“Master… is it wrong that sometimes, I get an itch to take over the world?”
With a quick turn of her head, Vinyl Scratch took a moment to regard her apprentice’s rather honest question. Lately, there had been a lot of questions about all manner of subjects, but most of them were moral in nature. Being Sumac Apple’s master, his instructor, it was her sworn duty to shape his morals into something beneficial to society.
“That’s perfectly normal,” she said to her apprentice in a calm, cool, collected voice. “We’re unicorns. I’d be more worried if you didn’t want to take over the world. That’s not natural. Care to share your plan for world domination?”
Amused, Vinyl watched as Sumac’s expression changed a dozen times or more while he no doubt tried to figure out if she was joking. At the tender age of eight, he was far more expressive and well-spoken than most adults. Of course, she had a lot to do with that, as having a well-spoken apprentice spoke well of her as a unicorn. She took pride in this job, just as she took pride in every other thing she did.
“No real plan. Not yet, anyhow.” The colt looked away, but at nothing in particular.
Vinyl looked around her workshop, her eyes going from half-finished project to half-finished project. An electric fan hummed in the corner and caused bits of sawdust and metal shavings to blow across the floor. For a moment, she studied the partially finished phonograph of her own design, a phonograph that played both sides of the record at the same time to produce incredible stereo sounds. It was an invention that would no doubt change the world, but it was rather boring to work on.
With Octavia away at a lepidopterology convention, and with Alto off with his father to do whatever it was those two did, Vinyl was free to do pretty much whatever she felt like. Without consequences. All of the responsible adults were elsewhere, which meant that she was free to do as she pleased. But, what to do? Sumac was quiet—almost too quiet—and she suspected that he might be troubled about something. As for herself, she sensed boredom closing in.
“Hey Vinyl…”
“Yeah, Sumac?”
“That camera… that new invention. The camera that snaps animated pictures.”
“What about it, Sumac?” Vinyl’s ears pivoted forwards so that she might hear her apprentice better over the drone of the fan. “Do you want one?”
“No,” the colt replied right away, shaking his head. “Vinyl… that should have been ours. We should have made that. I’m kinda mad about it, actually. That camera, I mean, it feels so obvious now. That idea should have been ours.”
Sighing, shrugging, Vinyl slipped one foreleg over Sumac’s withers. “That’s just how life is, sometimes. Let it go. Don’t get bent out of shape.”
“I didn’t plan on getting bent out of shape.” Sumac adjusted his glasses, lifted his head, and looked Vinyl right in the eye. Or would have, but her dark glasses and his dark glasses reflected mirrored images of themselves. “We need to invent our own camera to make up for this blunder.”
“What did you have in mind, Sumac?” Intrigued, she wondered what her apprentice had planned. Some of his ideas were brilliant—others, not so much.
“A camera that captures smell.”
“Say again?” Vinyl’s head tilted off to one side and her ears angled out over her eyes.
“Photographs that smell. Like, if you took a picture of a flower, you’d be able to smell the flower if you sniffed the photograph. If we don’t invent this, somepony else will. Somepony else invented the animated pictures, so we need to be the ones who gets this one.”
Reaching up, she rubbed her chin with her hoof while leaning against her apprentice. One idea caused another to appear, and then another, and the next thing she knew, she was thinking about phonographs that produced smells to go along with the music. What practical purpose would this serve? She had no idea, but it had to be done.
For science.
“Do we have a name?” she dared to ask.
“Olfactography,” was her apprentice’s quick reply. “Olfactograph.”
“Brilliant. Say, that’s kinda groovy. So how do we make it work? I’m guessing that you’ve thought this out?”
“It’s the same principle as the animated photographs, really. A simple illusory matrix, but rather than capturing and remembering photons in various positions, it captures the particles that smell and then replicates them. I have the idea of how it should work, but it is too complicated for me to do on my own.”
“Hmm,” Vinyl hmmed, still rubbing her chin. This was an idea of complex simplicity. Of simple complexity. Illusory replication spells were her forte, because that was how she made her voice work. The more she thought about it, the more reasonable it became. This would be easy. If they got started now, they could have a working prototype by day’s end.
Getting a smell to stick to a matrix would be infinitely easier than creating the controlled cacophony that gave her a voice. That was unbelievably complicated and even now, all this time later, she was still making adjustments. But Sumac’s idea seemed stupidly simple. So simple, in fact, it made Vinyl wonder why nopony had ever done this before.
“Sumac, fetch our science goggles! We’re making science!”
The guts of the camera lay scattered across the workbench. A lamp illuminated them and cast distorted shadows across the scarred wooden surface. Silver globules of solder sunk into crevices in the wood glittered in the harsh, overly-bright light, the evidence of Vinyl’s many projects. While she deconstructed one of her many cameras, Sumac was hard at work constructing a tiny air bellows to help suck in smells so they could be captured.
While it was a perfectly serviceable idea, Vinyl hoped that she could imbue a sense of collection on her spell matrix, which would make it sample the various aromas in the general vicinity when an olfactograph was taken. The sweet scent of mountain meadows would accompany the pleasing sight of wildflowers. Octavia would love this idea, Vinyl was sure of that, and it would completely change their butterfly hunting expeditions.
To activate the matrix, she would have to attach a thaumaton load to a trigger mechanism of some sort, probably the flash. The resulting flood of magic would activate and empower the matrix, and if everything went as planned, it would sample the air in the general area. But smells tended to be weak, sometimes, so Vinyl was already thinking of ways to amplify the aroma—to concentrate the very essence of the smell. The faint whiff, the mere, suggestive hint of wildflowers would not be enough. The olfactograph would have to whisk one away to beautiful, sun-dappled meadows filled with frolicking butterflies.
“What happens when mares love each other?”
The question, asked out of the blue, gave Vinyl pause.
“How does it work, I mean? I know how it works normally. I know how foals are made. It strikes me as being a sort of mechanical issue. The tab goes securely into the slot and interface is achieved. But how do two slots connect and achieve interface? For stallions, it makes a bit of sense, we have a tab and a slot… of sorts. I guess. Thinking about it is really weird and I feel kinda uncomfortable right now. When the two slots connect, is it like pressing your frog down into the mud and flexing it until it makes farty sounds? Is it a matter of suction?”
Flabbergasted, Vinyl Scratch put her screwdriver down upon the workbench.
“Sumac, what brought this up?” she asked, fearing whatever answer might happen.
“You said that I could talk to you about anything,” he replied, his voice squeaky and more than a little frightened.
She inhaled, her cheeks bulged, her muzzle crinkled, and she let everything out in a slow huff. Another deep breath was taken, and this time, rather than let everything out in a slow, calming exhale, she had this to say:
“Yes, you can talk to me about anything. Even that. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” She picked up her screwdriver once more, flipped it around once, and then, not knowing what to do with it at the moment, she put it down once more. “You just want to know how everything works, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“That’s good,” she said to him, trying to restore his good mood. “Too many ponies never ask questions. Never be ashamed to ask questions, Sumac.” The inside of Vinyl’s goggles grew humid enough to fog over, and she thought about taking them off. Thinking of Octavia didn’t help matters at all, nor did thoughts about rubbing things together.
“Sumac, it is a matter of friction,” she said at last, trying to make this as science-y as equinely possible.
“Friction?” he asked.
“Yes. Friction. Like when you scratch your back for a while and it feels good. You scratch or rub anything long enough, and it feels good. We mares have hot, sweaty, itchy places, and it feels good to have them scratched. We work to scratch each other’s itch. It’s like backrubs, but with crotches.”
“Is this why you’re called Vinyl Scratch?”
Time ceased to function and Vinyl stood there, stymied, licking her lips but unable to answer. Sumac’s astute observation had robbed her of speech. Try as she might, she could not muster the magic that powered her voice. She did grin though, a big stupid grin that stretched almost ear to ear, and she knew that she would have to tell Octavia all about this later.
One day, Sumac would grow up to become a legendary wit, and she would have a hoof in that. As the incoming tide of pride broke over her, other emotions rode the incoming waves. Still dumbstruck, she contemplated the unique relationship between master and apprentice. Never in her life had she ever felt more wizardy, more accomplished.
She looked down at the components of the camera scattered across the workbench, and she found her voice again. “Never stop asking questions, Sumac. Never stop being you. Other ponies will tell you to grow up. To be mature. They will tell you to shut up and stop asking silly questions. Don’t listen to them. The world needs wit. There’s a shortage of wit, Sumac. There’s far too many dullards gunking everything up.”
A confused smile spread across Sumac’s face.
“Pay attention, Sumac. I’m going to show you how to mount a microcrystalline implant and how to interface it with an electronic device. In this case, a camera. We’re going to connect it to the flash activation mechanism, so the magic will be activated when the flash goes off. Once this is done, we’ll see about anchoring a spell in there. You ready?”
“Ready,” he replied.
“Good. Now pay attention!”
Vinyl marvelled at how well Sumac took to programming. While he lacked the means to cast more complex spells due to his age, he still understood the concept, the reasoning behind sequencing magic. Everything had to be logical, orderly, and done in just the right way, otherwise, the project would fizzle out. While this could be considered enchantment in the barest sense of the word, Vinyl much prefered to consider it was just programming—a created sequence of instructions and actions to perform a simple purpose or task.
This programming was becoming highly refined in the modern era, with microcrystalline controllers found in almost everything. Like in toasters, making sure that your toast was perfectly burnt no matter what settings you used. Just a tiny sliver of thaumaturgically-active crystal was all that was needed to imbue common household appliances and electronics, altering them in ways only limited by imagination.
In the past, this had been called enchantment, and it had been used to create artifacts.
But this… Vinyl did not feel that her camera was worthy of the title ‘artifact.’ Hence the usage of the word ‘programming.’ This wasn’t an enchanting revolution that was taking the world by storm, but simple magical refinement done by tinkerers and urban wizards. Ponies like herself, and Sumac.
“Did it work?” asked Sumac while casting his dubious gaze upon the now assembled camera.
“Only one way to find out,” Vinyl replied to her apprentice. “But first, I have to go to the little filly’s fart palace. Don’t blow up my workshop. You know. Like you did that one time when you—”
“Accident!” he hollered. “That was an accident! Pebble distracted me by blowing into my ear! Not my fault! Besides, that wasn’t really an explosion. Not really. That was more of a sudden and unexpected fire. Look, the explosion part is debatable!”
Pressing her lips together, she shook her head from side to side. Her apprentice needed to learn to work past distractions. To work through distractions, and not be distracted. So that everything wouldn’t explode. As she stood there, shaking her head from side to side, Sumac’s ears drooped, then drooped a little more, and this continued until they were limp against his temples. She hated seeing him this way, but he had to learn.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to her sulking apprentice. “Today will be glorious!”
When she returned, she found Sumac waving a photograph in the air. Olfactograph. That name was just a little awkward, but she was certain it would catch on. So the little scamp had already taken a picture of something and was now waiting for it to develop. Wary as always, she wondered what sort of mischief he had dabbled in, but judging by the fact that he was humming to himself to project an aura of innocence, he had no doubt done something truly horrendous.
“Okay, Sumac. Let’s have a summary of our work. What did we do?”
“We created a spell matrix,” he replied, still waving the undeveloped olfactograph over his head. “A simple directive was established. Seek out and categorise olfactory elements in the immediate area, and then amplify them so that they are easily identifiable. The various molecules responsible for olfactory stimulation can be applied to the olfactograph so that the illusion of aroma can be created.”
“Say, that’s pretty good. Next time, more science-y jargon. Ponies have expectations of us, and that was almost boring. We’re never boring.”
“Odours have seven basic groups,” the colt continued. “And because of this, we were able to greatly simplify our matrix—”
“Yeah, Sumac, no need for the snorefest. I just wanted to make sure you understood how and why it worked. Which you do. So what did you take a picture of, anyway? Let me see that.”
Reaching out with her mind, she snatched the olfactograph away from her apprentice and had a look. It wasn’t quite developed just yet, but the ghostly image revealed that Sumac had taken a picture of nothing. She squinted at it for a moment, then lowered the olfactograph to eyeball the giggling colt.
“There’s nothing here,” she said.
“On the contrary, Master. Smells are largely invisible. I captured something on film. At least I think I did. I think it just needs time to develop.”
As Vinyl stood there, waving the olfactograph mere inches from her face, she noticed something. It started off weak, almost imperceptible, but developed with alarming intensity. It went from unnoticeable to eye-watering in a matter of seconds, and the reek of rotten eggs assaulted her olfactory senses with such ferocity that she felt her brain fuzz over.
“GAH! SUMAC!” No longer did she wave the olfactograph around to help it develop, as that was now detrimental to her continued existence. It had taken the very essence of the stink and amplified it by a magnitude. “You horrible little menace, you photographed a fart! How could you!”
“Olfactographed,” the colt said in return, having the sheer unmitigated gall to correct his master. “You told me that I could do no wrong in the name of science—”
“I lied, okay?” She flung the olfactograph away from her and it landed on the workbench. “Ugh, ooh, blargh! We might need to work on the olfactory amplification! That’s a bit much! Blech! I can taste it! It’s in my mouf! My mouf!”
Coughing, Vinyl sputtered and hacked while she lifted the modified camera. This needed to be fixed now, before it became an issue that landed her and her apprentice in hot water. She scraped her teeth over her tongue, trying to be rid of the feculent, funktacular flavour, but try as she might, it would not go away. The very concentrated essence of ass lingered like an unwanted guest.
This was why they did product testing.
But as Vinyl examined the camera, she noticed something quite peculiar. As she stood there, scraping her tongue against her teeth, she realised that the magic was gone. The spell matrix was simply gone. Perhaps it had fizzled out, which she could not help but feel was a good thing. The next iteration would be better, more refined. Hopefully, it would produce olfactographs that could be smelled, and not tasted.
“Here,” she said as she shoved the camera at Sumac. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? ‘Cause there is something wrong. Can you sense what it is?”
“The magic is gone,” the colt replied, taking the camera from Vinyl. He touched it with his horn, and then stood there, quite still. “Did we overload it? Did we botch our matrix? Did our programming logic go awry? What went wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Vinyl shrugged, and then shuddered as the appalling stench lingered, a horrendous olfactorygeist that she feared would haunt her for the rest of her life. “But this isn’t a setback, apprentice of mine. This is opportunity in disguise. We can make corrections. Improvements.”
“Yeah, we don’t want ponies thinking that we’re crackpots.”
“I like to think that we’re geniuses without conventional limitations,” she said, redefining herself and her apprentice. “We’re not held back by traditional trepidations. We have courage, and have thrown aside caution—”
“And sanity,” the colt added.
“That is a subject of debate.” Vinyl sighed, resigned to do more work. “The day is young and we have much to do. Let’s get to work, my apprentice. Let’s see if we can get mark two up and running, and then we’ll go out in search of munch.”