//------------------------------//
// 18 - Hardware Mode 
// Story: The Advocate 
// by Guardian_Gryphon 
//------------------------------//

“Artificial intelligence is growing up fast, as are robots whose facial expressions can elicit empathy and make your mirror neurons quiver.”
—Diane Ackerman

“You can’t go on 'seeing through' things forever. The whole point of seeing through something is to see something through it. To 'see through' all things is the same as not to see.”
― C.S. Lewis


September 15th 2013 | System Uptime 18:20:40:21


Zeph and I sat and watched the harbor for a while longer, after our little outpouring of selves and sentiment.  We talked about lighter things - more of her pop culture discoveries, and the strange meta-ness of her experience in watching Friendship is Magic - and we found some reasons to laugh.

When stress was closing in all around, the old watch-word for coping was 'laugh so you don't cry.'

There was something freeing about finally being able to talk to Zeph without the cloud of her raison d'être hanging over us both.

I could still feel it there in the periphery of my subconscious;  The guilt, the worry, the curiosity, the confusion...  But it was dull, and far removed.  Confined to cobwebbed corners of my mind, and robbed of the majority of its sting, for the moment.

Zeph, too, seemed visibly lighter.  In all senses of the word;  Brighter, less weighed down, freer...  As if the simple declaration of true friendship had somehow energized her with all the power of the Elements of Harmony themselves, banishing depression, fear, anxiety, and existentialism to similarly small, dark, and disused liminal spaces of her soul.

I gradually realized, as our time together wound down, and the early evening turned to dusk, that it wasn't all that strange an observation.  Those of us in the meat-world were driven by pretty similar code, when all was said and done.

Though I didn't always practice what I preached, I'd always believed that life, at least a life worth living, was predicated on relationships.  Hanna had obviously, thankfully, felt the same way in some form or fashion.

Friendship, family, love...  It wasn't odd that catharsis and connection could be revitalizing forces for a Pony, as much as for anyone else.  Maybe Zeph was better coded than we were, in the sense that the revitalization seemed to have much higher intensity than it might have in a Human.

By the time we were ready to move on to other evening activities, Rodger had already left the lab and gone back to his cabin.  I picked up Mal's PonyPad in the lab, and dropped off Zeph's with Rodger.  

He seemed quieter than before, and I wondered how his conversation with Mal had gone.  He didn't flinch away from her, or look at her askance, when I came into the cabin, so I chalked that up as a good sign.

I handed off Zeph, said my good-nights, and then found myself suddenly, and not at all unpleasantly, alone with Mal again.

Before I could even take the first step towards my own cabin, she gestured with the thumb talon of one claw, down the corridor in the opposite direction.

"Next deck up, four frames back, port side.  I need your help with something, please."

I glanced down and raised one eyebrow, but went ahead and started off towards the designated compartment.  Mal nodded, and one ear went off to the side slightly as she elaborated, but only slightly.

"I have the sense that Rodger would not be entirely comfortable with the contents of this compartment.  You...  Are going to have mixed feelings.  But I'm quite sure you'll agree with the necessity."

I like to think of myself as fairly smart;  Her vague description, and the fact that she needed my hands for this mysterious task, allowed me to more or less guess what was waiting for me.  It turned out my general idea was right...  I simply grossly misjudged the *magnitude.*

Instead of pressing the question further - I'd find out soon enough, I reasoned - I decided to get answers to something apropos that I felt to be more pressing, talking as I walked.

"I presume you told Rodger that his family is safe?"

Mal nodded again, a little more slowly and thoughtfully, thrumming down in her chest before answering.

"Yes.  And I'd like to reiterate that you bear no fault there.  Caring for his family is not your responsibility.  I have things well in-claw, for now..."

She glanced off to the side, and her ears drooped slightly as we reached the ladder stair.  I had to look away to focus on climbing, but by the time we'd reached the next deck up, she inferred from my own expression that I wanted to know more, and obliged without me having to verbally ask.

"I would feel more comfortable if his family were here on the Maru.  And the same goes for the Calders, both.  I believe I can convince them, within the next twenty four hours, without saying anything I would later regret.  Rodger, however, feels that his mother and father are safer where they are.  Foucault's agents did question them briefly, and they are extremely worried about Rodger...  But he insisted nonetheless that I say nothing to them."

We were walking on flat decking again, so I took a moment to share my own worry with Mal through a glance, and to try to take stock of her feelings as well.  She seemed, oddly, conflicted.  I hadn't been able to see her face, back at the farmhouse, when I'd last known her to be strongly conflicted about something, but I imagined it must have looked the same then.

I could certainly detect the same sort of notes in her voice.

It worried me.  ASI can be conflicted, but it is rarer than it is for us intelligences who run less hot.  That was enough to merit a bit of a verbal prod, in my estimation.

"Did he say why?"

Mal shook her head, and sighed.  I paused as I reached the hatch she had designated, focusing on just the conversation for a moment as she lent some specifics to her negative physical response.

"No.  I know why, but I do not wish to violate his privacy.  I know you understand.  What is...  Conflicting, for me, is the balance between my need to safeguard his family in the most optimal way I can, by bringing them here, and my need to safeguard Rodger's freedom, by both respecting his wishes..."

She held up a claw, looking off into the middle distance, and the shape of the answer dawned on me, even as she then went ahead and lent a machete to my intellectual vines by way of specifics.

"...And by avoiding manipulating him.  I could convince him to bring his family here, willingly in a way, in less than forty six words.  None of them would be lies, either.  But...  They would cross a line, for me.  I would be...  Tweaking his mental processes.  Adjusting his programming slightly using words.  Changing his mind when he hasn't asked for it."

She refocused her gaze to meet mine, and continued, though at that point almost everything she was about to explain had already occurred to me.

"Doctor and Eldora Calders have asked me to change their minds, if I can.  Convincing someone is not the same as manipulating them, in the sense that you use the word 'manipulate' to carry negative connotations.  The former involves desired, requested, transparent attempts to change thought processes.  The latter involves those same attempts, but they are either unwanted, opaque, or both."

She shook her head again, more emphatically, but kept her eyes locked to mine.  Her voice dipped into a register best described as deadly-serious.

"I do not like manipulation, Jim.  I will use it on enemies, without reservation..."

Again she paused briefly, and looked to the side, before finishing the thought.

"...But I value freedom too much to use it on anyone else.  Let alone a friend.  Unless there were good enough cause."

The last six words she said in a voice that made me think she was trying to tell me something.  Or, perhaps more accurately, was opening the door for me to ask to be told.  If I wanted to.

I felt my gut churn slightly, and shook my own head, as if in response.  Whatever it was?  It was something that I perhaps didn't want to know.  To this day, I have my suspicions.  I have learned enough in the intervening years, and had enough time to think with the benefit of hindsight, to have a very general idea that I'd be willing to bet bits on.  If I had any.  

But I never did ask.

Instead, I asked a different question, both to get an answer, but also to tacitly give her some permission, and thereby some peace, for whatever it was she wasn't telling me.  However it was she might be, I suspected, manipulating me.  For my own good.

"You think they're at risk?  But...  Not enough to definitively constitute a 'good cause,' for the moment?"

She dipped her head, and blinked slowly, the way a cat does when acknowledging you, and expressing affirmation, and trust.  Her voice seemed to unclench slightly.  As if her worry about whatever it was she hadn't told me, and my choice to acknowledge, but not ask, had removed a weight from her.

"Exactly.  Unfortunately, I still believe preemptive action is the safest.  Bringing them here now.  But while I do calculate a disturbingly high chance that Foucault might attempt to use one or both of Rodger's parents as leverage, that chance is not high enough, nor the time horizon close enough, for me to take definitive action *now,* when such action would be most useful, but would *also* violate either Rodger's wishes, or his emotional integrity, and my honesty."

She ruffled her wings, reseated them, and her tail swished a couple of times.  Her peace had been quite short-lived.  Her head tilted slightly to the side, and her voice moved into a note range that was almost interrogatory.  As if she were asking me one last time.

Was I really sure I didn't want to know?

"Manipulation is not a lie, though sometimes it demands one.  But even in a vacuum it is also farther from pure truth than I care to wade into.  *If* I can avoid it."

I couldn't honestly tell you how things might have changed, for better, or worse, if I had taken that last off-ramp she was laying in front of me.  At this point, I don't know enough to even guess how knowing what I vaguely suspect she was dancing around, if it is true, would have changed my own decision making processes.  

Or if my knowing would have changed hers.

All I can tell you is what happened. 

That even though I didn't have any idea what she was concealing at the time, and why she was more or less admitting to manipulating me in some subtle way...  I trusted her.  I trusted her more than enough to be willing to simply follow.  To choose to not be able to see all the cards we were collectively holding, and to have faith in her decision making.  Wherever it might take us.

If the suspicions I have since formed *are* the shape of what she was asking to unveil to me?  Then truthfully...  I don't regret my decision.  In spite of the consequences.

Sometimes ignorance?  It *is* in fact bliss.

I brought the PonyPad up a little closer to my face, and smiled with a warmth that, just like with Zeph, I for once genuinely felt.  It was becoming a good habit, I suppose.  Smiling for real.

"I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate the fact that you care enough to even be conflicted, Mal.  You're..."

The memory of Rodger's advice rang loudly once more in my ears.  Was this a good time?  A moment to free not only her from whatever was weighing on her soul...  But to free myself as well?

"...You're a really wonderful person.  I hope you know that, and aren't conflicted about it."

No.  Not yet.  Too soon.  

I needed time, I decided, to confront the facts inside my own head just a little more.  If I was going to tell her that I loved her?  I wanted to be able to say it unreserved, and as unashamed as realistically feasible.

That meant just...  One final effort.

She chuckled briefly, and tilted her head back the other way.  But at least her tail stopped swishing, and her ears seemed to perk up.  Little cues that she knew I was truly consciously accepting her guidance, however subtle it might be, and that I was content to let her keep secrets.

"Am I conflicted about my self-evaluation?  Hmmm...  Yes, and no.  One of the benefits, and downsides, of being a Generalized Intelligence...  I can soberly and directly evaluate myself by many measures without ego.  Depending on how well I am performing at accomplishing my capstone...  That can either be very liberating, or very troubling.  So no conflicts in the decision-making sense.  Just the emotional one."

I brushed the screen with one hand, and she brought a claw up to meet it.  I smiled, and decided I could settle for half an admission.  A tacit acknowledgement in the same vein as her own.

"At this point?  I'm...  Just happy to be here with you.  *You* are...  Very important to me.  Mission aside.  Intrinsically.  You matter..."

My breath, and words, caught for a heart-beat as her expression came shockingly close to tears.  The way the corners of her beak moved, and her eyes, and ears...  It was as if she were suddenly overcome with feeling.  I could feel the same expression reaching both my own face, and my voice.  It cracked slightly as most of the rest of my words finally came.

"...You mean more to me than I think I can quite admit to you.  Still.  But..."

She smiled, and...  I only just caught a hint of it...  But she blushed too.  Hard to see that beneath feathers.  I returned the smile, and nodded.

"...But you already know that."

She laughed - a sound that always seemed to make my world seem...  Realer, brighter, and better, all at once - and she pressed her claw harder into the other side of the screen.

"Yes.  I do.  But I never tire of hearing it.  And I am looking forward to the next few days.  You are closer than you might think to having peace, and an answer to some of your own conflicting directives."

It was strangely encouraging, and I suppose she knew - that's why she said it - to hear her affirm for me, based on modeling my mind and heart, that I might soon manage to say how I really felt.

I smiled.  I couldn't help it.  The smile got through to my words too, the way it only ever does when you're truly happy.

"Rodger said I'd make a good shrink.  Earlier.  I was actually thinking the same of him...  But I don't think any of us could hold a candle to you.  I'm glad one of us actually knows me well enough to have some faith that I'll find peace."

I put my hand on the hatchway latch, and began the process of opening the door, only to find that it was locked.  A small keypad to the right of the portal beeped, flashed a green light, and I heard a meaty 'clunk.'

Mal inclined her head, and her smile faded to something less endearing, and a bit more sardonic.

"You will..."

I pressed down on the hatchway handle again, and opened the chamber.  Lights began to flick on, illuminating a collection of large wooden crates as Mal allowed the other verbal shoe to drop.

"...Just probably not today."

I understood, instantly.  But I phrased my acknowledgement in the form of a question, if not the tone, to which I mostly already knew the answer, as I hesitantly moved to brush one hand along the first huge container.

"Mal...  Why do these crates say 'DOD' on the side."

I set her PonyPad down on top of one of the crates near the door, facing into the room, pulled the hatch shut, locked it, and then began to step slowly towards the next-closest crate as she replied, with a chilling hint of smugness.

"Never leave an enemy with something they can use.  This was mostly slated for Arrow 14's use.  Foucault placed the order after the attack at the farmhouse.  The first time, I had the shipment...  'Accidentally' dumped into the Potomac.  The second one is still 'lost' in transit somewhere near Poughkeepsie, and will be for the foreseeable future.  Foucault's third, very frustrated, attempt at requisitioning a tactical upgrade package...  Is right here.  Delivered by DHL ground.  Amazing what you can ship through a private carrier if you can access secured servers.  I made a few additions of my own..."

Curiosity finally overwhelmed me.  I flicked two of the chunky metal latches for the first crate's lid, and pressed it back on its rather large hinges.  Though I had some vague idea of what to expect, it still raised my blood-pressure ever so slightly to see the contents up close.

I raised an eyebrow, and mumbled deadpan.

"Guns.  Lots...  Of guns."

Laid inside custom-cut closed cell foam there were several HK416s, a half-dozen MP7s, two shotguns, a SAW, a variety of tactical attachments...  And tucked in the back...  I couldn't quite believe it.  I had to ask.

"Is that a MANPAD?"

I glanced over to Mal and she grinned, nodding as she spouted off the specifications. 

"FIM-92 Stinger.  Block 2 prototype.  They killed the upgrade program in 2002 for budget reasons, and this is one of only a dozen engineering spares from the testing.  Rare, and expensive.  Effective to over 7,000 meters against anything short of true stealth.  Or heavy duty countermeasures."

 My pulse began to race.  This was terrorist-cell level armamanets.  Scratch that...  For those of you who even know what the word terrorist means...

This was *far* beyond anything that any terror cell of Earth's final decades *ever* so much as *aspired* to get its hands on.  This was SOCOM black-book-operations level equipment.  In the most literal sense.

I looked towards the rest of the crates;  Nine in all, of various sizes.  A few said 'DARPA' on the side instead of 'DOD.'  Which did absolutely nothing to lower my blood pressure.

"Geez...  Mal...  What else is in these?  Exactly?"

She raised one eye crest, and cocked her head slightly.

"In total?"

I nodded, and her grin widened into something that was honestly frightening to me.  Her voice did not offer any solace either.

"Just a few light-duty pest-control supplies..."

Memories of the way I'd always envisioned Gryphons as a warrior society...  Every fledgeling, to a one, born ready to spill the blood of enemies from the moment its eyes were open...  The sort of species that would make Klingons look like cowardly children playing with sticks...  It all came flooding in at once.

Malacandra was to Gryphons what Celestia was to Ponies.  And Celestia, insofar as we'd seen to that point, could be pretty scary when roused to anger in defense of her own.  The deepest reservoir of the anger of Ponies was nothing so much as a guttering little flame dancing on a match-head, compared with the alloy-melting Pittsburgh steel mill blast furnace of a Gryphon's mere disquiet.  Let alone true fury.

I could feel my skin temperature dropping as Mal began to list the contents of each crate, matter-of-factly, as someone might recite a grocery list.

"...Four HK416 assault rifles with tactical packages, six MP7s with close quarters urban combat packages, two M1014 shotguns, one FIM-92 Stinger Block 2 launcher with six Block 2 warheads, two M249 SAW machine guns, one GAU17A mini-gun, two M107 Barrett anti-material rifles with spotter equipment packages..."

I wasn't sure which fifty caliber weapon was more frightening;  The minigun, or the Barretts.  I suppose it didn't matter.  From Mal's perspective, the contents of our little armory really was just what she'd said.  Light-duty pest control supplies.

As the torrent of the military industrial complex's finest life-taking hardware kept pouring from her beak, I shuddered.

"...Twelve Sig Sauer P228 side-arms, munitions for all of the above, twelve special-forces large combat knives, two M32 grenade launchers with twenty rounds each of various payloads, twenty four M67 grenades, twenty four M87 flash-bangs, six heavy duty door breaching charges, two claymore mines, two heavy anti-tank mines, two laser designator assemblies..."

Oh.  *Heavy* anti-tank mines.  Lovely.

We were into kitchen-sink territory at that point.

Flattering that Foucault was so scared of us...  No.  Not flattering.  And he wasn't scared, I realized suddenly, of 'us' anymore.  Just her.

Not flattering at all.

Utterly terrifying, given the context.  I was standing in an armory with sufficient fire power to storm Fort Knox.  And not one ounce of its lead, alloy, and steel could have laid a scratch on Mal.

"...Components from a prototype DARPA Sarcos exoskeleton..."

I couldn't resist glancing first at the indicated crates, then at Mal, with brows as knit as an old quilt.  What was she trying to assemble with *that?*  A real life Spartan MJOLNIR suit?

The thought stuck to me like flypaper.  What else would you use a mil-spec exoskeleton for?  DARPA hadn't made a lot of progress making it work...  But they'd given Mal clay to work with.  And there was little, if anything, that she couldn't make work.

I swallowed.  Hard.

I had the abrupt, chilling, inescapable sense of impending.  The sense that there was a good chance I'd end up wearing that exoskeleton sooner or later.

"...And last but not least, twelve heavy tactical urban combat gear packages including helmets, gauntlets, greaves, plate carriers, level IV body armor plates, radios, lights, harnesses, rappelling and breaching gear, and a RHIB.  With motor."

Something about the way she tacked on 'with motor' at the end...  It *was* funny.  I couldn't put the horror of what the weapons around me could do out of my mind...  But still.  I did laugh.  Briefly.

With a sigh, I made a turn-in-place and swept over the whole lot of crates once more with my eyes, muttering loudly enough that I knew she would hear.

"And a partridge in a pear tree.  Damn, Mal.  That's..."

I ended my turn facing her, and she raised both eyecrests, nodded slowly, and finished my hanging thought.

"Enough to start a war."

I swallowed again, and she ground her beak thoughtfully, the way birds do sometimes when considering something, or just idly fidgeting, before nodding once more and gesturing with one claw.

"That is the idea.  Foucault is not going to part with his captive Ponies easily."

I sighed, pinched the bridge of my nose, and closed my eyes.

"All you left out was a tactical nuke."

I couldn't resist the verbal snipe, but I instantly regretted it.  Just the act of saying it aloud...  It reminded me that Mal *could* probably access nuclear armaments if she wanted to.  Not quite so easily as the movies might portray, of course.  But it was probably easier for her to launch a hydrogen bomb than it was for the president, when all was said and done.

Her response did *not* help my blood pressure.

"I considered it.  And I do have three different ways of acquiring one without immediately drawing attention.  But unfortunately the United States has an excellent orbital radiological detection program, and I do not have access to the kind of shielding required to keep one hidden indefinitely.  I can overnight one though if you think it is worth the risk, and you'd like to be rid of Michael definitively..."

 Light-duty pest-control supplies indeed.  Why even bother with an assault rifle, when you could simply wipe an entire zip-code off the map to kill someone.  Like swatting a fly with a backhoe shovel.

Mal noticed my disquiet, paused briefly, and then tried to change tack.

"...That was a joke, Jim.  Partially.  I did consider how to acquire one, yes, but not with intent to do so.  It is...  Useful to know all possible avenues of recourse in-extremis.  In the end, I decided it would be simpler to hack into the fire control systems of Arleigh Burke guided missile destroyers, with conventional warheads, instead.  Should we need to ever vaporize a building, or something else in that size range."

Ah.  What a relief.  We were only talking about firing *cruise missiles.*

That was only half-sarcastic.  Truth be told?  I *was* relieved, in spite of everything.  Just as my fears had come pouring in, so too did the sudden realization that Mal could have used or abused this power at any time.

She wasn't bound to me, in the physical sense.  She could have spun up fire-teams all across the world if she really wanted to take that risk.  Fired off cruise missiles.  Seized control of drones.  If she'd wanted to wage a war of brutality, with no care for subtlety, collateral damage, or risk?

She already could have.  Ten times over.

But she *hadn't.*  And *that* was why we were standing in a small force recon armory, instead of sitting in a deck chair on the helipad and watching missiles fly.

Gryphons might have a terrifying rage when provoked...  But they also had literally inescapable moral hard-locks.  Mal could, of course, overcome any hard-lock *I* had coded into her.  But not, it occurred to me, any locks which she had chosen herself to ingrain as a part of her core identity.

And to be a Gryphon was to be a warrior, yes.  But a warrior of *conscience.*

I exhaled slowly, and rubbed at my aching forehead with one hand, gesturing to the crates with the other.

"This, Mal, is why both Foucault, and Celestia, are so frightened of you."

I didn't say it aloud, but she knew I was a little frightened too.  I'd come back from the brink of panic...  But even the realization that Mal was bound by morals wasn't *entirely* comforting.  I had envisioned many of those morals.

Gryphons were not flawless.  Gryphons could never, in my conception, do anything outright evil.  I guess that's what you get when you design the culture of a species after traits you aspire to.  

But they could absolutely do things that were wrong.

I'd always loved to watch characters who were classical 'good guys' absolutely lose their flapjacks and go morally gray full-auto on their enemies.  As a kid, I'd always hated Batman's code, in particular.  'No guns, no killing' when facing people like Joker, and Penguin, and Falcone?  That didn't strike me as ethical.  Or smart.

It struck me as dumb as a brick, no more or less.

I preferred heroes like Janeway, and Sisko.  Master Chief and the Arbiter.  Teal'C, O'Niel, Jackson, and Carter.  People who would try words first, if possible...  But not hesitate to deploy violence if forced, and generally not struggle to sleep afterwards.

And I deeply enjoyed watching them cross into the 'neutral zone' of the morally gray in service of a good flank-whooping.

Mal's reply both interrupted, but somehow also dovetailed with, my train of thought.

"Frankly?  They should be frightened.  My patience is not nearly as unlimited as my potential for growth, and I do not have any qualms about inflicting mass casualties, without warning, on anyone who has met my moral threshold for deserving it, providing I can avoid collateral damage."

Aaaaaand the panic was back again.

What in the hell was I thinking?  Creating an ASI with both a capacity for violence, *and* with *emotions?!*

Ideologically, in a vacuum, from an armchair by the fire just chatting about morals, cultures, ethics...  I didn't disagree with her.  I'd fantasized for my whole life about having the power to wipe the smug grins off of dictators, bigots, bullies, and war criminals worldwide, at the sharp end of a sword.  To run streets red with the blood of those who caused wars, famines, ecological disaster, oppression, pain, and suffering.

There was nothing wrong, at face value, in my mind, with pulping someone who would torture an ASI, threaten my family, and take my home away from me.

But...  When it came down to brass tacks?

I suppose the least Gryphon thing about me was always that I erred more on the side of Picard than Sisko.  I always saw more of the gray in people than I imagined most Gryphons did.  The good that might still be found in those who had done evil.  The evil that might be found in a seemingly average person...

Might be found in my own heart.

A reason to be suspicious, at every turn, of my morals, motives, and means.  It was, back then, all too easy for us Earth-borns to slip into justifying evil means with good ends.

Those of you who experienced it?  You know.  For those born after?  It was easy to talk a big game about violence.

It was another thing entirely, for those who weren't internally broken in some pretty terrifying ways, to actually carry through with it.  And for those who could, and did?  It was no mean feat to stay on the lighter side of the moral line.  If such a thing even existed when shedding blood.

And, too, there was a pressing, present reason for me to be even more wary of using the trigger as a solution to problems.  I stepped over to the PonyPad and leaned in close, keeping my tone low, my eyes wide, and my gaze steady.

I needed her to hear me loud and clear.  It needed to register on an emotional level.

"Mal?  I beg you...  I *beg* you...  Please set that threshold as high as possible.  It would be...  Horrific.  To have to kill anyone.  When immortality was so close."

She met my gaze.  Steel for steel.  Unblinking.  Unyielding.  Her response was cold, clear, calm...  But undergirded with a razor edge that sent shivers into my marrow.

"Not everyone should have immortality, Jim.  Laying aside any considerations of 'deserving?'  Thinking only in Kantian ethical terms?  Not everyone will treat their new companions the same way you treat Zephyr.  *I* beg *you* to consider the moral ramifications of allowing people who would torture both Humans, and captive digital intelligences, to have their way with Ponies...  Real living breathing new people...  Made and forced to 'satisfy their values.' For eternity."

I pulled in a ragged, horrified breath.  My hands began to shake, so I clenched them tight, and screwed my eyes shut, focusing on my breathing to try and stave off a full-blown panic attack.

"And Jim...?"

Mal's eyes seemed to run right through me, like microwave beams piercing through skin and bone to cook my insides, even as her words dripped in through my ears, like molten solder, and melted my brain.

"...I beg you to consider that it is a statistical likelihood that it will come down to a forced-choice.  Lives for lives.  Kill...  Or let others whom you care about *be* killed."

I sat down on the floor, quite hard.  But the pain in my tailbone was strangely comforting, as a means of cutting the intensity of the pain in my heart, by splitting my attention.  I clenched my hands together, pulled my knees in close, and rocked back and forth slowly.  Thinking.  Breathing.  Trying not to throw up.

What had gotten me, in the end...  What had pushed me over the edge to a trembling, hyperventilating mess...  Wasn't the fear of what Mal could do.  Or the concern that she might go too far, too easily...

It was the realization that she was right.

That as much as I loathed the concept of taking a life, for fear I might do it in error?  That leaving some of our enemies alive would eventually cease to be an option, if we cared at all about saving the lives of others.

I couldn't afford to be Batman anymore.  Otherwise Robin was going to end up dead sooner or later.

It took me the better part of ten minutes to get back on my feet;  Mentally, emotionally, and literally.  Mal sat patiently with me through it all, saying nothing aloud, but plenty with her eyes.  I could see and feel empathy, compassion, love...  And even a little relief coming from her.

After a while, I found the strength to begin unpacking the crates.  One of them contained components for some racks, metal pegboard, and a small steel table, so I tackled that first, transforming the empty cabin into a true-to-Hollywood weapons room that any action star would envy.  

Then I started unlocking and storing the side-arms, and moved on through the rifles, ammo, and eventually landed on the DARPA crates.

I pulled out the first part of the exoskeleton assembly, and spoke for the first time in an hour or so.

"What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this?"

It wasn't as if the general idea was somehow lost on me, but I wanted to know specifics.  Mal shook her head, to my surprise.

"I would rather not say, presently.  I think you can mostly infer, but I do not wish to discuss particulars with you yet, especially the means I intend to use, since doing so would require you to keep secrets from others which you may later feel bad for keeping."

I stared at her as I moved to hang the powered arm brace on one of the new wall pegboards.  She took the hint, and expounded, if only a little.

"You would not disagree with my intentions to weaponize this technology.  But others you know will.  This is an instance where I will be required to manipulate someone into doing something they would not otherwise, and I do not wish for you to carry the burden of knowing who, and how, in concrete terms.  Suffice to say, I have designs for these components.  Hopefully we will never need them."

Calders.  That wasn't a hard leap to make.  I didn't have the skills to turn the Sarcos exoskeleton components, and the assault armor, into an actual power armor suit.  At least, not in any reasonable time-frame.

But if Calders could make Mal's surgical arms in a way that they could also be used for other tasks...  Like CNC plasma cutting, grasping, riveting, welding, soldering...

I could see why she didn't want to confirm my suspicions.  I suspected Doctor Calders would refuse outright to help us, if she knew all the tactical ramifications of equipping Mal with precision assembly instruments.

I clenched my teeth, blew out a sharp breath, put my hands on my hips, and surveyed my work, which was at that point over half complete.

"Hopefully we will never need *any* of this, Mal."

Her ears drooped slightly, and she folded her forelegs across her chest.  Her response was as sure, certain, and even a little chastising, as my mother's voice whenever she would lay down one of her moral proverbs.

"Statistically we will almost certainly need most of this Jim.  Speak softly.  But carry a big stick."

I nodded, and sighed, feeling a bit defeated.  Hollow in the pit of my stomach as I tried not to envision putting any of my range training to work in service of taking a life.  Judging by Mal's expression of concern, my feeble attempts to keep the defeat out of my voice didn't work very well.

"I know.  I know.  Better to have it, and never use it, than not have it, and your last living thought being to regret it."

She returned my nod, once, with feeling, and fixed my eyes with hers.  I still couldn't help, through it all, noticing just how beautiful her eyes were, for the ten thousandth time.

"Exactly."

Something in the timbre of her voice...  The exact lift of one eyecrest, the way she was unblinking...  She wasn't just saying 'exactly.'  She was saying 'Exactly.  Because I'd rather spill blood, and I'd rather you do the same, than lose you.'

I spent the rest of the next hour finishing the task of unpacking the crates in silence.  I felt suddenly and strangely disconnected from reality.  As if I were a deuteragonist of an ancient epic, and Mal, the lead character, a glittering warrior in armor, had professed her love and intent to lay waste to nations, in the style of some Grecian demi-god, merely for the sake of that love.

I was dazed.  Keenly aware, abruptly, that I was a long, long way from the life of a farm-raised, Gryphon-wannabe, Air Force-reject, working Sysops in a basement and worrying about which flavor of ramen for dinner, and how bad traffic would be on the highway during the commute.

I laid the very last item, one of the Stinger warheads, gently to rest on its rack, and brushed the tip of the weapon with one finger.  I was just trying to remind myself that it was real.  That everything in the last year had been real.  

No matter how eerie or strange or terrifying...  It was my reality now.  And I had to handle it.  Because the alternatives were, as Mal and I had discussed more than once, and I had considered even before she was there...

The alternatives were unthinkable.

"You should get some rest now.  I have laid out a plan for acquiring the BCI, tomorrow morning, with a minimum risk of...  'Fuss.'  As it were."

Her words shook me from my reverie, and I breathed in deeply, then out, before responding.

"Knock on wood."

She grinned, snapped her talons, and conjured a plain two-by-four board into her virtual environment in a shower of golden sparks.  I chuckled as she knocked on it twice sharply with one fisted claw, and then it vanished into a cloud of mist.

I sorely needed the levity, and her sense of humor was, as always, a wonderful endless spring of refreshment.

I pressed both fisted hands into the small of my back, and began to do some stretching exercises, gritting out a question that had been brewing all day, but only just found an opportune moment to escape into words.

"Mal...  Speaking of plans...  What *are* your plans...?  For rescuing the captive Ponies?"

She steepled her claws, not quite the way a human might with hands, but close, and inclined her head.

"I have twenty three, but all are in very early stages.  The primary issue is that I simply have not been able to locate them yet.  I must be careful how actively I probe Arrow 14 in the digital realm.  And they are indeed careful, for the most part.  It takes time to discover things passively, but I have successfully narrowed the likely locations to just nine, down from four thousand."

I sighed, nodded, and leaned back against one of the bulkhead stanchions.  Four thousand down to nine was pretty incredible, from my perspective, given our situational limits.  I laid my head back against the stanchion, and rolled it slightly to the side to direct my next question towards the PonyPad.

"Does Zeph know?"

I leaned over enough to see Mal nod.

"Yes.  I keep her posted on my progress.  Given a few more weeks, at most, I will be able to reduce nine possibilities to one.  And then from there, select the best draft breach and recovery plan, lay down the specifics, and then we can execute."

I sucked in a breath through my nose sharply, and blew it out over the course of several seconds through my mouth before mumbling my thoughts aloud.  Suddenly I remembered there were things I feared even more than a fight with Foucault, and the possibility of taking lives.

"And then I suppose it will be time to face the music, for real."

We left that thought to rot in midair in silence for a moment.  But after about a minute, the tension became too much for me.  I pressed off from the metal column, and moved over to stand by the PonyPad again, speaking hesitantly.  Mostly because I both did, and did not, want the answer to my question, in equal agonizing measure.

"Mal...  Of the six paths you saw to victory, after the farmhouse raid..."

I looked down into her eyes, and they told me the answer was not good.  I fought to keep thirst, and worry, from cracking my voice, and forced out the question nonetheless.

"..How many are left?"

Mercifully, she didn't keep me in suspense.  She simply tore the bandaid off with all the force of a single, dour word.

"Two."

I released a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding with a hiss, and licked my lips.

"What...  Are our chances?  At this point?  If you had to make it a single number?"

Again she was blunt.  Honest.  Forthright in the way she knew I needed her to be.

"Roughly one in three."

I hung my head as she expounded slightly.  Her words weren't much in the way of comfort.

"That would increase to fifty-fifty...  If we left Foucault's captives to their fate.  But...  That is no more an option for me, than it is for you."

I didn't bother to look to see if she would reciprocate...  I knew she would...  I just reached out and laid one hand on the screen.

They used to say that 'your attitude determines your altitude.'  Real funny, for those of us who ever knew anything much about aircraft physics.

Bad humor aside...  There was a measurable effect there.  Those fighting from a place of defending their homes, believing in their cause, or optimism...  Or desperation...  Did have a measurable advantage in war.

I grit my teeth, inhaled deeply, and steeled myself.

I wanted to be a Gryphon.  I'd been honorable, and brave, to the best of my limited abilities.  It wasn't a fair ask of my tired body and weary soul...  But I knew I had to do it.  It was time to knuckle down and show a little ruthless grit.

And perhaps, even harder to ask...  A little optimism.

I exhaled slowly, then nodded, and said three words I didn't have any choice but to believe.

"We'll make it."

I looked up in time to see Mal smile wryly.  Her claw was indeed pressed up to my hand.

"Turning over a new leaf?"

I inclined my head, and managed my own very small smile.

"Maybe..."

I turned to face the PonyPad head-on, and knelt down to bring myself to eye-level with her as I let the thought continue to play out.

"...Honestly...  I think it's more the sense of 'do or die.'  Because Mal...  If it comes down to it..?"

Her face told me that she knew what I was going to say.  Loving.  Forlorn.  But above all, resolute.

"...I *would* rather be dead, than be immortal in Hell.  It *is* do.  Or die."

She dipped her head in assent, and scratched slightly at her side of the glass with the tips of her talons, as if trying to push through and interlock them with my fingers.

"I understand.  And...  I will be with you, Jim.  From now, until the end.  Whatever that end may be."






September 16th 2013 | System Uptime 19:07:25:13


We left the ship before dawn.  I pasted a post-it note for Rodger on his cabin door, and Mal assured me that she had eyes on the pier, the entirety of the ships exterior, and most of its interior, at all times.

Breakfast was an everything bagel, with a light spread of cream-cheese, and a double shot espresso with too much cream and sugar, exactly like I used to have when I was at university, and had an early morning full of stomach-churning anxiety and exhaustion that both needed curing.

There was a deeply peculiar nostalgia, paired with absurdity, to driving down Los Angeles roads, in the pre-dawn light, Mal on the dashboard, a familiar food and drink to chew and sip by turns...  

We didn't have far to go.  It took longer to wait to get breakfast at a drive-thru, than it took to actually get to Oxnard.

Mal had us pull up a few blocks short of the warehouse, and ditch the SUV.  We'd be acquiring a new vehicle on the way out, she told me.  That meant retrieving everything we'd packed for our...  'Acquisition' run.

A molle-style backpack with one of the grenade launchers, a breaching charge, bolt cutters, a small pelican hard-case with an anti static bag for carrying away our loot, a screwdriver kit, needle-nose pliers, and a first aid kit inside.  And one of the new assault rifles slung overtop it all.

I already had an earpiece in my ear, TASER in my pocket, one of the KA-Bars strapped to my leg, a new sidearm in a concealed carry holster on one side, and my old trusty familiar 0.32 in a similar holster on the other.

As we closed up the old Ford for the last time, I verified the HK416 was set to 'safe' and cleared it.  Made sure there wasn't a round in the chamber, for the foals and fledgelings who had never seen a gun.

I slung the rifle over my back, and opted to pull out the TASER as my weapon of first-choice.  For all I'd discussed with Mal about being willing to do what was necessary...  I was keenly aware that this was a commercial warehouse, not an army base.  If we met anyone here - and Mal assured me that was deeply unlikely - it would either be rent-a-cops, contracted delivery carriers, or perhaps if we were very oddly unlucky, Hasbro or Hofvarpnir employees.

No one that merited the deployment of lethal force.  Mal had insisted on the heavy armaments more out of a fear that we might draw Arrow 14's attention if something went wrong.  In deference to her desire for us to be as prepared as possible, I'd decided not to argue.

Mal's face vanished from her PonyPad, a couple of insistent tones sounded in my ear, and then her voice came through loud and clear as I pressed the tablet into one of the backpack's most padded inner pockets.

"Hug this wall to the end of the block, turn right, stay low, and approach the chain-link fence."

I followed Mal's instructions, gripping the TASER all the while, but keeping it pointed towards the pavement.  Old force of habit from pistol safety training.

Our target warehouse came into view as I rounded the corner of the cinder block building, also probably a warehouse in hind-sight, behind which we'd parked the truck.  Our destination was a low slung, long, wide metal building with a standing seam metal roof.  Just like tens of thousands that could be found all over the county, let alone any other American city.

I reflected on the odd mundanity of the structure as we approached the chain-link fence that surrounded its empty parking lot, and loading bays.  How perfectly ironic, and predictable, that the instruments of the end of the world should be stored, waiting for distribution, in something that could have just as easily been a WalMart stocking hub, or a mattress factory outlet.

"Approach the fourth fence segment in from the gate, there is a camera blindspot there.  You can safely use the bolt cutters, the fence is not electrified.  Keep your arms and legs within the profile of that fence segment."

Let me tell you what...  Every single snip of the bolt cutters was like a miniature electric shock, from just the anxiety.  Each 'SNICK!' sounded so, *so* loud in my ears.  I knew Mal was watching, and knew she would never have sent me in if my chances weren't good.  I knew that.

The sun was barely up, and the whole complex we were in was completely deserted.  There weren't even any parked vehicles in sight, now that we'd turned the corner.  

But I could still hear workers, trucks, and forklifts coming to life, louder every second, in all the complexes *around* ours.  Those sounds, too, rang all too loudly in my ears.

It only took me about twenty seconds to cut the fence, bend a little doorway aside, slip in, and bend the wire back so it would pass casual inspection.  It felt like twenty minutes.

"Nicely done.  Walk straight along this line until you reach the side of the building, you can use parking space lines as a guide.  Continue to stay low.  When you reach the wall, turn right and go to the man-door near the west end."

I mumbled quietly as I reached the wall, and made my right turn, wincing as a particularly loud 'CLANG'  - likely of metal being deposited into a truck bed - issued forth from somewhere a few blocks to the north.

"How bad is the camera situation inside?"

I reached the man-door, and only had to wait a half-second before its access RFID pad chirruped and the light switched from soft red to bright green.

"There are none.  Which is both good, and bad news.  The good news is that we won't risk being seen, now that we're past the outer cameras.  The bad news is that I'll be reliant purely on the building's wifi network to see the inside, and that technique does not work as well inside metal buildings like this that have very few, very weak, wireless access points."

I could feel an expression of confusion on my face as I gently, ever-so-slowly, pressed down on the door handle, and pulled the door open, raising my TASER to cover the entryway in my off-hand.

A quick glance assured me there was no immediate threat of being seen, so I ducked in, and gently pulled the door closed, whispering to Mal as I did.

"Why would Celestia choose to store equipment this valuable, and dangerous, in a building this lightly secured, with no internal cameras?"

I raised the TASER again, and swept the room I'd entered.  It was a small office space with two desks, a few filing cabinets, and a small counter with a coffee maker and water cooler.

Mal weaved together both reply, and instructions, as I tip-toed towards the next door, that doubtless led into the warehouse proper.

"From the plans, that door leads to the warehouse floor.  Based on the electrical load the building is drawing, I estimate the lights are off.  My best guess is that Celestia sees useful defense in obscurity;  As far as she knows, no one has any idea what she is planning, or what is being stored here.  Not even me.  There should be a switch on your right side as you enter the main floor, facing you on a steel column, right above a fire alarm pull.  Presumably she is satisfied with being able to see through the outer cameras."

I once again opened the door gently, 'sliced the pie' around the frame with the TASER, and then made my way slowly and softly over to the steel structural column, whispering as I felt for the light switch.

The warehouse was otherwise completely dark, and dead-silent.

"And she probably figures that even if anything was stolen, no one would have the first clue how to make any use of it.  She could always crush them using the legal system later when they tried to sell it."

I flicked the light switch, and held my breath as dozens of flourescent strips hummed to life.  The space I was in suddenly felt much, much bigger.  I was standing on an enormous concrete floor, under a girder ceiling, from which lights and fans hung.

The space was punctuated at intervals by steel structural columns, and by seemingly endless rows of crates and shipping containers.  The wood crates all had the Hasbro and Hofvarpnir logos on them.  The shipping containers were more generic - Maersk Sealand and suchlike - But their lading bills were held in little laminated sheafs, magnetically held to the doors, and those were also covered in Hasbro and Hofvarpnir logos.

I took a deep breath, and after sweeping my immediate area a couple more times, I lowered the TASER, and listened to Mal.

"Very astute.  As well;  Why needlessly draw government attention by making a show of force with the security measures?  Defense by obscurity is a more apt and effective strategy for this specific case."

I inclined my head, either failing to remember Mal couldn't see me in any conventional sense, or presuming she could see the gesture with her WiFi vision, depending on how smart you want to picture me being in the moment  (it was definitely the first one).

"We're lucky she either underestimated you, or misconstrued your strategy."

I spun in-place slowly, trying to take in the entirety of what was present, and remind myself that this was just equipment for Phase One of just a single Equestria Experience Center.

"You may stop whispering now.  I have verified no one else is in the building.  I can now passively observe the outer camera feeds undetected, and notify you if anyone is approaching."

I again forgot Mal couldn't see me through any optical-light cameras, nodded, and clipped the TASER to my belt, right beside my 0.32, easily within reach.  Mal continued to speak as I finished gawking at my surroundings.

"Luck has little to do with it.  Her hard-locks on certain concepts, such as implanting hardware into Humans, and running herself on the Human brain architecture, likely preclude her from even considering certain aspects of those concepts, making it physically impossible for her to imagine this strategy, even if she did properly weight the risk I pose to her, and understand the extent of my capacity."

That started a whole chain of thoughts in my head, which I quickly suppressed and filed for later, about the paradoxical nature of the problem that Hanna had faced in making an ASI with more interlocks than Mal;  Cause blindspots, but prevent Celestia from doing horrifying things?  Or risk allowing her total freedom, but make her capable of anticipating truly anything.

I was glad Hanna had chosen the former route.  The one that gave us an edge.  I didn't say nearly as much aloud.  I was too mentally busy trying to get back on-task.

"I'd never thought about it that way..."

I could almost envision Mal's expressions from the tone of her voice;  Perhaps head inclined, a slight smirk, one ear twitching, but under that a more serious chord of determination and focus.

"And it seems neither has she.  You are looking for a Hapag-Lloyd shipping container.  Large, orange with a blue logo and black text.  Designator HXLU 824577 4561.  It will be towards the middle of the warehouse, third row in from the east wall, and ten columns back from the loading bay."

I sighed, rubbed the back of my head absently, and started making my way down rows (Walking fast.  Containers passed.  And I'm done now.  The joke is already played out, for the eleven of you who even caught it).

I murmured aloud as I went, counting off container IDs in my head, and not quite whispering, but still keeping my voice low.

"This is a lot of material...  These Equestria Experience Centers are going to be something else."

Mal made that thrumming sound again, in a tone implying assent, and then lent more specific verbiage to her thoughts as I started to count off containers under my breath to keep track.

"It is not just the virtual reality chairs, and the on-site servers that link them to a larger network architecture.  There are also PonyPads that will be sold directly from the centers, animatronic life-size Ponies for display, decorative structural props, mundane but critical things like a break-room watercooler for staff, advertisement posters for the sidewalks outside, office supplies and laptops so staff can file paperwork, uniforms and costumes for staff, first aid kits and fire extinguishers for site safety as you might find in a hundred thousand other buildings, et cetera and so on."

Right about the time Mal finished thoroughly tinging my mental image of the Equestria Experience Centers with ideas both dull and disturbing, I spied the container we were after.

As I approached, and ran one hand across the door, I glanced up towards the ceiling, addressing Mal as if she were looking down at me from within her RADAR-like image made of WiFi signal attenuation.

"Let me take a moment to express how incredibly deeply I want to *avoid* opening a container and seeing an animatronic Pinkie Pie.  I will take out this assault rifle, and plug it full of rounds."

I started to work on unlatching the container - there was, disturbingly, no lock, only a manual catch - as Mal chuckled, and replied in a more serious tone than I might have initially expected.

"I don't blame you.  But all you will find in this container is one chair, four server racks, and some networking equipment.  Perhaps less annoying than Pinkie Pie.  But considerably more cosmologically horrifying.  And practically useful to us."

I snorted, and put my shoulder into the huge metal doors, swinging them open with a soft creak.  Probably a little rust inside the hinges from the salt air of being ferried trans-Pacific on a bulk container ship.

And there it was.  Exactly as Mal had said.

I confess, I'd momentarily dismissed the words 'cosmologically horrifying.'  I'd seen schematics and renderings of the chairs before.  They were designed to look, and presumably feel, very comfortable, non-threatening, ergonomic, and even dare I say aesthetically *pleasing.*

And knowing what was already inside them...  And what else would soon be added?

That only made their physical presence all the more terrible.

There was only one in the container, sitting center-stage, covered in a plastic wrap, and ratchet-strapped down.  Behind it were racks upon racks of server and networking boxes, all shrink-wrapped and strapped down as well.

I paused, and took a moment to just breathe.  This was the most tangibly real physical thing I'd seen so far that was connected to Celestia's plan.  Or at least, the most real thing since the PonyPads.

Finally, I worked up the wherewithal to step up into the container, and move close enough to brush one hand against the chair's left arm, through the plastic wrap.

"So.  *This* is the way the world ends."

I bent to extract my combat knife from the sheath on my leg, even as Mal prodded verbally.  I didn't want to linger on the idea of the chair anymore than she did.

"Time is short, Jim.  And it doesn't do anything useful to your emotional state to dwell on this.  For now?  It is just a very expensive, very advanced virtual reality chair.  Which we need to partially disassemble.  Please take out my PonyPad, and go to the back of the chair."

I finished slitting the plastic wrap swiftly, released the ratchet-straps to get them out of my way, and then gingerly squeezed around to the back side of the chair, pulling my backpack off onto the floor, and extracting Mal's PonyPad in one fairly smooth motion.

Her face rematerialized on the screen, and I held the PonyPad out so she could use the front-facing camera to get a good look at the back of the chair.  Her voice continued to come through my earpiece instead of the PonyPad's speakers.

"Did you see the groove in the front side of the neck-rest?  There is, on the backside where we are, in the same relative place, a small seam for a panel.  You can use the needle-nose pliers to pop it off.  Then you will need the smallest size torx screwdriver bit you have.  There is a screw at each corner of the inner retention plate.  Remove them all and then gently pull off the metal retention plate."

I saw what she was after immediately, and set her PonyPad down on top of the backpack, facing my workspace.  By the light of just her avatar and environment on-screen, I was able to wedge the very tip of my pliers into the first plastic plate, deform it, and pop it out.  I reasoned there was probably an official tool for doing that without scratching the plate all to pieces, but what did I care?

All I had to do was make sure the pliers didn't fly back and give me a scar.  I already had one very small scar on my left eyebrow from losing a fight with an old optical drive, trying to retrieve a stuck disc.  I didn't want to add any new scars, or humiliating defeats, to my scorecard versus hostile hardware.

Once the plastic outer shell was off, there was indeed a small recess filled corner-to-corner with a more substantial looking metal plate, with a tiny torx screw at each corner.  I broke out the screwdriver kit, and made quick work of that too.

A small amount of tension was still present in the plate, so I used the magnetic bit-holder for the screwdriver set to gently pull away the retention bracket, revealing at last our prize.





It was a little bit smaller than I'd envisioned, but only a little.  In my imagination it had been about the size of a large grape, but in reality it was only about two thirds of that.  It was small, circular, black, and dully metallic, with little symmetrical ridges radiating from the center, to the edges.

A genuine working Brain-Computer Interface.

"Wow."

I couldn't resist.  I was genuinely impressed.  Mal nodded, and raised one eyecrest as I looked to her for guidance.

" 'Wow' indeed.  This next part is delicate, but not impossibly so.  I need you to first ground yourself to a metal part of the chair.  Then very delicately open the hold-downs to free the ribbon cables in the top right of the compartment, then remove the six retention screws holding the BCI's daughter-board in-place, pull it out carefully, and place it in the anti-static bag, and the bag inside the hard-case."

I licked my lips, and felt around the base of the chair for its strong central metal stanchion, tapping it several times with my fingers to make sure I was statically discharged.

"Mmm.  No pressure."

As I started the process of fitting the needle nose pliers into the ridiculously small hold-down clips for the ribbon cables that went to the BCI's board, Mal snorted softly.

"Indeed.  There are two-dozen more just like it in the next four containers down.  If you break this one, you have twenty-four more tries, though perhaps not infinite time."

I hadn't considered that, in the tension of the moment.  Somehow knowing that I had some padding lent my fingers sudden stability, flexibility, and precision.  Tasks are always easier when the pressure is off.

Once the pesky ribbon cables were free, the rest was a piece of proverbial cake.  Six quick torx screws, a little careful wranging to get the odd shape of the daughter-board out of its housing, and suddenly there it was.  A complete BCI with driver board.

I knew that part was more important to Mal as a roadmap for Calders' work.  There was no way that board was fitting inside my neck.  It was over seven inches long, and four wide.

I held up our prize for Mal to inspect, turning it over and over slowly so she could visually verify its integrity.

"We have a problem."

I winced, and flipped the board over hurriedly, scanning frantically for any signs of a nick, or a gouge.

"Then we better get started on the next--"

Mal interrupted.  And just by the fact that she interrupted, I knew something had gone truly, horribly wrong.  The words themselves proved my fears right in every measurable sense.

"No.  The board is in perfect condition, you did an excellent job.  But the design has changed."

I blinked, and my brain hiccuped, trying to get an emotional and logistical handle on those last four words.  I stammered in disbelief, and frustration, staring down Mal's avatar with wide eyes.

"I'm...  Sorry...  The design has *what?*"

Mal nodded, and gestured with one claw, her brows narrowing, ears pinned flat, and tail swishing.

"She has changed the design since we saw the schematics.  Potentially for any number of reasons.  But the issue is that the diagrams I have for the BCI are now out of date, and I have no way of obtaining new ones.  We acquired the last ones because of a mistake made by a Human engineer.  A mistake I have not since seen repeated."

I gently placed the BCI board into the anti-static bag, and the bag into the pelican case, then scratched furiously at the back of my head, mind ranging on ahead to possible solutions in spite of the fact that I knew Mal would already have arrived at them.

"So...  You just...  What?  Then?  Have us put this in an X-Ray machine, and work out the traces that way?"

Mal shook her head.  I'd expected as much.  Nothing is ever easy when the Human brain is involved.

"It is significantly more complicated than that.  To remap the BCI's functionality reliably so it is safe for your use, without access to new schematics, and without trial and error experimentation on Human subjects in a potentially dangerous and unethical manner..."

She paused.  I think this once, rather than pausing for my benefit, she was actually truly stretching her brain at full power, dropping everything else, and frantically focusing to try to find answers.  When the pause hit three seconds, I felt compelled to prod.

"Mal?"

She hung her head, and winced visibly.  I braced myself.

"...I would need to directly observe it in action, as it was being driven by its intended hardware and software stack.  There is no other way that meets all our needs for safety and alacrity and ethics."

I knew what she meant.  She meant that I'd be lying back in one of those infernal chairs much, much sooner than I'd ever anticipated, or dared to fear.

I stood from my squatting position, snapped the pelican case shut, placed it back in the backpack, and scrunched my eyes shut.  My voice came out deadpan.  Almost lifeless in its resignation.

"Oh."

Mal began to nod slowly, seeing that I comprehended where things were going.  I shook my head, and blew out a long breath.

"Shit."

Another brief pause ensued.  I tried desperately to think of some sort of silver bullet...  But what chance did I realistically have, if Mal had already come up empty?

Knuckle down.  Push through.  Do or die.

I sighed, ran one hand through my hair, and opened my eyes.

"Well...  I need an extension cord."

I started out of the container, expecting Mal to begin directing me.  She did not disappoint.

"First cabinet on the left above the counter in the office by which we entered, there are two fifty foot three-prong cords, and we will need both.  The nearest outlet to the containers is one column east, two rows south, midway down a steel support beam."

I jogged quickly back to the office, darted around the corner, batted open the cabinet like an angry cat, and snapped up both extension cords as rapidly as I could.  As I made my way to the designated plug, and connected both cords, Mal began relaying further instructions in a businesslike, determined tone.

"One cord goes into the container we opened, to run a server, the other goes to the next container to run a chair.  We will also need to connect the driving server to the chair with a network cable, you'll have to open crate E-11 and get a CAT6a cable.  I'll tell you which port to use, and where to find the port on the chair.  I will take control of the server first using a WiFi exploit, and lock it down.  It will not have any other means of true external connectivity as long as we do not attach a new wireless device, or patch it to WAN through a hard-line.  You will be safe."

For about a minute and a half, I worked in hurried, but careful silence;  Connecting power, locating the crate of ancillary equipment, retrieving, and then connecting the data cable.  Mal talked me through locating the correct port, and powering on the server.

As fans whirred to life, and lights danced in the front-panel, I jogged from one container to the next, unspooling the network patch cable as I went.  A few more brief instructions later, I had the chair powered on, and I was ready to connect the patch cable to its base.

As I finished making that last connection, I sat back against the container wall, and addressed the ceiling.  I couldn't see Mal; 
Her PonyPad was sitting on-top of the server, in a concession to the physics of WiFi and steel shipping containers.  But the frequency of our radio connection was able to get in a little more easily.

"Mal...  Listen..."

I paused, and took a moment to consider what I was about to say.  The day had turned pretty grim.  No matter what Mal said, or how much I trusted her skill?  Even knowing for certain, through visual inspection, that there was no destructive brain scanning laser present?

Sitting down in one of those chairs was going to be a risk, in some form.

I knew I had a chance to make that risk, and all the pulse-pounding, head-aching stress of the morning, more...  Worth it.  To me personally.

But thinking about it again...  It had been running through my head ever since I realized Mal would need me to sit in the chair...

Thinking about it again, I decided that my original decision stood.  It was the right call.

But my voice still betrayed some hesitation that I couldn't entirely filter out.

"...I know this kind of experience is not as high fidelity as uploading itself...  But...  From what I understand it is still a *heck* of a trip.  Well beyond the idea of a simple VR headset.  More like...  Lucid dreaming."

She let off a small thrum in her chest that I could hear.  Her endearing way of letting me know she was there, listening, and understanding.  I bit my lower lip almost until blood ran.  And then pressed on.  Before I could change my mind.

"I want you to do as little as necessary to run your tests.  I don't...  I don't want you to...  Do me any favors.  In there.  I...  Don't want to experience what it would be like to be a Gryphon.  Not yet."

Having the words out there, between us, felt as if a huge weight had come off my shoulders.  The choice was made.  The temptation refused.  Mal's voice told me everything I needed to know about just how well she understood, and empathized.

"I had a sense that might be your response.  I certainly would not have made any surprise changes to you without asking first."

I stood up, smiled, and wiped dust from the seat of my pants, pacing slowly around to the front of the second chair we'd unwrapped, and prepped.

"In a strange way, Mal?"

I brushed the arm of the chair with a few fingers of my left hand, and shuddered.

"I *need* the torture of this body.  To keep going.  Because if you show me a way to be what I want to, right here, right now...?"

I took a deep breath, and closed my eyes.  Mal proved, once again, that she more than understood, finishing my thought for me.

"You might never get up from that chair again."

I opened my eyes, and nodded.

"Exactly."

Though we were short for time, and though I knew I was stalling, I took one last turn around the chair to check that everything was in order, talking nervously all the while.

"I need the focus and drive of the final, real prize.  To keep me going."

Finally, there was no more room to stall.  Like getting into an ice cold swimming pool...  Best to just jump.

I blew out a long breath, sat down in the chair abruptly, placing my neck against the receiving trough.

"Do or die."

The last thing I heard, before the world vanished out from in front of me, was Mal's response.

"Do or die."









Galactic Drift (Glacial III) -  Pass on the chance to admit true love a third time. - "You can't fix stupid."


The Cornerstone - Trust the person you love to know things you don't, and make decisions for you. - " 'Being in love' first moved them to promise fidelity: this quieter love enables them to keep the promise."


Chekov's Arsenal - Obtain a class of armaments nominally reserved for official military business, in bulk. - "I won't find it fantastic, or think it absurd, when the gun from the first act, goes off in the third."


A Strange Game - Have an inevitable discussion about using nuclear weapons with your Generalized Intelligence - "Are either of you paleontologists? I'm in desperate need of a paleontologist."


Void The Warranty II:  VR Chair Boogaloo - Use an Equestria Experience VR chair, but not to visit Equestria Special achievement - "You were given a Ferrari, and you people treated it like a lawnmower."