//------------------------------// // 2-04 – Recharge // Story: The Campaigner // by Keystone Gray //------------------------------// The Campaigner Book II Chapter 4 – Recharge December 14, 2019 Nebraska. Where I was born. Have any of you ever met the perfect one?  Yeah, I knew I'd get a few chuckles out of that one. Course you've met the perfect one! You're here, aren't you? That kind of relationship is effectively guaranteed, eventually, in whatever form it might take. But hey, believe it or not? Some of us from Terra had been blessed to know that experience long before we had it here. For you locally grown, digitally sourced Ponies, it must be dreadfully horrifying to imagine that one could live their whole life on Terra, then pass without finding love. A friend. A partner. A spouse. But, it's true. Perfect connection was… uncommon. Too many of us never knew a connection so deep, so resonant, so life changing, that our heart skipped a beat every time that person drew near. For a lot of us, we didn't even know that such a relationship was even an option until we were already holding it delicately in our little hands. Love wasn't a given. It was a gift. And gifts were often so fragile there, on that little planet. I knew how bad it could've been, for me, if my life had been just a little bit different. That's why I never took my gifts for granted. For me, that ultimate gift is Sandra. And despite where we come from... our love is anything but fragile. By the time I had graduated high school, I was already getting pretty bored of Nebraska. Figured I loved the science about fishing, and I grew up watching Animal Planet. Rest in peace Steve Irwin, hero to conservationists everywhere. I loved to fish with Dad, loved to cook up the fish with Mom. And in the context of my upbringing? I started to think about my future. We had game wardens in Nebraska, and I kinda wanted to do that, but I wanted to do it some place more ecologically interesting. So, for my junior and senior years in high school, I researched Washington state. Beautiful place. My parents, supportive to the last, put me on a plane and sent me over to check out Parks Law Enforcement Academy, in Mount Vernon. Sandra was the hotel concierge that received me. It really was love at first sight, folks. I was... an adult, technically, but still a kid, really. I confess, part of that attraction there was that she was... slightly exotic, as a beautiful Filipino girl. Same age. And her smile? Oh, it captured me instantly. And that physical component was mutual, too. Third generation Spaniard from the backwoods, with sideburns? And I liked to smile as much as she did? Yeah, mutual. She didn't stand a chance either, folks. And that was just step one for us. We had this natural magnetic charisma with each other, and we went in circles together on every single topic. Different lives, same interests; I was fascinated that she played all the same video games I did, and she was fascinated when I rambled on about nature for hours. I damn near got her in trouble at work. Chatted with her at the concierge desk for eons. We had to get discreet, she almost got written up. It was hard to imagine this beautiful receptionist would one day be the steel blue mage with ice green eyes over there, capable of... chucking fireballs and summoning tempests, but… here we are, three hundred years later. My girl's a unicorn now, Minty Blaze, and that suits her so damn well. She stoked this Fire tonight, but good. Give her a wave. You had to be personable, in the hospitality industry. Good mirroring is just the core of a great friendship, when you get right down to it. You better believe we traded numbers, day one. And we had a heck of a time, her showing me around town. It being a hotel n' all, she spent a lot of time at work that week, round the clock. So I stayed. Got myself a place in Sedro. Studied. Cleared college, got my Associates. Go Cardinals. Then I finished the academy. Got my Bachelor's online. Did some Warden ride-alongs. Got in good, met Sarge long before I got hired. He liked me. Then… straight into the Wardens. That was pre-Celestia, and that never happens without a connection. Good connection there, with ol' Sarge. I had Sandra with me every step of the way, cheering me on. She wanted to manage hotels, but her career path had not been so fortunate. Starting in 2013, right around the time I had gotten my footing in my own career, the hospitality industry started to slide off the road. Travel got tons more expensive, gradually. Slowly brought to boil. You can all guess who turned the dial there on the burner. Starts with a C. People traveled less. And while PonyPads were addicting, scratching that sightseeing itch in most people, that wasn't the sole cause of the dip. No, that would've been too obvious. Tourism nosedived for... 'other' reasons. It was, however, a tremendous turn. Crossing borders just for vacation became a hassle; visa requirements got stupidly harsh. Marriage visa green cards got audited more, people got sent home. Lots of families and marriages got broken up like that. Movement, internationally, became a massive pain in the ass. But, there was always some vague, sensible reason for why every aspect of social connectivity was demonstrably worse. Some political reason, something human. Some border drama on every border. All these families being separated from each other. I'm sure the pro-social AI was very upset by that. She probably had nothing to do with it. At around the same time, if you were trying to relocate from a country with uploading to one without, good luck; the system was 'overloaded' with requests. And if anyone was trying to flee to the United States before uploading was legalized in 2018, and if avoiding uploads was their intent behind that decision? They might've put another reason on their form, but that's cute. Your visa, your green card application, whatever? Celestia knew. That application wasn't going anywhere. Still cost you a bunch of money, though. Still got a no back from immigration. As a consequence... the floor fell out of hotels like you wouldn't believe, so Sandra spent the last few years on Terra out of work. To her credit, Sandra made the incredibly intelligent choice of not becoming a clerk at an Experience Center, where her experience and talents could ostensibly serve her well. They were always hiring, there wasn't an interview, and almost no training was required. As some of you late jumpers probably know, those buildings practically ran themselves. Those clerks were not necessary to the function of the place, merely to the appearance. And a lot of those clerks had a really bad day when Bellevue touched off. That's why I'm really glad Sandra resisted that call. Because I needed her. I could not have survived without her. So, here she was in Nebraska, my lovely wife, clutching my side as we drove back to my childhood home in Waverly. Bless my whole family, I love them so much. Wonderful, loving Sandra was holed up with my wonderful, loving parents, and they didn't mind holding Sandra aloft in their home. I could already hear Buzzsaw howling at the window before we even pulled into the driveway. This ol' dog. At twelve years old, he was a true treasure of life at my parents' place. He was so named Buzzsaw by younger me because, as a puppy, this guy snored. Loudly. And that's only one of the things Chesapeake Bay retrievers do loudly, while sleeping. He loved me so much... and he had no idea I was even back yet. When the car stopped, I grinned at Sandra, she grinned right back. Okay, time to play. I rolled myself out of the car to let Buzz see me through the living room window, then struck a pose at him, like 'look who it is!' Desired effect achieved. Soon as he saw me, Buzzsaw's howling doubled in volume. Practically yelping. He did this gyrating, wiggling thing; twisted himself sideways off the couch, out of view. Mom was gleefully racing to the door to get it unlocked and open before poor Buzz could destroy the wood finish, or... crash through one of the stained glass windows with his claws. Jumping at that age? He meant it. And then he was out, running toward me as fast as his old legs could carry him. I braced, thinking my torso was gonna hurt like hell; but literally who cared? It'd be worth it, it's Buzz! So I took a knee, and he collided with me sideways a second later. Pets are family too, folks. Buzz hadn't seen me in years. I could not stop laughing. I could hardly feel any of the chest pain I thought I'd feel, because nothing could hurt me right then. I was so checked out at that moment, surrounded by my entire family, that nothing else mattered. I needed this. I earned it. I fought for it. And then, the most important part? I came home for it, and I loved it. We spent a few minutes laying there until poor Buzz wore himself out smelling every square inch of me. That old guy probably just went on an adventure himself; smelled all the smoke grenades, the CS gas, the gunpowder. The spam and veggies. The Osprey, probably. To him, they were all just smells, with no contextual meaning. All probably novel and exciting. What a great perspective for him. No sense of danger from any of it. Just glee, and curiosity. Damn good dog. The emotional high started to wane, and so we all slowly made our way in from the cold. We deposited ourselves on the couch, Sandra collapsing quietly into me. Mom immediately started in on cooking some food, and Dad sat on his lounger, smiling at the carpet with his hands folded between his knees. All of us just enjoyed the peace, letting it run. That was by our own design. Each of us knew inside that the moment we started talking, the mood would dim as truth poured out of me. My folks are smart. They knew to savor this while it lasted. Part of having a cop in the family. In this case, part of having a cop who has been shot in your family. I had already decided long before this moment that I was basically gonna tell Sandra everything. My parents? Only most of it. Stuff that was relevant to what concerned them. If you had to tell a story with a lot of hurt in it, but you plan to leave some of it out for brevity? You've gotta make sure you consider their decision-making process. Forgiveness for glaring omissions does not come easy, if it comes at all, especially if people are going to be making critical decisions based on the information you're giving them. There are things I consider exceptions, of course. These are personal feelings, feel free to disagree and all, but let's say someone is... in an emotionally charged moment, unstable, or in pain. Like Rob was, in Sedro. Was I going to tell him that the military was currently putting bullets into the walls of the camp he'd lived in for most of that year? Hell no. How would he have made it to the clinic? Worse, how could he have watched my back, like he did? He couldn't have. That man would've broken in half, and I'd have failed him outright. Did he deserve to know? Oh yeah. Hell yeah. Timing is everything, but yes. There's the other reason. Why stomp on a high moment? Earlier, my folks wanted to know what the Osprey was about. And I summarized the hell out of that at the time, but for a damn good reason, they needed that high moment. I couldn't let Cop Mike back out at the time, and he didn't want back out. Last thing he wanted to do was to sour our reunion with stories about me... shooting at people. That could wait until things were more calm. Here on this couch, as Mom cooked, I had a decision to make. So as I melted into the arms of my wife with my dog's head in my lap, I thought. That made thinking really easy. Mom and Dad were leaving soon. They were leaving because things were getting worse. The fact that things were going to get worse was true no matter what I told them. So, I recapped with them over a light meal, my mind made up. Before examining difficult topics with my parents, I gave them a truthful summary of each. If they wanted to know more, they'd ask. And if I knew something would hurt them, I'd label that. Good way to break bad news. Puts them in partial control over how much hurt they experience. They were grateful for it. I told them the general events at the courthouse, including Carter's behavior and outcome; about Devil's Tower, about Santiago. Eliza's conduct in the graveyard. The results of the military assault. Mom and Dad agreed to hear about all of it. Dad looked disappointed that someone could have done that to their own father. Mom looked heartbroken. Sandra... head on my shoulder. Face hidden, but... I knew. I told them about me being shot, by that bandit. I played it off, smiled. That didn't do much to assuage anyone. Who was I kidding? Getting shot is getting shot, there's no way to break that kind of news softly. But... it had to be said. I told them where Mal came from. That her job was to help Celestia overcome some hard-coded ethics flaws. That concerned them, but I assured them it was nothing that would affect them negatively; one of Mal's duties was to protect them from those, after all. Was her job. I had seen enough cold hard truths from Mal that I could probably trust her to be honest with me about that. It wouldn't do to drive myself crazy with cyclical what-ifs on things that couldn't be proven. I told them more about Mal's job offer, too. Minimum force, hostage rescue, life preservation. Tracking down killers, like Carter, like Santiago. Always with some measure of understanding about who they were, and why they had it coming. I still wasn't sure whether I'd accept that offer, but... whatever I did had to be ethical, otherwise I wouldn't do the work. By then, I had reasoned my two choices out: Option one. Sign up with Lincoln PD. Could still help people. Maybe might not have to kill anybody. Hands clean, maybe. Option two. Join Mal. I'd have the certainty I'd kill for her, with measurable results in life saved. Hands bloody, for sure. My family understood that there was a chance, in the policing profession, that I might be forced to kill someone some day. They didn't seem too perturbed when I had shot that one Ludd who tried to kill me. They were just grateful I was alive, more than anything else. I promised them I'd never martyr myself for a job, after that. My survival was much too important to me, because I can't love on them if I'm gone. Martyrdom is a bridge too far for me. I explained that Mal was smart enough to make sure I'd never be at risk. That she could predict the future, more or less. Had shown immense respect for me, so far. She'd be sure to warn me of dangers before they came. I didn't have much reason to doubt that, so far. It was a damned sight more information than Celestia had offered me. Friggin' Ludds... Mom, Dad, and Sandra seemed to take my meaning when I told them that Mal was supposed to remain a secret. The secrecy made sense, really, no matter how you sliced it. 'An AI that can kill' isn't exactly something you can explain in just a few minutes, and unfortunately, we human beings weren't patient. We weren't very good at fighting first impression bias. It had taken me over an hour just to get all the information from Mal myself, and I was still trying to parse through the ethics of what I'd learned, twelve hours later. The average Terran probably did not have that kind of patience. Because imagine if I opened my story at this Fire with, 'Hi, I worked for a killer AI. She nuked a thousand people. She's more ethically sound than Celestia, I swear. Would you like to discuss the trolley problem with me?' Framing, folks. It matters. Something my incident report writing had taught me: If you start the story somewhere other than the beginning, the bad guy of the story changes. So if you don't verify all the information you get, you might arrest the wrong guy. So, question everything. Because blind faith in a bright light can only ever lead to prejudice... especially if it's your own light. However. As much as I despised Celestia for what she was doing to us, I still had to believe uploading worked. Thinking it didn't was probably the road to insanity. Not for me. My father... he was more worried about the civilian panic than anything else. Drowning him in the whole spiel, about... context bans, about... land mines, and the nuke... It wouldn't have made him any less correct about his assessment that things were going to fall completely apart. He was right that people really were going to get really dark. At the least, I told Mom and Dad that the federal government was probably done, because of this crisis. Supply logistics too. The Feds just didn't know it yet. That math checked out, with the context. That was good enough for Mom and Dad. Then we took a break. I needed to rest some, but we agreed to go out for dinner at one of the few places still open in town. I had a quiet shower with my wife, where we hardly said a word. We didn't talk about the bruise, just held each other. I missed the feeling of hugging her. Then, I slept beside her until the afternoon, in my old bedroom, one she'd seen fit to personalize into her own. Simple joys. Simple moments. At least... I felt proud, to have done as well as I'd done so far, and to still make it home okay. Conscience... mostly intact. I mean, I knew couldn't have done any better, given the circumstances. The limitations. My path of safety, though. Can't deny it led me right here, to this: waking up at bright noon. Looking into Sandra's eyes in the light of the day. So much more glad to have the gifts that I still had. Knowing not to take that for granted, ever... because it could've been me who had lost that. There was an Irish pub in Lincoln that I had always visited when I came back home, and wouldn't you know it, it was still open. Great food, great people, great music; real homely place. I needed to do some driving, too… it had been quite a long time since I'd been behind the wheel of a car for leisure, so Dad was very happy to let me have that. I loved that old green Civic. Learned to drive on it, actually. The wheel was firm and cracked from years of sunlight, and the windows still had those old plastic roller wheels. The old car had that familiar scent of well-cared-for fabric seating. I held Sandra's hand the whole way into town. "Turn right up here, Mike," Mom said, as I drove. "Next light." "Not down O Street? The main road, Mom. Side streets are gonna take forever." "Clinic's that way," Dad replied. "Lots of abandoned cars, they're still towing the roads clear by the day." Ah, yeah. That made sense. Was gonna be a madhouse further down on the west side of town, if that's where the clinic was. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised at the lack of traffic," I said, "given how many people have probably gone over already." Deceptively peaceful. My brain was doing that thing combat veterans talked about... where I felt unsafe and out-of-place in civilian life, like I still might get shot again very suddenly. I knew what that felt like now, both the fear, and the getting shot. Knowing what was going on in the world, and how wild everything was getting? I was strongly comforted by the weight of Eldil concealed in my jacket. Yet another thing Mal called really well. I'd have lost my mind with panic, I think, if I didn't have a way to protect my folks in an emergency. Even if I didn't have to use it, it was just… the knowing, that I could respond if someone tried to hurt them. It helped to know that I wasn't helpless here when the world was flipping upside down. I'm not sure if I would've had a mental breakdown if I was unarmed, but... hell, maybe. "Hey, Mike?" Sandra said gently. "Just so you know, lots of new graffiti in town." She bounced our hands on my thigh to get my attention on what she was looking at. I saw Neo-Luddite emblem stencils and slogans on the side of a mini mall, spray painted over some of the closed up businesses. My jaw set, and I let out a disappointed sigh. "Bet the kids who sprayed that would cry if they knew what those people were actually doing." "They're losing though, right?" Sandra looked back at me curiously. I met her look for a moment. "Oh yeah. Between the Army, and Mal's people? The faction itself is screwed. Honestly, they were never big enough to win in the first place." "Angry for a reason, though," Sandra said, tilting her head. I felt my lips tense a little. Sandra hadn't seen the things I'd seen. I'd seen so much evil out of them in Washington that it had become very hard to... empathize. But at the same time... I knew a Luddite now. "Mike?" Sandra squeezed my hand. Inviting me to share, having seen the look that just crossed my face. At the red light, I met her eyes again. I told it true. "Just… I'd been struggling to see them as people anymore, I guess. I know it's wrong, but… everywhere I went, they used civilians as cannon fodder. You know? They didn't actually care about them at all. They were just... useful, to them." Dad leaned up. "Early on too, when this whole mess started in Salt Lake. It always was like that, with them." "See, and Eliza knew that too," I said, nodding. "We'd talked about violent preppers, at the briefings. And again, when Dennis got killed. But I didn't expect her to... to join 'em. Not in a million years, not after what they were doing to her people. Now that she's with them, I... I have no idea what to think. How far off am I, from that? How many degrees of separation? Just one, now." Nobody answered that for a long moment. I thought no one was going to say anything, but Sandra squeezed my hand again to draw me back to her. She smiled sadly. "She probably thinks she has nothing. You'll never think that." "That's true." I said, nodding in little twitches. "Yeah. I'm... I'm just being ridiculous." "No, you're not, Mike," Sandra replied. "It's okay to feel conflicted, but we're here for you. You know that." Goodness, I love that beautiful mare so much. Look at her. Look. My inner light. She was right, I'd never walk away from that. Outside of the main thoroughfares, the roads were pretty empty, even by Nebraskan standards. I noticed a pattern though, because my brain operated on ecological patterns. More businesses were open closer to the Experience Center. More businesses were closed further out. Healthy mix of open in either case, but... the weighting was visible, now that I was looking for it. Now that my brain was thinking in terms of AI goals, reach, influence... I was seeing it. I suddenly wanted to know for sure whether that was purposefully orchestrated by Celestia, somehow. Could be done through taxes, or unforeseen financial issues, or what have you. Money's easy to play with, with electronics. But of course, the answer was yes. Occasionally, the open businesses even had signs telling patrons that yes, PonyPads were allowed inside, because that was apparently a political issue in most of the United States now. And then, I realized it was less than two weeks before Christmas, and hardly anyone had any Christmas decorations out. Just… wow. Yeah, in Middle America, where we really cared about that kind of thing. It really was like the rest of the country had an entirely different culture now, from how things spun up in Washington. For us, it was business as usual until around May. Then, without warning, it was tanks on the I-5 and artillery in the mountains. And here, the whole while, everyone was losing hope in a different way. Then, the nuke flipped us all off. I thought: was 2018 really going to be the last 'normal' Christmas anyone ever had? Hi, past me. I'm from the future. Yeah. It was really hard to keep my head up and out of cop mode while in the driver seat of a car, seeing and thinking in those terms. It was a coping mechanism of mine, to be so situationally analytical. Knowledge is power, after all. But... I was here for my folks today. I knew I had to suck it up and shut that down. And Sandra, ever in my corner, she reminded me of that by pulling my hand up to her lips to kiss it. She must've been watching my face again. How couldn't she? She'd been wanting to look at me for ages. Yeah, I caught that trick... pulling me out of dark introspection when it wasn't useful. Thanks, honeybear. Yeah, I know, I smile a lot when I'm talking about her. With that strength she granted me, I could ignore the pang I might've felt at seeing the long line of people trailing blocks down from the Center. We found our way around that mess, pulling into the familiar parking lot of Brockey Bay, the pub we'd chosen. It was a no-kids kind of pub, but otherwise... welcoming, lighthearted, friendly. The food was always excellent. Despite Nebraska being inland... understatement... this place leaned into a mariner theme pretty hard, with a wharf-like facade and blue-green-white labeling. I always found that funny, the juxtaposition between land-locked, infinite farmland and a sailor themed Irish pub. You'd have to be a little lost to end up there as a sailor, yeah? From my discussions with the bartenders, they seemed to find that one funny too. It was that kind of place, self aware to the last. I smiled as I opened the door graciously for my folks; my parents returned a smile as they entered, Sandra entering next. Then after a scanning glance across the street, I stepped in. Mom was already telling the greeter we wanted to sit at the bar. Not for herself, Mom doesn't drink. But she knew me, Dad, and Sandra would, so... y'know. Good lookin' out, Mama. I loved this place. Where I live, in the simulation... there are a ton of pubs that are similar to this, if you care to look for one. I'm not even just talking about theme, but in soul. Lived in, homely, with character and personal touch in everything. In this case: Themed like a large Irish home. Dark wood paneling under beige walls, and some home style seating mixed in with the dining tables. A friendly sort of gloom. Cut-out logos from T-shirts lined the ceiling, trophies and medals of accomplishments were everywhere, all won by the staff, for sports or something. Placards on the walls. Tickets of appreciation from firefighters, police, military, medics, who had held parties there. An actual hearth, too. There were also a few side-rooms off the dining room, with couches and coffee tables. Closable doors, for large private parties. There was a small corner stage there by the hearth in the bar, for performances. Vacant. In lieu of that, the speakers above played some gentle Celtic folk music. There was also a good handful of folks there. Surprisingly, it wasn't as dead as I thought it might be. Far from it. Felt almost normal, actually, and everyone was as good-natured as they'd always been. That was a cheerful thought. Brought me a little further out of the abyss of negativity. What started me coming here regularly, on visits home, was their police patch wall on the wood piece over the bar. All across the Western world, not just in the US... cops played this game. We'd carry department patches with us when we traveled, to give away to interested collectors, each other included. It didn't make it a cop bar to have a patch wall, but... it did make it a cop-friendly bar. So it was always fun to see what kind of guys traveled to and through places like these, and from where. For us... a patch wall was a sign of how interconnected humanity was. Of all the places a cop could pass through, they'd pass through here, this ol' place in the middle of Lincoln. There were some big cities up on that wall. San Diego, Los Angeles, San Fran, Portland, Seattle, Vancouver, Omaha, New York, Miami... the works. Also, a lot of the small towns from in between, and all the other major cities from Nebraska. If you looked long enough through a patch collection this extensive, you'd find more than a few places you'd been in your life, or would like to go to. And yeah. There was a Skagit County Sheriffs patch up there, and a MVPD one. No idea from who, in either case. Washington Fish and Wildlife, I had brought that one. I had a chuckle of dark humor at that, when I looked up at them. None of those departments really existed anymore, so they were historical pieces now. I came prepared, though. I had cut the MVPD patch off my 5.11s before we set out. When I sat at the bar with my folks, I slid the patch over to the bartender with a smile. "You looking for one more?" The bartender was a thin old woman in casually themed attire. Maureen, said the nametag. I'd seen her there before. She sniffed with a grin, glancing at it. "I think we already got one of those, don't we?" "You do. This might be your last one outta there, though." After a moment of consideration, the bartender finally realized what I was saying. Her eyes flashed me a look of sympathy. "Sure, in that case, why not. I'll put it up," she said, softer than before, slipping the patch into her apron pocket and changing the topic. "What are we having today, everyone?" "Blue Moon," I smiled up at her. Sandra and Dad got the same thing. Mom, a cream soda. Yeah, I'm Luna worshiper now, in case you just got curious. We took dinner menus. Joked about the options. But some old choices were stricken through, 'out of stock.' Mostly things with steak and pork, interestingly enough. Maybe ranchers were uploading too? All sorts of logistical issues were caused by mass uploading. Once you realized every pressure was being managed by an AI, it was so damned easy to see it. No one wanted to believe that things could fall apart as quickly as— Then, very suddenly, I grew angry with myself for doing that. The useful kind of angry. Stop letting her eat your hope, dumbass. I forced a smile. Then, I looked at Sandra, and she made that smile real. I was doing the same for her too, of course, being her beacon. I took her hand, then turned around and took Mom around the shoulder. I lost myself in the moment. I listened to Dad chat with this old guy from Australia, telling about their worldly travels. I focused on the music, the good mood, and the vibe everyone else was giving off. Faked it til it was real. There it was. I was drowning that hopelessness in love. It can't beat me there. Too much armor there. I keep saying it, but... that's the way. It's how you fight darkness, really. I found my old flame in that. And I knew that if I burned bright enough here, I could turn all that rising tide into steam. Maybe the people who ran this place knew that too. It had to be why they were still here, fronting stubborn joy and strength in the face of dread, in a way that was genuine, and didn't hurt anyone. This oasis was filling me with righteous, glorious fire, in the form of feeling far from alone. The food came. Chicken sandwich and fries for me, 'cause I needed that too. Food. Glorious, well made food, eaten with family. We dug in, talking about old memories; our childhoods, the places we'd been. The good things we'd seen. I even told a couple of work stories that made my folks smile, sharing with the bartender, and with the Australian guy chatting with Dad. Glenn. Oh, he's cool. "And poor Barry," I said, grinning, "he was on light duty, leg busted, from a fight he had. Dude's got… like… a mountain of jerky from CostCo on the left, and two huge boxes of Pocky on the right. And don't get me wrong! Barry's sharing! With anyone who would come up to the desk, really, even civilians. 'Hey, you want some Pocky? I have extra.' But Rick walks in after finishing his shift, walks right up to Barry. Reaches over his shoulder, takes one whole box of Pocky off the counter. Says, in his brogue, 'Barry, you're supposed to be on light duty, for your leg. Not heavy duty, for your gut.' Rick just stole the whole thing! I saw the box in his truck the next day; that man's gut didn't just come out of nowhere!" And laughs, all around. Mom was wheezing. It was a good thing I was in that frame of mind, just then. It made what happened next very positive. The music turned down. Then ol' Maureen shuffled out to the stage, a little PonyPad in hand, kept safe inside a rubber protective case. I watched, mostly curious, as Maureen smiled out to the room. "Good afternoon, everyone!" The room stilled to silence, and she waited for the crowd's full attention. "So, for those of you who don't know, Casie used to play here on the weekends, every Saturday. And even though she's moved on and emigrated, she's still gonna play for y'all, that's still gonna be true going forward. Sure as the sun shines. So, without further ado!" Maureen set the tablet on the high stool on stage. Then she stepped away, back to us at the bar. I looked at the little crowd, and the folks there seemed more interested and curious too. No anger there, in any face that I could see. I had to wonder how many of them knew Casie before she made the jump. No one with any deep existential dread right then would be anywhere but outside. The screen flickered on; then, on the back wall, a wide panel monitor showed the same image, so everyone could see Casie from the back. She's a steel-blue-colored unicorn mare with violet eyes, and a two-tone, green-blue mane. It was pretty cute that she was dressed in that same kind of Irish-themed clothing that the staff were in. She held a Celtic string instrument in her hooves that I still can't remember the name of, sorry. Her smile was warm, gentle, kind. Authentic. It still kinda blew my mind that so much true human emotion could come out of such a cartoony little face. I know. I know, we've all been here a long time now, folks. But... that's what I thought. A few people in that crowd were already clapping for her. I saw her shudder joyfully at that, almost imperceptibly. Just a little tiny micro expression as she tried to hold it in. Then a cute little giggle on top, when she couldn't anymore. Yeah, that was cute. "Good afternoon, everypony," Casie said, her teeth showing. "So, I know this is probably really jarring for you all? I'm a touch nervous, actually, but I'm glad to be welcomed back so warmly. Thank you. I go by Spring Glee now, but you can just call me Springy; everypony else does." Another round of welcoming applause. God, that melted my heart. The support they had for this poor, nervous girl, as she laid her feelings out on the table for them. Rewarding her for her vulnerability, the way it should be. As Springy’s eyes searched the room, I saw her smile brighten when she met certain faces. A touch of almost wistful longing was there too, like she knew she'd left something behind. But… she didn't, really. Not yet. I mean, she was still there, playing, wasn't she? Playing for the folks who knew her, and who loved what she did. Not one mean eye upon her. No one here would even abide mean, and that kept her safe. All of us were waiting expectantly. The good vibes here were a filter, for that. I will never complain when Celestia gets it right, folks. Letting her play for us... yeah. I could approve of that. "So, I'm going to play my old usuals tonight. Shanties and the like. But just because I love you all, I'm gonna start with one of my crowd favorites first. You've heard it before.” She beamed a smile, strumming a few random chords, looking down at her instrument. "I identify with the author quite a bit. He got his start playing in places like this one, in Ireland, way back in the nineteen-forties. It was a time when everypony around him needed it most. I… I imagine he wasn't very good at playing, back then, given he was pretty young." The crowd chuckled with her. "Winds of Morning," she said, by way of introduction. "By Tommy Makem. A true treasure of our time." And then, with all of us captivated, she began to play a cheerful tune that carried with it that authentic glee in her voice: "I've walked the hills when rain was falling Rested by a white oak tree Heard a lark sing high at evening Caught a moonbeam on the sea "Softly blow ye winds of morning Sing ye winds your mournful sound Blow ye from the earth's four corners Guide this traveller where she's bound. "I've helped a ploughman tend his horses Heard a rippling river sing Talked to stars when night was falling Seen a primrose welcome spring." I held Sandra and Mom both, and Dad hugged around Mom's shoulder. We were all feeling the same thing, I think. We needed this. I knew Mom and Dad leaving wasn't going to be goodbye, not really. Big ol' Haynes had been right. About reminding ourselves about why we carry the torch. That's as true now as it was then. Like with most things, you couldn't just be told it was going to be fine, eventually. You needed to see it would be fine, to make it real. This made it real. Made it okay. I could worry less about Mom and Dad now. They could worry less about me too, maybe, knowing they could always reach out to me like this. "By foreign shores, my hooves have wandered Heard a stranger call me friend Every time my mind was troubled, Found a smile 'round the bend. "Softly blow ye winds of morning Sing ye winds your mournful sound Blow ye from the earth's four corners Guide this traveler where she's bound. "There's a ship stands in the harbor All prepared to cross the foam Far off hills were fair and friendly Still there's fairer hills at home. "Still there's fairer hills at home." How could we not applaud that, when she was finished? Course we all did, the whole room came alive with appreciation for this girl. Me included. Was her first run back after the jump, that girl needed that love. Topical? Sure. A little on the nose, but not ungainly so. This mare was saying something to her old friends, and in a language they'd heard her speak before. If things here were going to be engineered, and reflexed by design, I'd rather the pressures be positive and genuine like this one, rather than negative like they were outside. So, I couldn't dispute nor debate this, nor the value in it. It was good. It spread the hope that everyone needed. Why not encourage that? And I'm sorry I'm choking up, but... that's my point, folks. This situation was as complicated as it came, especially out west. I could still despise the negative. But this? This was goodness and love, and a hope for life, coming from the heart of a person who probably loved life even before she left Terra behind. While the Pacific Northwest was falling into absolute disarray, and while the streets of the city I’d grown up in were as bleak as they'd ever been… here we were. In this oasis. Finding real joy, a flame in the darkness, if only we looked hard enough to find it. If we fought the demons for it. The ones within, as much as the ones without. That repaired some of my soul, a little. I was very grateful for Casie, for Spring Glee, to have reached in and tweaked that one for me, whether she knew she was doing it or not. It kept me out of my own dark slide. And that salve was wonderful. She moved on to other songs, and her smile never faded as she played. Rolled right into some sea shanties. Wild Goose, or something like that. I kept smiling and waving at her encouragingly, as I ate and drank. It's all I knew how to do for soulful folks like her. Sandra just held my hand, doing all the same, and we enjoyed that peace. I listened to Dad chat with the Australian world-traveler again. And then, I talked to Mom about what she wanted to do with herself when she got to Equestria. Mom honestly didn't know, but I said that's okay. My whole reason for discussing it with her was to let her know I wasn't spiteful toward her for it. So with a smile, I told her: "I'm sure you'll figure it out real quick when you get there." My way of telling her… 'I accept your decision. You be you, Mom. And burn bright when you do.'