You think they’ll even bother with our house?” he asked, turning back towards the path and urging Brooke on beside him. “The lodge is so far out of town, and we’re just two people.”
“Probably they will,” North Star said. “They’ve been going out of their way to find everyone they can. Not just for the reasons you think. They know that anyone they leave behind won’t have anypony to turn to but Celestia. And they don’t want that, because they’re dumb.”
“That’s not the worst thing,” Brooke said, after a few quiet minutes of walking. They saw no sign that they’d been spotted. “People sticking together. You need a significant population to just have the genetic diversity to keep reproducing. You’d think Celestia would leave our last settlements alone. Doesn’t she want more ‘ponies’ to enslave?”
“It’s not enslaving!” Tune snapped. This was the other reason she didn’t like Brooke—Tune was still loyal to Celestia. “Besides, no. Ponies can have foals in Equestria just like they do in the Outer Realm. Well… better than out here, since it never happens on accident, and they’re always wanted, and mares don’t die in childbirth, and…”
Brooke threw a rock through where Tune was standing. It bounced off the riverbed, skittering away. “Shut up with that. Not today.”
But Tune hadn’t just grown more visible in the intervening years—she’d also grown bolder. “Maybe today is the most important day to talk about it!” she exclaimed, looking annoyed. “Unless you want to go to the camps with those other people who won’t upload. The ones in China have already started shooting ponies if they try to get out.”
That was news to Nathan. He slowed, glancing over his shoulder. “Why haven’t I seen anything like that?”
She turned tearful eyes on him. “Because the princess doesn’t want you to, obviously! Because it’s scary and awful and you’d hate it!”
She was right. Then why did Celestia let you say that?
“Go away, Tune,” Broke said, readying another rock. “You can propagandize us when we aren’t trying to avoid getting captured. If Equestria is so great, you should get the fuck back there and leave us alone.”
Nathan opened his mouth to protest, putting out one arm—but he was too slow. Tune did vanish, leaving the three of them alone.
“That was too harsh,” North Star said. “She was just trying to be helpful.”
“Yeah?” she rounded on Nathan next. “What do you think, sympathizer?” No playfulness in that word anymore. “You think Equestria’s fuckin’ great too? The evil AI is just misunderstood?”
“I—” Nathan hesitated. “I don’t want you to treat Tune like that,” was all he could manage.
He didn’t get to say anything else, because Brooke stopped in her tracks, swearing loudly. “Well fuck you too then! Fuck all of you!” She unslung her pack of hard drives and threw it at him, as hard as she could. Nathan dodged instinctively—and the pack splashed into the river behind him.
“You can keep your fucking bunker!” she went on, backing away from him. “You were part of this, Nathan! You were always part of it! You’re done murdering Jews and it’s off to Argentina! Well fuck that!” She reached down, drawing her handgun. The same little handgun Nathan had taught her to shoot—taught her to clean, to maintain, to make bullets.
Nathan froze immediately, raising both hands. His own gun was out of reach—but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t shoot a deer, much less the woman he’d spent the last five years of his life with.
Apparently, neither could she. After a few shaky seconds, Brooke threw the gun over his head and into the river. Then she ran.