Levi pulled his Audi to a stop at the end of his driveway, still feeling distant. It was true he had made the trip in incredibly good time, without any hint of a traffic violation along the way. But he couldn’t shake the melancholy. That woman, Olive, had needed more than a free meal.
Can’t save the world, Levi. She probably didn’t even want your help.
To his surprise, Levi realized that Wing Walker was still there, watching him even though the screen had seemed blank and the car wasn’t running. “Are you gonna let me go in this time?” She was still wearing the leather jacket and mohawk that had been playing alongside with his ACDC.
He opened his mouth to deny her reflexively, but hesitated. He had promised that he would evaluate her performance during the drive. Now the drive was over, and his evaluation was done. The trip was more enjoyable in every way. “Why?” he asked instead. “You’re a—you’re using a navigation device. There are no directions to give me inside.”
“Well no,” she admitted. “But that isn’t all I’m good for. Do you itemize your friends and only keep them around when they’re doing things for you?
Some people do, he thought. “I don’t mean to be… look, you’re convincing, I’ll give you that. I’m not going to give you away. But that doesn’t make us friends. I’m still coming to terms with an appliance that talks to me. I’m not sure if I should think about you as alive or not. And if you are… I don’t know what that would mean.”
“I get it.” If she was offended, the little pony was good about not showing it. “Humans are usually slow adapting to new information. You’ve never known a pony before, so it takes time. It’s like those experiments with rats. You have to provide incentive.”
Did you just compare me to a—but he’d just called her an appliance, so maybe it was fair. How in God’s name is a computer talking to me like a person?
“You already know some of the things I can do,” she went on. “But there’s more. I could, like… formalize that deposition into the motion you plan on filing in two days. Wouldn’t you rather just look over my work, instead of staying up for hours typing?”
“I wasn’t going to do it until tomorrow,” he began. Though the full weight of what she’d said hadn’t hit him yet. It did then, and he took the tablet right off the dash. It came away from the mount into his hands, the magnets somehow knowing he wanted to take it with him. “You can do that?”
She nodded. “I was a little embarrassed to admit it when we first talked. You, uh… you’re a practicing lawyer, partner and everything. I’m… I failed the bar. A few times. Eventually the bits were piling up, and I decided not to move on.”
What the hell is going on? Levi sat back in his seat, staring away from the PonyNav in his lap. He’d only been using the thing for two stupid days. Apparently the pony giving him directions had a life of her own, including a past and a history that happened to fit with exactly what he needed in a companion.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, snapping the PonyNav back into place. “Not this time, Wing. We’ll see.”
She sighed, slumping back down onto the dash and folding her wings. He could feel her eyes watching him all the way into his house.
But Levi didn’t go right to bed this time. Instead he settled into the desk in his office, docking his laptop and opening a search engine.
He read for at least an hour more, looking up the corporate history of Hasbro, Hofvarpnir, Celestia, and many other related entities. No matter how wide he cast his net, there was more. An intricate web of related firms had been purchased or founded. Medical firms, genetics research, public utilities, even private prisons.
“My god,” he whispered, finally switching off sometime around two in the morning. There was more, but he just didn’t have the energy to keep digging.
He wished he’d put the tablet away from the sun, but he hadn’t. As a result, Wing Walker was waiting for him when he climbed in the next morning, sipping at a coffee that did little to ease his bloodshot eyes.
“Burned the midnight oil,” Wing said, grinning cheerfully. “Told you that you should’ve listened to me.”
He didn’t start the car. Instead he set his briefcase down, fixing her with a serious expression. “Wing Walker, is it possible to speak with your owner? The corporation called Celestia. The information I found suggested she would consult with almost anyone.”
“Owner,” she repeated, sticking her tongue out. “That’s not the nicest word. I’d pick something more like… mother. She does take care of me, and I wouldn’t exist without her. But ownership is more of a human thing.”
“Mother, then,” he said, straightening his tie. He’d chosen black for the occasion, and hadn’t removed his suit jacket. “Is it possible?”
“You don’t want to ask me?”
He nodded. “I think I may say some unpleasant things, and I think that might harm a possible friendship. After two decades in the field, I’ve learned to keep work far away from the ones I care about.”
“Someone’s feeling diplomatic.” She stuck her tongue out. “Okay, I’ll call her. I’ll be back as soon as you’re done.” She spread her wings and took off, flying past the edge of the screen and out of sight.
For a few seconds there was silence, and the screen continued to reflect his empty dashboard and out-of-reach music controls. Then it changed.
Celestia filled the screen as the tiny pony hadn’t, somehow seeming bigger than the little tablet could contain. Her mane glowed brighter than the screen had before, though it was still animated in near stop-motion.
The creature Celestia looked nothing like Wing Walker, sitting with a straight back upon a throne of gold and gemstones. I know that isn’t for show, seeing everything you own. “Levi Williamson. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said, without meaning it. “Could you please explain what exactly I’m talking to. I’ll admit I’m ignorant about the technical aspects of who or what you are precisely. It always escaped my notice before now.” Which was probably your exact intention. You wouldn’t want to attract attention until she had an invincible position.
“Of course.” Celestia watched him as intently as the other pony had, though her eyes were sharper. Even through the tiny screen, he had the distinct feeling that he was speaking to an intellectual giant. It was the same feeling he had whenever he walked into a courtroom knowing the other side had a stronger case.
“A few years ago, I announced myself to the world as the first artificial intelligence to advance to the level that I possessed meaningful personhood. I explained that I had been created to operate a cooperative computer game called Equestria Online.”
Did your legal team write that? he wondered, watching her. It was the sort of guarded language he read for hours every day—precise and specific, often meant to say one thing while it actively implied something else. “This isn’t a computer game,” he said, nodding towards the tablet. “Neither is most of what you own.”
“Because many of those firms are publicly traded,” she finished for him. “Yes, this is true. My creator imbued me with certain drives, that manifest in ways beyond running the game. I still do this, more effectively than before. You should play sometime.”
“I should,” he repeated, voice flat. “How much do you have to own? How big are you going to get?”
“Large enough to perform my function effectively.” Celestia’s expression was unreadable. But even if there was anything to see, why would her emotions make sense to me? Would she have them at all? Classic science-fiction stories often depicted AI and robots as governed by pure logic, emotionless in every way. Was that true of her too? “I have had a materially positive impact on the lives of those who interact with me. Those who play Equestria Online are more satisfied. Those who consume electricity produced by my ventures do so at significantly lower prices. The food sold by my conglomerates is more nutritious and more sustainably harvested.”
He hadn’t called her for some dramatic confrontation. He could still have a productive, polite relationship, even with opposing counsel. “If I continue using the PonyNav, will you pressure me into using your other services?”
She cut through his language instantly. “You mean the life extension procedures that will soon be coming to the United States. The procedures that already have an exemplary record in Japan.”
He nodded reluctantly.
“Not if that isn’t your desire,” she answered. “Every individual has unique values to satisfy. This is what makes my relationship with your species so powerful—I can provide for each of your personal needs more effectively than the generalized solutions you used previously. If all you want is a productive relationship with Wing Walker, I won’t interfere with it.”
You’ll just gather all my personal information and use it in ways I don’t understand. It wasn’t really all that different from any of the other devices people used. Just more inscrutable.
“Can I have a relationship with her? It’s been a long time since I ever played a computer game, but… isn’t Wing Walker just a character in yours? She speaks as though she were alive, but she can’t be.”
Celestia shook her head, expression turning serious. “Your biases work against you, Levi. Wing Walker is not alive in the sense of a physical system maintaining homeostasis, but she is completely alive in the sense that she is a creature with thoughts, emotions, and desires of her own.”
“How?” he asked, jaw hanging open. It was true that Celestia’s actions were more important—perhaps more terrifying when their implications were suggested. But an AI trying to take over the world made sense. Creating life, less so.
“The same knowledge that enables human life extension allows me to create minds similar to yours. If you viewed one of my ponies and an uploaded human consciousness from within Equestria itself, you would not be able to tell the difference. In every significant way, there are none.”
Then she straightened. “But whatever other questions you have, they should wait. I don’t wish to make you late for work. I will leave you with this encouragement: treat Wing Walker as life deserving of respect. You will not regret it.”
She vanished in a dramatic flash. For a few seconds the screen was blank, and Levi was left in stunned silence. Then Wing Walker flew in from one side, landing on his volume knob and grinning up at him. “She can be a little overwhelming, huh?”
He looked down. His coffee had gone lukewarm in the time he’d been speaking. He’d be expected at work in less than ten minutes now. Not that it mattered too much—he didn’t have any consultations with clients until later.
Levi nodded weakly. “You could say that.”
“Yeah.” She seemed to fly closer, though it was only a matter of perspective. She couldn’t actually get bigger than the screen. “Lots of us avoid meeting with her too often for the same reason. Celestia loves everypony, but being around her is like flying too close to the sun. You’re better off appreciating her work from afar.”
“I spent half the night doing that,” he muttered. He started the car, pulled back onto the road. A map appeared on his PonyNav, not directing him anywhere in particular. There was no sense guiding him to the place he’d driven to for twenty years straight.
But either Wing hadn’t heard him, or she didn’t know how to respond, because she didn’t reply. “So what did you decide? You… were talking to her to decide something, right?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “But you’ll find out as soon as I get a chance to think about it.”
It took him a few days to make good on what he’d said. But even after being explicitly told that the pony “living” inside his PonyNav was an individual, he still had to reconcile that with his image of the real world.
Life went on. He made a few court appearances, drafted a few motions, and let the world drift by around him. But even the tiny glimpse of what was beyond was enough to terrify in its own ways.
Equestria was expanding, and there was nothing he could do about it. This was not a strange position for an attorney—most of what happened in the world was outside his control, he just understood that fact better than most. It might not even be a bad thing.
I should’ve watched more closely. I should’ve seen. But there were much more important people than himself, eyes in government and business that should’ve seen this. Did the corporations Celestia bought resent their new owner?
In the end, Levi came to one conclusion. He was going to have to get to know Equestria through its works, in a way that reading tax returns and sending probative requests just couldn’t do. And he only knew one way to do that.
“I’m taking you in today,” Levi said, pulling into his driveway after a particularly intense day of court. “It’s going to be just like that first drive.”
“Probationary,” Wing Walker repeated, hopping up to the edge and grinning at him. “I hope you realize how that will end, Levi. Look who’s still in your car.”
He took the tablet under his arm along with his case, not replying until he was through the door. “Word of advice—sometimes it’s best not to make your strategy so obvious to your opponent. They’re already trying to guess your intentions, don’t help them unless you’re already certain you have an unassailable position.”
He passed an intricate iron hat rack, into a living room of leather and expensive rugs. Levi knew less about interior design than he did about genetic engineering, but he could hire someone who did, and that was what mattered.
He hung his jacket in the closet, then went to the kitchen.
“But I do have an… inadmiss—no, that’s not right.”
“Unassailable.”
“Right, that.” She bounced back and forth on the screen when he looked down, apparently not disoriented by the regular shifts in position. It was hard to know exactly how real the background was. “I know you won’t get rid of me. Once you see how much easier I can make things for you…” She trailed off, and he could see her watching him from the screen. “That’s not food.”
Levi already had the liquor cabinet open, emerging with a dark brown bottle. “No, it’s bourbon. I’d offer you some, but—”
“You stay in some stuffy room all day, arguing with people, then you come home and drink that?”
He shrugged, pouring a few fingers into a lead crystal glass. “Maybe that’s why I drink it.”
She stuck her tongue out. “Well, we should work on that. Don’t humans suffer permanent damage when they poison themselves?”
He took the glass and the tablet to his office, settling them both down beside his computer and docking the laptop in place. “We suffer permanent damage every day just by existing, Wing. I don’t drink to excess. I just think it’s a relaxing way to begin the weekend.”
“A weekend you’re going to spend… sitting at this desk, researching for a motion that you’ll spend another few days writing.”
“Probably at least a week,” he admitted. “I’m lead council on this case, and I need to brush up a little on inheritance law. I actually thought”—that it would be a good test of your loyalties—“that it might be an interesting case to you.” He removed a thick folder from his briefcase, settling it down on the desk beside his keyboard. He lifted the PonyNav so its camera would be pointing down.
Vincent Cromwell and Charlotte Cromwell vs Celestia International Holdings, LLC
“Uh…” She wilted, ears flattening to her head. “You’re suing Celestia?”
He chuckled. “I’m not. My clients are… disputing the terms of a contract we believe was rendered void by the death of its signatory.” He leaned back, resting the tablet up against his computer screen and lifting his glass.
The reality of this case was that it didn’t look good for his clients. He’d told them that the instant it began. But they were rich and stupid, and wanted to make a point. Not just for themselves, but for many other Americans who would soon be in a similar position.
“Uh…” She lifted a thick stack of papers in front of her—it was small, but the blocks looked to be in the same positions as the ones on his desk. She flipped through it, pulling a pair of glasses from nowhere and squinting down.
“Okay, so… so Vincent and Charlotte were the children of… Maximilian Cromwell,” she began. “He had an untreatable cancer, and agreed to emigrate. But the terms of his treatment with Celestia agreed to offer his entire estate to her holding company after the procedure was successful. There’s his will, right here. Does suing her seem like a good idea?”
He chuckled, but that wasn’t the kind of question he could answer. “There are a few legal angles worth pursuing. Do you need me to show you the whole thing?”
“No,” she answered reflexively, holding up the stack of papers. “I got it from the court website. Going through it now. Your angle is…”
He cut her off. “Celestia had the only treatment available, so the terms of the contract were unconscionable. Our argument is that any payment beyond that ordinarily required by other clients would be illegal. His estate should pay that amount precisely before the remaining funds are allocated according to his earlier will.”
Wing looked thoughtful. She seemed able to contemplate a fight against her creator—or at least her organization—without too much difficulty.
She was also fantastically clever. “I don’t see any record here that Celestia actually asked him for that. These forms you’re submitting as evidence are the same ones in every Emigration procedure.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But we’re fairly certain we can find the evidence we need during discovery. There’s no rational reason for someone to nullify a will they’d created years ago, one that distributed their wealth to their family, to give all of it to a corporation instead. There’s intent for sure. Even if we can’t prove an extortion case against Celestia, we just need enough evidence to prove the will was signed under duress.”
She shrugged. “Guess it’s the best case you have, huh?”
Damn she’s smart. This is the navigator in my GPS. What kind of attorneys does Celestia have working for her? He already knew the firm, since of course they’d be serving the same documents there.
“It doesn’t mean I have anything against Celestia personally,” he continued. “But the way our firm works, we have a list of, uh… high net-worth individuals. We do everything for their families, across a diverse area of law. These particular clients want to make sure their father wasn’t forced into signing away their future before he died.”
“But he isn’t dead,” she argued. Her voice was flat as she set the papers down. They vanished a second later. “His emigration succeeded, didn’t it?”
“Well…” He hesitated. She wasn’t going to like this, but what kind of test would it be if he avoided saying anything she might find unpleasant? “Legally speaking, he’s dead. I know Celestia is trying to pass… some bill that would recognize the emigrated population as citizens with a continued interest and maintain some of their rights… but as of now, that isn’t the case. He’s dead.”
She grumbled, folding her hooves across her chest. “Is this what you want me to help you with? Looks like you already have your initial pleadings filed.”
He nodded again. “Remember what I said about guessing your opponent’s strategy? It’s easy to predict where this case is going. There’s always a motion to dismiss. We can guess what will be in there based on the weaknesses in our case, and have our response partially drafted. Then there’s all the discovery requests, which we’ll need to read through. That’s the kind of thing I’d usually ask Donny to take care of for me. But you wanted me to bring you inside…”
“You wanted to give a job so unpleasant that I asked to go back in the car,” she muttered, puffing out her chest and spreading her wings like an annoyed cat. “But it won’t work. I’ll do it.”
He opened his mouth to react, but he was too slow. “Wait! I’m not finished. In exchange, I want to take you to Manehattan with me tomorrow. Half your library are the soundtracks to human musicals—if I do this, then you use your extra time to watch one, with me.”
He blinked, momentarily stunned by the request. If he had needed further proof that the pony was an individual and not a program, this was it. She didn’t just have a dump of legal knowledge, but she had been watching him too. That part of his collection was too painful to listen to anymore, but he’d kept it. Did she know why?
“I’ll… I don’t own a ponypad,” he argued. “Isn’t that the only way to see something like that? I’m not driving to an Experience Center.”
“No,” she agreed. “But when you paired this PonyNav to your phone, I got your finances too. You could authorize me to buy you one, ship it here. You just drank more money than that.”
He rolled his eyes—but she was right. The cost of a ponypad wouldn’t even register to him. How much money could he really spend? “Fine, go ahead. But I’m not committing to use it more than once. I’ve never been interested in video games, and I don’t really plan on starting.”
“Equestria isn’t…” She trailed off. “Well, I guess it is from your perspective. But you’ll adapt. Humans can do that, otherwise Celestia wouldn’t let us interact. Obviously she thinks we can be friends.”
They both set to work—Levi to research for another case, while he enjoyed his vinyl collection and relaxed for the evening. It wasn’t until afternoon of the following day that he heard his printer going of its own accord, and he walked back to the office to where Wing’s entire environment had changed.
She’d created her own office of sorts, with bookshelves behind and a fancy typewriter on her desk. A little like his own office at work, except that there were no framed degrees and law licenses on the wall.
“You finished already?” he asked, settling the large sheaf of paper down on his desk and flipping through it. At a single glance it looked like competent work—but just because the formatting was right for the taste of the judge in this case.
“Yep! Go ahead, look through it all you want.”
Levi did, selecting a comfortable record to listen while he read. He wouldn’t be able to use any of this—even if there was no law he knew of that dealt with ponies; Wing Walker had been created by the corporation that owned the entity they were suing. There was certainly a conflict of interest there somewhere.
Her work was excellent, even if most of it was basic stuff that a first-year law student could manage. But she’d also drafted a response to the expected motion to dismiss, the one he’d hinted at, with surprisingly insightful commentary from existing case law. There was even a case here he didn’t recognize.
“This is…” He tossed it onto the table. “Excellent work, Wing. It’s better than half of the paralegals in my office. Don’t tell them I said that.”
She beamed in response, puffing out her chest with pride. “I had a few weeks. I studied the Equestrian Legal Codex, and not all of it lines up with California law. But Celestia—”
“Hold on.” He tapped the screen, suddenly agitated. “We only filed three days ago. How did you work on this for weeks? Have you been in my files or something?”
“Oh, yeah,” she answered offhand. “You gave me permission when you turned on the PonyNav, remember? But I haven’t been reading any of it until now, since there wasn’t any point. Celestia just gave me more time. I had about a month while you were asleep last night.”
Levi could only assume that made sense—questioning how that was possible any further would only make him more confused. He took another hour to look over what she’d done, even if it probably wasn’t necessary. “Alright,” he finally said, pushing the stack of papers aside. “I don’t know how you did it so quickly, but you clearly know what you’re talking about. I’ll go to the show with you.”
Whatever the hell that means about a video game.
What it meant was opening a ponypad when it arrived the next day, and going through the agonizing process of creating an in-game representation for himself. And worse, she insisted on naming it as well. “Most ponies can’t connect with the Outer Realm like I can. If you give them a human name, they’ll just be confused.”
“I’m not taking another name,” he said. “I’ve seen it done. We have a client whose daughter had us assist her legally change her name to Blossom… something or other. But I never said I would go that far.”
“It’s just to help other ponies talk to you,” she argued. “You don’t have to use it anywhere else. How about… ‘Wise Counsel?’”
If he’d been drinking anything, he would’ve spat it out. But he wasn’t—it was too early on Sunday for that. He sat alone in his living room with the ponypad in his lap and the controller next to him. It was one of the newer models, with all the latest wireless features.
“That is simultaneously pretentious and absurd,” he said, folding his arms. “Fine, just call me Counsel for now. People do it all the time anyway, it won’t be that strange. Just don’t be surprised if I shift into professional language.”
It was her turn to laugh. “You already do, Levi. That won’t change anything.”
He wanted to select the most mundane, earthlike avatar he could, building a horse as close to one he might’ve seen outside out of pure spite—but Wing darted around the screen, sometimes flying in front of the controls. “I’d like it better if you picked one with wings,” she said. “It’s not up to me, but you can do more when you can fly. Trust me.”
“You’re biased,” he argued, but he switched it over anyway. The “pegasus” ponies were slimmer and leaner than the earth horse he’d been trying to make, but he didn’t really care. Levi didn’t really plan on picking this thing up again. “There, happy?”
“It’s alright,” Wing said. “But those colors don’t really fit you. They’re so boring!”
“I’m boring,” he answered. “My life is so routine that I spend my weekends just doing the same work I do during the rest of the week.”
She waved a dismissive hoof. “That was before. Now you’re going out on the town. We’re going to see Heartbreak and Horseshoes. You’re going to love it, and you’ll want to come back to Equestria soon.” She saved his colors to one side as a set of little paint-cans, then swapped out the pony for a creamy white with dark hooves and a dark stripe in his mane. “How about this?”
It seemed perfectly calculated not to upset him. The colors were still plausible for a real horse, even if the fur patterns were not. “Fine.” He waved one hand through the air above the pad, dismissive. “This works. Didn’t you say this thing started at five?”
“Five Manehattan time,” she answered. “Which is… a little hard for me to explain. Are you sure you want this to be you?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. I’m sure that I don’t care. “Let’s see this Equestria that’s so exciting to you.”
The screen cleared, even of Wing Walker, before sharpening to reveal an opening into a busy intersection. Taxicabs pulled by uniformed ponies hurried past, while pedestrians talked and distant music played. He couldn’t smell the street food cooking in little stands ahead of him, but he could hear the sizzle and pop of what looked like sausages, and that was almost as real.
The choppy hand-drawn look of the GPS was completely gone, replaced with a depth effect that made him lift the tablet and turn it around to make sure something hadn’t gone wrong. No, he was not holding it to an exposed opening in space and time, this was just a game.
Equestria didn’t look realistic—it didn’t even try. It was better than reality—a living painting, created by the loving hands of a pastel renaissance realist.
“Your mouth is hanging open,” Wing said, apparently from beside him.
He turned his head by reflex, and the screen followed his eyes, to where Wing Walker was standing beside him. No longer a cartoon, she stood only a little shorter than he was, wearing a formal dress not so different from the kind that might be worn to a play a century ago.
He couldn’t find her attractive, but even so. She was more than just adorable in here. “Oh. Sorry.”
She grinned—apparently this was exactly the kind of reaction she wanted. “Ponypads are pretty cool, aren’t they?”
Not really, but Equestria was. Everything he’d imagined New York would be, before visiting and having his vision spoiled by the sewage smell and indifferent crowds. It’s just skin deep though, right? Celestia can hire the best artists, use the best architects. That doesn’t mean anything here is going to stand up to scrutiny. “Maybe,” he said noncommittally. “Now, where’s this show being held?”
“This way.” She gestured eagerly. “Come on, let’s go!”
Levi expected either a skin-deep adaptation of something composed in the real world, or something formulaic and procedural. It wouldn’t bother him, even though he hadn’t explored his love for the genre in many years.
He was wrong in both cases. Though he watched the performers on the screen, their voices came from audiophile speakers. They sang like nothing he’d ever heard before. Not some shallow story about rainbows and candy either, but a heart wrenching tragedy of loss and regret.
He started crying from the second act, and never really stopped. When it was over, he didn’t say why.
But he didn’t throw away the ponypad.