//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: Trunk // Story: Synthesis // by Starscribe //------------------------------// The longer Dakota remained in Equestria, the harder it was to remind herself that she was still standing in her apartment, wearing weird shoes and probably looking like an idiot. At least in the time before her implant, she could’ve just removed the glasses. Maybe I should start using them again. Just because I don’t need them doesn’t mean they might not be better. That would give her more control than trusting the system. But confusion and indecision would not make this problem go away. She owed Cinnabar an apology. Dakota straightened, brushed her hair a little straighter with one hoof, and marched through the shop door. As with most things, it got out of her way on its own—probably a way of not breaking immersion for the vast majority of people who couldn’t feel anything here. And inside was a shop. There were swords hanging on racks, shields painted in bright colors all dented and scratched by the monsters they’d been used against. Stranger things—flight goggles, boots with spikes on the end, and something that looked remarkably like a grappling hook and a crossbow had made sweet love. It was far better than the shops she remembered seeing in games—here the products really were on display, and each one looked unique. Even otherwise identical swords had different patterns in the steel, or slightly different gold wire in their handles. “Coming! I can’t say how long I’ll be in town, so be sure to—” Cinnabar emerged from the door, still wearing a thick brown apron. But he froze in the doorway, staring at Dakota. “Oh. Hi.” “Hi,” Dakota repeated, walking over to one of the counters and looking down. “I guess this is… what you did before, huh? What you do when you’re not with me? You’re a… shopkeeper.” “A blacksmith,” he responded, tone guarded. “Learned from my mother, been practicing the craft ever since I could swing a hammer straight. Made some changes when I took over the shop. Always planned on settling down here when our time was over. But I never knew when that would happen. Humans are so… unpredictable. Even in Equestria the best wizards can’t give you a good guess for how long a human will live. Maybe all those bits Omnistem is putting into life extension pay off. Maybe you get hit by a bowling ball tomorrow and never log on again. The Gray comes for all of you in time. The… majority of Equestrians don’t even want to meet humans.” “Because they’re… racist? Or do they think we’re evil or something?” And compared to the cartoonish idealized world of Equestria, maybe they were. Or maybe that was just the attitude someone had programmed them with. “No.” Cinnabar winced. “Because then they’d make friends with someone who’s going to die. It’s… almost funny. Silly for sure—ponies like that run some important stuff on Earth, but they don’t want to talk to humans. So you need a Synth as a go-between. Maybe it’s, like… some weird kinda justice. The humans who hate ponies the most won’t have Synths, so they can’t use the things controlled by the ponies who don’t like humans.” It was a stupid, pointless conversation. Dakota didn’t really care about why the computer programs of Equestria thought or acted the way they did. She couldn’t even be sure how many of them were “people” in the same sense that Cinnabar here was. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” she said. “I’m sorry we don’t see eye to eye about the case. But I do still value your friendship—and I need your help.” There. She wouldn’t have felt right lying, or admitting fault she didn’t feel. As insane as the case was, she wouldn’t give it up. It wasn’t even the money anymore—Dakota still wasn’t sure she even planned on spending it. Cinnabar listened, expression flat. Java lingered in the doorway behind her, watching silently, but she didn’t interfere. Cinnabar looked away, wiping at his face with the back of one leg. Damn if those aren’t real emotions. How could she have told the difference—fighting his tears like that, Cinnabar could just as easily be another avatar for a human on the other end. With the childish way ponies acted, she couldn’t help but picture a boy, maybe a young teenager. Wanting to be helpful, but not knowing how, or really understanding what he was getting himself into. “You can say that again,” Cinnabar finally answered. “I don’t understand why you’re… so determined to solve this case. You could’ve told Omar to leave you alone. You could’ve asked him to come back after you healed… he already seemed to have somepony else in mind to solve it for him. It didn’t have to be us.” “It didn’t have to be, but I wanted it to be,” she muttered. “I feel like… I’m still figuring everything out, Cinnabar. But my whole world is getting so tangled up in Equestria. There’s that Monolith in orbit of the Moon, there’s more and more companies like Omnistem with ponies working for them. Every reasonable person has a Synth, though I can’t imagine very many are as helpful as you—” She had to say something nice, because she was about to be harsh. “Have you ever thought that… maybe the reason you’re against having me solve this case is because someone in Equestria might be responsible? The, uh… princess you’re always talking about, maybe. Someone, who can… control you?” It wasn’t exactly the right thing to say. But after her implants, Dakota couldn’t help but have control on the mind. She knew all too well what it was like to doubt her own senses. Though every digital reading told her they were better than they’d ever been, they were clearly lying to her. Here she was apparently standing in a blacksmith shop in Equestria, though she was still in her own apartment. She could still feel the shoes on her feet, and the textured concrete floor underneath. If she concentrated on it. “I mean… maybe,” Cinnabar admitted. “But that’s not the real reason I was upset. I guess I didn’t stick around to tell you. I would’ve, if you didn’t just sign up like that…” he grumbled, looking away. “This case hasn’t been unsolved for lack of trying. If you still had all your memories…” He swallowed, then tried again. “Java, I see you lurking back there.” She emerged, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah. Just making sure that your human got down here without falling off the cliff.” An interesting and disturbing question. What would happen to her if she did fall off a cliff in Equestria? Certainly she wasn’t in the Matrix—her mind wouldn’t make it real and kill her, would it? That seemed like a huge technical oversight. Not one likely to be popular on many marketing materials either. “How much do you know about our work, Java? Be honest.” “Not much,” she admitted. “I know you do it a lot! I know you’re both very passionate… that you have to do things in Equestria, Earth, and everywhere in between. You’ve been shot at a few times. Mostly by other deckers or corporate police I think.” “Yeah,” Cinnabar said, waving a hoof dismissively. “That’s all right. Now tell Dakota—what do you know about the Kayla Rhodes case.” Her eyes widened. “That’s the one you… shit, girl, you do have a death wish.” She seemed to see Dakota’s frustration, because she added, “I don’t know anything about cases, but I know about the Rhodes disappearance. I know that at least a dozen people who tried to solve that case ended up suffering mysterious accidents. That’s what made her get noticed in the first place—one girl going missing wouldn’t make the news. But one girl goes missing, then all the people who try to find her… I dunno how true the stories all are, maybe they’re apocryphal. It got so bad there was even an act of congress… some kinda FBI appointees went after her. Dunno what happened after that, it never got mentioned again.” “I do,” Cinnabar said, looking away. “Because I went digging around all of last night. The project got quietly defunded and the congresswoman who was the loudest voice for the investigation resigned after a scandal. Most of the other names that can be definitively connected with the case all had something bad happen too. At least three of them just vanished, most of the others had some kind of financial ruin. Obviously nobody found her.” Cinnabar closed the distance between them, resting one hoof on her shoulder and forcing her to meet his eyes. “Forget the shady contract—forget the magic money you have to give back unless you succeed. Someone or something doesn’t want Kayla Rhodes found. It’s probably erased all the evidence in existence, but it’s making extra sure by erasing the people who try to dig it up. Our best option is just doing nothing for the next month, then repaying all the money. We don’t need to make waves.” Dakota didn’t look away. “How about… Cinnabar, it might have been long enough now that the one who cared is dead. Or maybe they’ve changed their mind. We won’t know if we don’t try. Who knows—maybe we’ll attract less attention than something with the FBI involved. We can always just… poke around a bit. Maybe we find something interesting, or maybe we get threatened.” She raised one hoof. It probably would’ve been hard to balance if she was a pony, except she was really just holding out her hand. The game had to adapt. “If we feel like I’m in real danger, I promise to give up. Good enough? The instant there’s a credible threat, we can send the money back and tell Omar we couldn’t figure it out.” Cinnabar frowned deeply, staring at the hoof. “That’s… probably the best I’m getting out of you, huh?” She nodded. “Unfortunately. I don’t remember much about me—but I know I wouldn’t give up on a mystery like this before I’ve even taken a swing. Far as I can tell, Rhodes is the biggest case in decades. She might be the best lead the world has on discovering what Equestria really wants. But if I’m going to find her, if I’ve got any chance in hell, it’ll only be with you helping me.” Cinnabar seemed to waver another moment, then he flung his forelegs around her in a desperate, sobbing hug. “One night was hard enough, Dakota. I can’t stay away. You’re right, you do need me. I bet you ate rotten eggs for breakfast.” “Ramen, actually. But I still wish I hadn’t.” Cinnabar grinned, wiping away a few more tears. Should this feel weirder to her? Was a digital personal assistant supposed to be so… emotional? But of all the strange new things Dakota had been forced to experience in the world, Cinnabar was perhaps the most comfortable and familiar of them all. “We’ll do lunch,” he said. “Then maybe… we can talk about the case. Go over the stuff everypony knows. But we did human food for dinner, so you get pony food for lunch. No arguing.” Dakota found herself curious about what would happen if she did argue. But she didn’t actually find out. “Just so long as it’s real enough for me to eat. This being… AR and all.” It was, as it turned out. Though he never said as much, Dakota could get a vague sense of moving air around her as they walked through Port Jouster to visit the pub that Cinnabar insisted was “absolutely the best this side of Canterlot.” It did, however, raise an interesting question for her: how would she be able to eat if the interface insisted on covering up her body with stupid pony legs. Apparently some wise engineer had thought of that, because once she was sitting down, the illusion faded away. It was like she was sitting inside the outline of a pony costume—maybe showing what the others around her were seeing, but her own body returned, leading up to a still-decorated table and a tray that moved like it was disposable but looked like sturdy wood. She didn’t care much for nothing but veggies, but she just tried not to think about it, and ate as quickly as she could. Until they’d all finished, her stupid illusion returned, Java took off to “get back to work”, and it was just the two of them sitting alone in the back of the pub while Sous Vide went around cleaning up after the lunch rush. “Are… do other people do this kind of thing all the time?” she asked, unable to stop herself. “Pretending they’re in Equestria… all day?” Cinnabar nodded. “There are plenty of humans who work in here. Who take their goggles off right before bed and put them on again after a shower. Assuming they make it that far, but thankfully we can’t smell how they really are.” Dakota winced at that thought, banishing it as best she could. Humans had done that kind of thing with World of Warcraft before everything changed—probably they were still playing a similar game, just transplanted a few layers deep. “But other people don’t have implants. I didn’t have implants until recently. They can’t feel things, they need a headset… I assume they can wear these weird shoes…” “Yeah.” Cinnabar looked distant, his eyes drifting towards the window. He was apparently looking up the mountain at her house, which felt even stranger since she was still in that house. Except so far as Equestria was concerned, she was sitting in the Sanguine Seapony. “Humans with more money can simulate touch. You have to build a whole room for it. Robotics that are always there when you reach for something. Regular people only get that in arcades. I guess you could say the holy grail of AR is a way to give total immersion to anyone without brain surgery, but… Omnistem’s been on it for years, and basically haven’t made progress.” “But it’s no problem if you do get brain surgery,” she muttered, a little annoyed. “They put it into my implants without asking. Implants that are… mostly here to keep my brain working, help it heal. They’re also feeding me all these images of a place that isn’t real.” But damn if she could tell the difference. Her own legs and mane were most often the trigger that took her from the illusion—without them, she easily could’ve accepted this illusory village. Her brain almost wanted to, and the insistence she be a pony like them was the only thing keeping her grounded. “Not without asking,” Cinnabar said, a little surprised. “You filled out all the forms yourself. You opted in to every bit of overlay machinery that was available. Having space for me in there… that’s optional too. It could’ve just been treatment. But that wasn’t what past-you wanted.” “Please don’t…” She swallowed, unable to meet his eyes now. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Cinnabar, but I have to ask: why would past me want her Synth living in her head? You’ve been understanding and friendly and helpful since I woke up, I couldn’t have lived without you. But other people don’t have computers in their heads—they still have good relationships with their Synths, don’t they?” “Yeah…” He didn’t sound offended, so at least she’d managed to avoid hurting him again today. “But regular people don’t go where they aren’t supposed to. If I’m physically present with you, it means you can’t lose signal by going too far underground, or walking into somewhere with Faraday cages or jamming foam. It means that no matter what we do in your world, or how many people we piss off, then at least we’re together when they find us. That means I’m there to call for help if you need it.” Was that enough of a reason? Dakota supposed it had to be. It sounded convincing, anyway. It was like… Cinnabar was a tool that couldn’t be taken away. Though it did feel a little callus to think of a person as a tool. “Okay. Well… I’m ready for some of that help. We have a missing person to find. Her case… everyone seemed to know about it. Maybe we could start by going over the facts that everyone agrees on. Once we do that… at least I’ll know where we stand.” “Sure.” Cinnabar rose to his hooves, turning for the door. “I actually gathered up everything already. It’s back at home, on the second floor. I guessed you wouldn’t know how to go between the floors, so…” “It’s an apartment,” she muttered, eyes narrowing. “There aren’t any.” “Weeeeeeell.” He grinned. “They were in the corner. Those little pads with glowing symbols underneath. They’re supposed to be teleporters, but really it’s just about making you walk to one end of the room, so you can reorient to a new space. It’s one of those mind trick things, bias and perception or whatever. Human stuff. And since you can’t fly back, you’ll have to walk.” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so. I’m still in my apartment, really. Can’t we get back there just by not being in Equestria anymore? Logging out. It seems like something I should learn how to do right away, so you should walk me through it. Don’t do it yourself.” “It… costs bits to do it that way,” Cinnabar said. “Not a lot! We have enough to do it plenty without even touching that advance. But just know it isn’t free. Equestria doesn’t like it when you treat it like a game. The magic to do that costs bits. If you log out just anywhere, like taking off your headset if you still used one, you would just drop unconscious to the floor right where you were. So we have to do a home portal. It only costs ten bits, but you should know.” “Alright, I get it. I want to do it anyway. The walk down was hard on my legs.” He explained the steps to her in simple terms, though he seemed reluctant to be doing it in the middle of the pub. Whenever Sous Vide looked their way, he could only give her an apologetic smile and go back to explaining things. It wasn’t that hard, really. Equestria itself had buried it in nested menus and options, constantly trying to prompt her back into the world to walk out herself. But eventually she found what she wanted, pressed it, and suddenly was in her apartment again. Except that she was still standing on four legs, or looked like she was. It was a detail she’d looked at as little as possible, since she still felt her whole body perfectly, and she’d get slightly sick looking at arms that weren’t actually below her. “Alright, next thing.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Being a pony. It’s cute—maybe I don’t have a choice in Equestria. But this is my house. How do I switch avatars?” That was easier, particularly when she was at home. It only took her a few more minutes to master that, at least with Cinnabar there to help her. A few quick transformations backwards and forwards, and she was back in her regular body. Once she could see them, the first thing she did was remove her shoes, placing her socked feet firmly back on the cement. “WARNING, LIMITED FIDELITY RECREATION. PLEASE REPLACE EQUIPMENT.” She could ignore a little bold text out of the corner of her eye. So long as it couldn’t mind control her into putting those shoes back on, she wouldn’t until they went back to Equestria. “I’m guessing my house doesn’t make me have to wear those,” she said, swaying a little on her feet as she saw her body reappear. It should’ve been familiar to her, and in many ways it was—but maybe her brain had gotten more used to seeing a bright purple coat than she’d thought. “Well… there are some people now living in… I think they’re called ‘microspaces’? Fully integrated, can’t be experienced any other way. They’re maybe… ten feet square, with interaction hardware to simulate furniture, or wash, or… whatever. But new technologies take time to catch on, it’s mostly younger people moving into them. Why own dozens of different things when you can put all your bits into one thing that covers all your needs?” “Because that’s… really weird and disgusting,” she answered, imagining what an integrated toilet might be like. Then she pushed it from her mind, before Cinnabar could notice and show her one. “I do kinda want to see one while it’s off though. But… not right now. You said there were more floors?” She glanced to the edges of the room, and sure enough there was the glowing pad with its many symbols running around the rim. There was a button on the wall, and no mystery about what it did. “So when I press it…” She was already walking over, talking as she went. Cinnabar followed along beside her, like a friendly dog but bigger. “Nothing in my apartment changes.” “Well… not much changes. You’ve got two chairs and the table on wheels. You won’t hear them for the same reason you don’t hear your neighbors, but… they move. Mostly it’s digital, though.” She pressed the button, and light flashed around her. When it finally faded, she was surrounded by thick stone, like she’d descended into the mountain. Here was something not unlike Cinnabar’s workshop in Port Jouster, though the furnace was under a huge hood. But most of the space was a library, with lots of shelves and only the one single space. There was also a huge projection screen and entertainment center, far too expensive for her to actually afford. “Like, the room is actually the same size—it’s stuck that way when you’re not wearing the shoes. And lots of decorative pieces like shelves are masking things that are stuck in place. That opening into those books down there? That’s really the bathroom, and the gap between the shelves just happens to be exactly the same size as the doorway. It’s all like that. Only the furniture you’re going to actually use is… completely real. And it lines up with real furniture, or connected stuff that moves a bit.” It felt like she was standing somewhere totally different. Dakota wandered forward a few steps, expecting to smack her face into a stove or a table, but the space was as empty as it looked. “And… even if you live in a tiny, shitty apartment… you could make it look like you had a huge mansion. Like mine.” “Yeah!” Cinnabar beamed, practically bouncing around her. She could feel him brush past her leg whenever he got close. “Except that humans are good at vague pattern-matching and heuristics, so… you wouldn’t want to have too many floors. Only a few variations, and they can be different enough that you’ll think you’re in different space. Your brain wants to think it is, so you do. But if we had, like… a hundred? And if you used them somehow? You’d start to realize the places where you real stuff was. There’d always be something conveniently overlapping the fridge, and the other chairs, and the sink, and… it would spoil the illusion.” Dakota sat down, letting the files fall open in front of her. It was time to see how screwed she was.