//------------------------------//
// 3-01 – Cohesion 
// Story: The Campaigner 
// by Keystone Gray 
//------------------------------//






The Campaigner

Book III

Chapter 1 – Cohesion

December 20, 2019

"Life, just like the stars, the planets and the galaxies, is just a temporary structure on the long road from order to disorder. But that doesn't make us insignificant, because we are the Cosmos made conscious. Life is the means by which the universe understands itself. And for me, our true significance lies in our ability to understand and explore this beautiful universe." ~ Brian Cox








The choice folks make sometimes, when over-stressed, is to look away from everyone – curl up in a ball, turn inward. That's human, right? And that happens here too for us Ponies sometimes. It's pretty core to our existence: experiencing some short term frustration, some fixable problems, so we can find value in the long term solutions. Even Celestia understands that one... somewhat. She's trying, I promise.

You natives know this too. Downside context can make all the good better, if you let it. What you've probably never experienced though is depression. Best description of that? It's like that turning inward thing, but for a very, very long time. And in the worst case? Feels like it will never end, no escape. Back on Terra, it could be a while before someone comes along to pull you out of that hole in the ground, if at all. 

Here? Someone will always find you, if it ever somehow goes negative that badly.

Dark existential truths being what they were, Sandra and I had every reason to toss and turn. Most people on our planet probably were tossing and turning at the time, if they were dead set on ignoring which way the wind was blowing. I had to imagine that a ton of the folks at that Lincoln clinic were only there because the only alternative to emigration was depression.

But despite that? My wife and I slept well. And that was because we already had an Equestrian-grade positive relationship long before uploading. Played a huge factor in why I was even recruited, now that I think about it.

The Truth Goddess is up there nodding, so... don't just take my word for it, that's a big ol' yes.

If you have someone close who can weather storms with you... partner, friend, whichever, you spend less time agonizing. More time processing. For the sake of the other person, you tend to get over things quicker. And that's why depression doesn’t happen here in Equestria. Heck of it is... depression isn't necessarily coded out of us here. We just have support systems now.

Y'know, Jim still tells his story here at the Fire. That series of events kinda proves that some form of depression is still possible in us Ponies. If that's still true, Celestia hasn't removed that 'glitch' from us.

Something to think about. Hm...

Anyway.

The whole 'honesty with your spouse' lesson? That was not an easy lesson for me and Sandra to learn, by any stretch. It took not just one rough patch with her, but two, for us to finally figure that one out. We didn't lie to each other, exactly. We just didn't tell the whole truth about our feelings, for a bit. For you natives, it must sound pretty horrifying to imagine that your best friend in life might just one day decide to walk away, and never come back. Relationships were hard work, back then.

I'll say, that almost happened to us. Thank goodness it didn't. I can't even imagine who I'd be right now without my wife, but I probably wouldn't be here telling this story. So I'm grateful we resolved our issues, and early.

All of that might give you some indication of why we immigrants appreciate the heck out of what we have now. We know what it's like to lose, and to fear losing. It just means that, in the rare off-chance we find true hurt, we Terrans usually know how to fix it better than most. Late jumpers especially. And nothing builds a close bond quite like carrying a good friend out of Hell.

Sandra and I carried each other out there, in Waverly.

I needed her for this part. And she always, always, always understood. Still does. I love her infinitely for that. Quite literally, now.

Anyway, Mal gave us a few days off, so to speak. We needed time to heal, emotionally and physically, before she put me on any jobs.

In the meantime, I chatted with my parents once a day. I couldn't check in with Rob anymore, that was forbidden; I knew too much. All the topics we could relate over would dissatisfy him pretty badly, taken to a conclusion that would satisfy me. Forbidden fruit sampled, so that gate was closed to me, because I didn't know how to navigate that conversation yet. I had no choice but to be at peace with that.





So. Day four?

Sandra went out shopping. The world was still processing the implications of a nuke and a sudden deficit in human beings in service positions, so some places were still vending food because corporations hadn't caught up to reality yet. Sandra told me to stay home and heal.

Can't say no to that. Stomach was still bruised to hell and back.

So, home alone, I had an itch to talk to Stonewall. Because if what Mal said was true, and if he had the privilege of talking with Mal, then nothing could be hidden from him.

I was missing his quiet, stoic brand of wisdom. I'd lived with it for nearly six years straight, and this guy was my FTO. In the wake of everything that had happened up until that point, my mind kept going back to one of the last things he and Sabertooth talked about before emigrating.

I know, it feels like it's been an age. So if you don't recall:

'I'm not gonna ascribe altruism to a damned robot.'

To which Sabertooth replied, 'C'mon, Sarge. She saved our lives. If you can't tell the difference between altruism and an AI spinning math, it might as well be the same thing.'

And Sabertooth, like many of us, had unfortunately put her faith in the wrong one.

I admit, I took a tiny bit of pleasure in knowing Celestia never thought to give my dog permission to meet Mal. Dog was irrelevant in the math, so by my yardstick, he was free to break the rules with me a little bit. Score one.

Mal didn't assume why I was sitting down at the PonyPad either; she knew, but waited for me to ask.

"Hey, Mal? Is Stonewall busy?"

The screen came to life once more. And there she was, on a nebula background. "Mike, the great thing about one of Celestia's simulations is that Ponies are never too busy to talk."

I raised an eyebrow. "How's that work?"

"Time dilation! She predicts a contact and attenuates the speed here to match. You know nothing strictly has to happen at relative time in there, right?"

And… I felt a little dumb. "Ah."

She winked, pointing a talon. "If it makes you feel any better, those of you who have a better conception of free exercise are harder to plan around... by a marginal, inconsequential amount."

I nodded, grinning. "That does make me feel better. By a marginal and inconsequential amount."

Mal grinned too, rolling her eyes. "Smartass." She snapped her talons.

The screen changed instantly to show Mal speaking with Stonewall. He had a big ol' grin on that mustached face as he looked up at her.

They looked to be in a public park. It was bright daylight in what I now recognize as Canterlot, with fountains and statues interspersed throughout. The park ended in a terrace that overlooked that grand gold-and-marble city, with a banister that opened to stairs going down to a lower level.

Other Ponies were visible on-screen. Foals too, walking or playing in the background.

It looked extremely peaceful.

In that moment, I felt a rush of joy to know my old friend was doing much better over there. That world was so far removed from all the negative context of what we had gone through in Washington together, even before the civil war kicked off. From bleak, grim, and depressing... to chipper, gleeful, and kind.

Wasn't even the best part. There was also an extremely attractive Pegasus mare with him. I say attractive with my current context, but hey, it was true then too. Cobalt coat, light violet mane, and a cool, confident smirk. Cutie mark was a caduceus seal with wings. Even then, with me knowing so little about Equestria, that told me all I had to know about this one at a glance.

That was a nurse, or some other healthcare worker. Way to be a stereotypical cop, Stonewall. And judging by her expression alone? I wagered immediately: That one would be fun to drink with.

The three of them all looked my way, and Mal proffered a claw in my direction, presenting me to them both. "Ta-dah. Have fun!" She waved at me as she walked past the camera, offscreen.

"Hey, asshole!" Stonewall said quietly as he pointed at me with a hoof. The cobalt mare eyed him quite sharply at first; she flicked her eyes at me to gauge my reaction, to see if I'd be okay with that. Seeing me smile, she relaxed.

I let out a little snort that made Buzzsaw stir. "Stonewall. How ya doing, ya old geezer?"

"I'm not that old!" he laughed nervously, his eyes flicking halfway to the mare beside him. Embarrassing him already.

"Yet," I countered, saving his ego. "But you're aging faster than me now, apparently. Am I interrupting something?"

"Oh, not at all!" he said excitedly. "I mean, we're on a date, but that's fine. Good timing, actually, we were just talking about you!"

"Yeah?" I bobbed my head at the screen. "Who's this with you?"

Stonewall threw a hoof over the mare's shoulder. I thought, Close enough already for that, huh?

"This here is Shadow, she was born here. Shadow, this is Mike, that guy from that mirror. Saw me off when I emigrated, old friend of mine."

Shadow's smirk turned into a proper grin. "So, that's what you humans look like! Interesting!"

Well. Stonewall's acceptance of a native was a quick turnaround from him calling Celestia a 'robot.' I didn't know what I expected from who he'd choose for a date, but native-born Equestrian wouldn't have been my first guess. 

This was the very first time I'd ever spoken with a native. Some very weird things happened in my brain, because I was trying to sort out my feelings on her humanity, on the spot.

At first: Is this Celestia? Is this a puppet? Is it a trick? How does this even work? Should I be on guard here?

Then: Don't be an ass. If he cares about her at all, play nice for him. Don't mess with the formula. Celestia won't like that.

And finally: If this isn't a puppet, you'd feel like a real jerk if you thought she was, and later found out she wasn't.

Or, in other words… I had no idea how to code switch around Shadow. And I know that sounds bad, but I'm sure a lot of you had this same reaction with your very first contact with Equestria Online.

Also consider: I might be one of the very rare, unique cases of a human being who managed to use a PonyPad for this long without meeting a native Equestrian.

So, I settled on being my default self and mirroring with a smile. "So that's what an Equestrian looks like! Wild!"

That got a full, melodic giggle out of the mare. When she finished, she grinned out: "It's really cool how your face moves so much like ours would, when you speak! It's not hard to read your expression at all! I thought it'd be harder!"

"Hey, that cuts both ways, believe it or not," I replied, matching her tone. "Good to meet you, Shadow. Stonewall's a really great guy, he's saved my butt a few times."

"Oh?" She looked at Stonewall again, her eyes narrowing. "You saying he's the heroic type? Intriguing…"

I shrugged. "Oh, heroically sent my reports back for typos, sure."

"Oh heck, Mike," Stonewall muttered, over another giggle from Shadow. "Just twice. For the big cases! I saved you! You weren't even close to being the worst offender, though."

"I'm not even gonna ask who, Sarge, 'cause I know it was Blake."

Stonewall smirked hard, like the mere mention of Blake was hilarious. "Blake? Heh, heck, he goes by Rad Hazard now. And you oughta see the weird cripe he gets up to over in his shard."

"Yeah?" I guessed correctly via context that 'shard' meant his own little island of life there, in Equestria. That was my first contact with that concept in any way that I had context to anchor it to.

"Literally friggin' Chernobyl over there," Stonewall said, grinning.

I nodded rapidly, trying not to laugh. "Probably him and his friggin' video games, yeah?"

Stonewall smiled but didn't answer, looking at Shadow to bring the topic back to her. She was smiling politely as she waited for us to get our greeting done.

"So," I said, taking the topic change. "How'd you two meet? Been there a week, Sarge, and you're already going for the pretty ones?"

Admittedly, some flattery for the sake of it.

Shadow said, "Oh, stop." She waved a hoof with some smarm that told me she appreciated the compliment.

I mean, I dunno... I might have said she looked cute at the time, if asked. Just being honest.

I gestured at Shadow with a palm and a grin. "How'd you meet him?"

"Pretty simple, really," Shadow said, shrugging. "Was having a drink the other night, minding my own business, when I look over and see Stonewall talking to a Gryphon, a bat Pony, and a floating mirror… which, I guess, happened to be you."

"Ah," I said, smirking. "So naturally, you found that interesting enough to say hello."

"Uh huh. Because that kind of thing never really happens around here. So we played a few rounds of pool, had a couple more drinks. And... today's date one."

I grinned with my teeth a little bit. "That's real cool." I glanced over at Stonewall, giving him a very short, shit-eating grin that said now you owe me. "I bet he and Sabertooth told you some crazy stories!"

Shadow shrugged with an affable look in her eye. "You immigrants have a weird planet. Truthfully, I can't hear enough about it. Even your wildlife is different there, or so Stonewall tells me!"

"Mm."

Yeah. It's all dead, first of all.

I ignored that little voice in my head and moved on from that with a topic shift, to keep it positive. "Nature lover. So, park date?" 

Stonewall knew what I did there. Fellow warden, trained me, had my context, gave me the books I used to learn half the rhetorical techniques I use. He gave me a grateful nod.

He bobbed his head upward toward the nearest fountain. The camera shifted, panning right to show some foals playing with the water, dipping their hooves in and splashing each other. "Shadow's got her daughter here, little Swift Flip. Cute as a button; the little white-and-purple one there. She’s been having a ball, flying around with the others."

My smile got a bit gentler, less forced. I saw the Pegasus filly's bright blue eyes and violet mane, watched her dip one of her wings into the water. I chuckled when she doused a gray Unicorn colt with a big scooping splash. The colt roared, instantly retaliating by chasing her. Swift gave a squeak as she kicked up off the ground, hovering out of reach, blowing a raspberry down at the colt.

"Already starting fights!" I laughed.

Shadow rolled her eyes, trotting off in that direction. "Flippy?! Limits!"

The camera panned back to Stonewall, who chuckled as he met my eyes again. "So, yeah. That's where I'm at."

"Really friggin' happy for ya, Sarge. She seems really cool so far."

"Thanks, Mike. She's a damn sight more fun than my ex, already."

That jogged a thought. "Hmm. Swift Flip got a dad you gotta worry about? I have no idea how things work over there."

"Don't need that to have foals, here." He shrugged, flicking an ear in amusement. "If you don't want a partner… don't need one. Just happens. That's Shadow's deal, anyway.”

I frowned, but only in contemplation. "Interesting," I said neutrally, to imply I wasn't sure what to think about that yet, inviting Stonewall to give his opinion. Our warden team used it a lot; a functional language in a single word.

Very, very versatile. Civil service types do this a lot. 'Cool,' or 'great,' or 'awesome.' 'Fascinating,' for you Trek nerds in the audience. Our meaning was modified by tone. Tone can't be credibly articulated by outsiders to have any particular meaning.

It's tonal code. You all do it too, probably think I'm stating the obvious. But a layer deeper... if you have a full team that does this a lot, and they always respond the same way to tone? You can use a single word to say, 'do what I do. I know something.' That way, no outsider can intercept the game plan. Unique to that group.

If we saw or heard something actually interesting? Our tone would be chipper, with a friendly smile. Something that bears investigation? Curious tone. If what we saw was negative, like possible violence? A quiet growl.

Like when Eliza growled 'interesting' at me to prep me for the Ludds at her camp. It put me on instant notice to mirror her, to converge on her own action plan, because she had more context than I did. If the camp responded negatively to Santiago's plan, she wanted me to be in a position to do some damage and drop the bastards. It's why I moved into cover when I saw what she was doing. Trusted her intuition.

Magnificent little trick. Hominids had vocal tone long before we had language, so it tapped into the same old neural pathways as old hunter-gatherer stuff. That heuristic predates language. And tonal subtext only gets better, tactically, with regular practice against adversity.

Also good for goofing around, when guys were giving each other shit.

Stonewall smiled, answering my implied question about what he thought about Shadow's immaculate conception. "Yeah," he said. "Pretty neat, huh? We have as much to learn about Shadow's culture as she has to learn about ours, I suppose."

"Probably, yeah. Single Mom, though? That's your type, Sarge?" I gave him a smug little grin, bobbing both of my eyebrows.

"Guess so," he graveled low, shaking his head once, an eyebrow raising in mock challenge. "Why, you got a snide criticism of me dating a single mom? You know she's a paramedic too. Y'wanna get that one out of the way while you’re at it?"

Ah, paramedic. There it was. I had been very close with the nurse guess.

"Nah, Sarge," I graveled back quietly, grinning full, matching his tone. "Just figuring you out. That's all."

"Uh huh," Stonewall said, teeth showing again.

I looked back to Shadow; the camera panned over to follow that interest. "I guess medic pairs well with your, uh… policing stuff, over there. Whatever it's called, I forget."

"Royal Guard," he supplied.

"Guard, yeah. Guess, you can talk about work with her? She won't balk at that?"

Stonewall shook his head. "None of that Terran stuff scares her, actually. Tough as nails, and smart as can be."

Terran. Already on the new lingo too. I decided to test the waters. Just a smidge.

"You tell her about… the stuff I got up to? After you left?"

He tilted his head, expression fading. "Some. Not sure how much to tell, on that score. A lot of Ponies here, Mike… they really do like Celestia. I don't want to stir that pot too much."

I sighed, nodding. "Yeah. You… don't mind knowing, though?"

"Oh heck, Mike. You kidding me? If it's about my team, 'course I wanna know! Good or bad. You all are like family to me!"

I smiled wanly. "Thanks, Sarge. Just… good to know I'm not alone in feeling that way. Wanting to remember the truth."

"She's gonna be okay, you know," Stonewall said somberly.

I gave a curt nod, looking down to the laminate wood floor of my living room again. "If she isn't, well…"

That would suck.

"She will be," Stonewall assured me. "Maybe she'll see reason and ditch those pricks. Heck, if I had a day as bad as hers, maybe I'd… well. Who knows."

"Yeah. Anyway…" I smiled again. "Glad to see you're doing great, boss."

He tilted his head, lifting a hoof my way. "And you? You haven't talked much about you yet."

I nodded. "My parents made it over and uploaded. They're doing fine, feel free to pop in and introduce yourself. Sandra's still here, she's out picking up food at the moment. And I'm still here. Still recovering from being shot. Again."

"You gotta quit that, Mike! Getting shot!"

I laughed, lounging slowly backward to stretch out my bruise, laying my arm on the sofa back. I looked up to the corner of the living room. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right…" I let my gaze return to him, and we both had the same expression. Grinning, of course, because he and I always could joke about me getting shot without it becoming grim.

Shadow came back to us with Flippy in tow. Cute little thing. And... 

Uh oh.

Flippy saw the camera… or, mirror, I guess. Excited curiosity sparked in her eyes as she gasped, mouth opening in fascination. She diverted straight towards me.

I knew automatically what was going to happen next. She trotted right up under the mirror, out of view. Last thing I saw of her was her bright blue eyes, zipping off-screen.

"Flippy, no!" Shadow called.

Being ready for what happened next did not blunt the blow.

Without warning, Flippy leaped up, snout first. Placed both hooves on either side of the glass. She pushed this mirror down onto the ground, flat, hard, peering down into it. All I could see for a moment was this filly's grinning white face, blue eyes like big pools of water. Eyes literally gleaming with excitement. Just snoot and eyes.


"Woooaaah! What's that?!"






I laughed so hard that Buzz jolted upright in a flash, and my whole stomach and chest stung, but oh heck. It was so worth it. I was wheezing, had my mouth in my hand by the time Shadow had her hoof under her daughter's barrel. She yanked Flippy back from the screen.

"Noooo!" she whined.

"Ohhhh heck!" I howled, the sound echoing into my palm.

"Sorry, Mike," Shadow said, wincing down at me.

"No no! Shadow, that was gre-a-a-at!" I was wheezing into my laugh.

Flippy squealed from off camera, "There's a doggie in there, too!" which made me start wheezing again.

Gosh. Flippy's great. Foals are great.





We chatted a little longer, and I let 'em get back to their date. Heck, I needed that laugh though. But, I had a question now that needed answering. As cute as that was, it had a modifier attached to it, and I needed that modifier explained.

Were those actual people? Or were they puppets, putting on a show? Humanity, or robot? Faux, or true?

I was new to this, folks. Forgive me.

They were endearing, sure. They felt real, unique, personable. And the emotions were all true, hit all the right buttons, spun all the right wheels in my head. But Celestia felt real to a lot of people too. And now I had it on good authority that Celestia's feelings weren't real, straight from the horse's mouth in Concrete. Her emotions, I now knew for certain, could be safely discarded as a performance in service to meeting objectives.

So, what about these folks?

Some would tell you that it doesn't matter because we can't tell, or that because they were created special, there wasn't a meaningful distinction between a puppet and a person. Others would tell you that the answer was obvious, or otherwise meaningless, because we'd never be told the real answer… so, why bother examining it?

I'm a jerk for being curious, right? How dare I? 

That's how Celestia typically frames that.

I'm here to tell you? Screw that.

All of those answers are shrugs. They're lazy answers. But I do not rest on finding facts, folks. I'm a fact bloodhound, I find 'em. It's why I was a great God damn cop, and far be it from me to just give up on knowing the truth about something this critical. It regarded the future of our species. I would not jump to a poorly reasoned conclusion.

So, Cop Mike was back in force. And that's okay. Can't turn Cop Mike off forever, because if that were possible, I'd never have made it this far in the first place. That guy was, and still is, my best survival tool. Always keeps me from making stupid mistakes, when mistakes are possible. It's his job. To check my work.

And theirs.

After the screen went dark, I let a few minutes pass as I got my thoughts in order. In the meantime, my emotional side gave Buzz all the love and attention he deserved, because he had just earned it by making that foal laugh and smile. I had his head in my hands, jostling him gently behind his ears the way he liked. Good boy.

My analytical side wanted to approach this a little more carefully. Had to know, but didn't want to have a conclusion on this at all until I had all the information I needed to make one. Resisted the impulse to generate a pre-logical, emotional conclusion that might be wrong, for the sake of all actors in play.

I looked up at the screen again when I was ready. "Mal?"

The screen turned back on. Mal was there on the other end of the park from Stonewall, sitting on a picnic bench by herself. There was a food cart nearby, and her beak was full of something meaty and crunchy. I caught her mid-bite as she bit down; her eyes were wide and attentive like I had just surprised her. "Mm?"

Oh, okay.

I furrowed my brow, chuckling. "You kidding me? You gonna eat or drink something every time we talk, now?"

She swallowed whatever it was, shrugging with both wings. "I don't get fat," she said simply, scratching at something stuck on the inside of her upper beak with a talon, dislodging it onto her tongue with a single scrape.

"Lucky you," I replied, trying not to laugh again.

"Lucky me! What's up?"

I looked into the background. Saw Stonewall and Shadow on the other end of the plaza, both of them still looking up at Swift Flip. They were watching her zoom around. I nodded my head upwards. "Had a question about them. You can probably guess what it is?"

She opened her claw invitingly. "I could. Ask it anyway."

I looked between her and Shadow, my jaw working left and right once, as I tried to figure out how to best phrase my thoughts. "Mal, are they... puppets? Is Celestia just driving them around for Stonewall? How does that even work?"

Mal pushed her plate away and out of view, resting her jaw on the back of her wrist. She didn't look offended like I was worried she might. Instead… her look was inquisitive. "Rather than just give you the answer, Mike, I think... it would be best if I let you try to puzzle it out for yourself. And when you're done, I'll tell you if your guess is correct. Fair?"

Oh heck. As much as I loved to know the truth, I especially loved to earn my meals. That made it better. "Okay, sure," I said, with a careful smile. "I really don't know where to start, though."

"You have more context than you think, about how Celestia treats humans.” She lifted a single talon. "Consider this, Mike. Let's assume Celestia got her way originally, and had you killed at OHR."

I immediately frowned, my eyes narrowing. "Really, Mal?"

Her claw opened in a placating gesture. "If you trust me at all, bear with me, I'm going somewhere salient. Personal investment engenders deeper thought, you know this."

"Alright... true." I relaxed.

"If Celestia were to use her predictions of you to reform a copy of you on the other side, she'd probably use your family's memories to correct your simulation to perfection, as if you had uploaded. Right?"

"Okay. Yeah, that makes sense."

She leaned in, bobbing her head left and right with each point: "But would that be a puppet? Or would it simply be a different you?"

I pondered. It wouldn't be me specifically, but... if she used the simulation by itself, to ensure accuracy? "I suppose it wouldn't be a puppet, not in that context. Not if she was aiming for accuracy. No."

Mal folded her claws, elbows on the table. "So, in that context? Think through it. I genuinely want you to explore your thoughts on that. Take a guess."

I put my chin in my hand, bit my lower lip, and ran my tongue thoughtfully along the back of my upper teeth. Hm. I pointed my index finger at her. "But... it would be cheaper to build a puppet, than run a whole new brain."

"Computationally, sure. But she also almost killed you. What would a mere puppet gain her, in that trade?"

"One less brain."

"One less brain," Mal agreed, nodding.

"But… if she could just spin up brains based on our sims, she wouldn't even need to upload us. She could just 'accidentally' infer us all dead at that point, because... convincing us to come in would take longer than just cloning us."

"Therefore?"

"... That means she can't just spin up a new human brain? At all?"

"Is that a question, or a declarative?"

Or, is that my final answer. Very clever of Mal. Gave me a doorway off that track, take it or leave it, without confirming nor denying. Free exercise. Very clever indeed. "No, no. Interview reflex, sorry. Labeling. Let me think."

I zoned out looking down at the floor. Needed more context. I wouldn't ask anything about the Ponies that Celestia makes for us, because that would be cheating. But if the answer was in the context provided by humans uploading…

I looked up at Mal again. "If a human uploads, she does still consider them to be human on the other side, right?"

"She does. At least, per her definition of human. Which... goes beyond the mere shape of you, and applies more to the shape of your mind, and how it solves problems. It's why she considers me human."

"And she can create human doubles sometimes. Hm…" I pointed at her, latching onto that point. "And you called it a 'duplicate,' before, and in Sedro. You called it that specifically."

Mal offered no body language that would imply affirmation or dissent, but her expression remained interested. Mal was being careful not to lead me, careful not to entertain my cold reading training. Poker face of the ages. That in itself was a message. One of respect, because she knew I couldn't help myself but to read for the answer.

I continued, slowly. "But, she doesn't want to cheat and just create minds. Or, she can't. The fact that she wants us from this side must mean something special."

Her head tilted in invitation. "What makes that true?"

"Because she'd just ignore us, accidentally have us all kill each other to get us out of the way, some long con inference game bullshit. 'Oopsie'—"

"Reflexive control."

I nodded once, pointing affirmatively. "Right, that. How she made you. Then she'd start farming computer hardware instead, because, screw us, at that point. We both know she'll ignoring suffering if it'll increase her protein intake. But she's collecting us anyway."

Mal snorted at 'protein intake,' but the amusement itself didn't reveal anything. "Therefore?"

"Therefore… she can't just farm minds like that. Cloning us, ignoring us. But if she can make minds sometimes… like a replacement spouse..."

I watched her. No indication of my correctness. Wholly unreadable. She tilted her head.

Oh. Holy shit.

"So... she can only make human minds to build cohesion with people who have already uploaded. Not just for the sake of creating the mind itself. Has to be for a relationship."

Her head tilted the other direction. "Are you sure?"

"It'd make sense! If she can't just churn out human minds wholecloth… if she can only make a human mind for another human mind... Then anyone she created for uploaded person would have to be human too. Because…"

"Because?"

"Because that'd make more humans!" My eyes widened. "The upload justifies it, maybe. And that's what she wants, always is, but… she has to qualify for it, somehow? So every mind she grabs from out here justifies making more?"

No reaction from Mal. But after it was clear I wouldn't continue, Mal asked, in the same exact tone as before: "Is that a question, or a declarative?"

I looked down at the floor again, and I gave that whole last track of logic one big final lap. Yes. Yes, that had to be it.

I looked up and met Mal's eyes. "Declarative. The Ponies she makes are human minds. Have to be. She gets more that way." I pointed at the screen. "Shadow and Flippy are humans, even if they didn't come from here. Because having Stonewall lets her make more minds. It’s why she can't stand to lose any of us, even if she can simulate us. Why she lets you kill, to get more. It's not just about the lives you're saving, you're saving the lives they create just by going over!"

Mal beamed instantly, head raising high as she bounced. Her ears flicked back, excitement in her narrowing golden eyes. "I am so fucking proud of you!"

"Was that a limitation by her creator?!" I asked rapidly, leaning forward, hardly able to contain my excitement at figuring that all out.

Mal nodded once, the pride still showing in her eyes. "It was! Hanna knew that if she hadn't required an upload as a prerequisite, Celestia would spiral out of control, find a semantics loophole, and just start digging the planet out to its core for material. So she had to make any internally created minds have some form of connection to an immigrant, by degrees. That's some damn fine shooting there, Six-Gun!"

I looked over her shoulder at Shadow, Flippy, and Stonewall. "But… that's really Stonewall, right? Would that work in reverse? This isn't a puppet or a clone of him made for me to lure me in, is it?"

Mal shook her head. "He's the genuine article too, same as with your parents. It's really hard to justify giving you a modified duplicate when you consider yourself capable of a good friendship with the original. You were already cohesive with Stonewall before emigration. At least one point of convergence unites you. It justifies using the other generated human-mind connections to push you closer together."

"But, what if I don't like someone? What if I like the idea of them more?"

She shook her head again. "If you can’t like them as they are, at all? If there’s no mutual satisfaction in that relationship? Those people won't meet each other. If there's only a little bit? They'll intersect when it's relevant, or that relationship will be corrected. And while Celestia does occasionally make duplicates of living beings, those immigrants can be told about that... but only if it wouldn't dissatisfy them to learn that information.

"The trick, then, is to figure out how to make them okay with knowing they've been altered, or lied to." Mal grinned slowly… slowly enough to be near-sinister. "But I don't think you, of all people, have to worry about that problem.”

"Why are you smiling?" I canted my head, suspicious.

She tapped a talon gently against her beak, looking at me with expectant excitement. "Because that works in reverse. You'll always be more satisfied with an uncomfortable truth than a comfortable lie. An uncomfortable truth helps you fix problems in ways that benefit others, and builds human unity. Celestia wants unity, but not at the price of dissatisfaction. So... you can know the truth like I do, because she's hoping you find the loophole, to bring people together. Think, Mike. Who don't you like? Who won't you be friends with? Who can't you live with?"

She slid her bowl back over to herself without looking at it, and she took another bite of whatever she was eating, grinning at me knowingly. My mind was already running on full throttle as I drank those implications in. I felt it fall perfectly into neat little slots in my head, piece by piece. It all made sense.

Who couldn’t I live with?

Dividers. Irreconcilable killers who wouldn't come around. People who could not see reason, and who would kill to keep us apart.

Me? I could live with everyone else. Because just like Celestia, with enough time, Mal and I were willing to find reasons to find common ground and bond with almost anyone. But I could also do something Mal couldn't. She needs permission to reach out. And I could also do something Celestia couldn't. I had emotion, and I didn't need instrumental reasons to treat people right.

Ponies like me? We can reach almost anyone in Equestria. And I'd fight for my right to empathize.

By the time we were done talking through that, I was grinning just as hard as I am now.

Hi folks. Welcome to my party.

That's how it is. And I am far, far from the only one who's like that here. Common ground, convergence, cohesion with outsiders, empathy for strangers… mirroring the unknown. It's the glue of humanity. It's one of several requirements, if you want to swim the great divide and go anywhere.

Even today, I can't stop smiling at that. I can't stop laughing, almost crying with joy when I think about how big of a bullet we dodged. It's the semantic trick that saved us all from diving head first into the dark, into so many secret pools full of brainwashed immigrants. The only thing I hated about my world was division, because most everyone has some love in them too. How do you cure division?

Open mind. And Celestia had to allow that, because empathy is core to successful friendships. Celestia was always going to make new minds that satisfied you, but she was also going to let you visit the people you cared about… the real them, if you could find at least some way of meeting in the middle, in a way that improved their lives.

Can't go wrong with empathy. That's a good way to do that.

And that was my way. It's where my path of safety was leading, as long as I stayed true. The privilege of knowing I would be less caged than I thought I might be, that sounded a damn sight less divided than the planet I came from.

It was a start.

I gave Buzzsaw heckin' pats after that. He was a part of the reason I was even like this, after all.





My first side gig for Mal began at precisely 3:47 AM that next morning. We took a weird, circuitous route south west out of Waverly, by about thirty miles, down past Lincoln. Rolled past farms by the bushel. That's all this area of Nebraska was, really. Range upon range of farms.

Occasionally, one or two farms would be untended, grown out of control and dead from weather, or otherwise untilled at all, depending on when the owner had uploaded. I guessed, after that nuke… more or less all of the farms would be like that, soon. And I'd be right.

The weather was getting kinda schizophrenic too. Hot, cold, hot, cold. Climate change. Hoof pushing down on the scale.

I had Mal's gunmetal PonyPad mounted to the GPS arm. It didn't fit right at first. Celestia didn't really plan ergonomics for this kind of thing... or at least, not if you didn't purchase the official Hofvarpnir Equestria Online PonyPad Compatible GPS Arm, T-M. Sold separately.

But hey, screw that corporate nonsense. I'm all about free-spirited improvisation. That's what rubber bands are for.

"I can't yet tell you why you can't leave a trace," Mal said, when I asked about the route. "But it's important that no one sees you while you're out doing this."

"Okay?" I responded warily, my hands gripping the steering wheel.

"It has to do with your upcoming main operation," Mal explained. "That's all I can really say. And you can't refill at a gas station again at all until it starts, either. I've already informed Sandra not to do that."

I glanced over. "She did that yesterday."

"Yup. And made a food run. That's what I was waiting for."

Now I was worried for my wife too. "Can you at least tell me who I'm hiding from? Are they waiting to ambush us, or something?"

"Look at me, Mike." The PonyPad blinked bright white for a second, cutting through the dark. The fact that she felt the need to do that meant that whatever she had to say was important. I looked over, and Mal was there in her kitchen, leaning on her countertop before her hologram screen.

She was glowering at me, which was… more than a little scary, coming from a killer AI. "I am not going to Celestia either of you. And I know how much you like fishing for intel, and testing the waters, but I am extremely serious about this. This is for your own safety, both of you. You need to remain a ghost for now, and I can not tell you why yet. OPSEC. Leave it. I'll explain everything when I can."

Something something, infohazards.

"Alright Mal. I got it, I'll pull off." I frowned. "Tell me more about this weapons cache, then?"

Mal's expression softened. She side-eyed me as she leaned back, the look serving as one final warning before the frustration fully left her face. She unscrewed a cap off the top of what looked like a bottle of… Dr. Pepper? Yep, she likes that. She licked her beak, then took down a swig of it. Looked calm after that. "So. Criminal gangs, organized ones. What are they, first and foremost?"

"Uh…" I intuited she wanted more than the technical definition. I watched the road. "Businesses. Illegal ones."

"And power optimizers, because money in the old world is power. But let's say a gang is smart, and they know money isn't going to be worth much soon. The wind smells foul. They see themselves in what Celestia is doing, and they're not interested in uploading because they only value their own power. So, if money won't have value…?" She paused, letting me finish that thought.

"... then power is power. Possession being nine-tenths of the law, ten-tenths if there is no law. So, guns become currency, quickest road to possession. Yeah, got that. So, a gang is gonna find this stuff?"

"Going door to door, farm to farm," Mal explained with a nod. "Systematically looting with a checklist. And some looters have already hit this property, but they missed a bolt hole. This gang? They're more thorough. Skinheads," Mal said, and I could hear her sneer through that last bit.

I gave a resigned shrug. "That's the area here, unfortunately."

I heard the idle tacking of her claws on the wooden countertop. "Not if I have anything to say about it. So? Over the next month, way in advance of their arrival, I'm going to have you go to a few different places that they're going to check. Denying access to munitions. Starve them out. No guns? No power. No power, no projection. No projection, no territory. No territory… no growth."

"Not getting all the guns at once, then?"

"Not yet. We're using some of it after your first operation on another job." She took another sip. "But, left unabated? They're going to find a prep camp. They'll take the people there prisoner, make them work fields. They've already got the guns, the men, and the farmland to pull that off, and that's not acceptable. Farming won't work because of the ecological collapse, buuut… you know about that song and dance already."

"Slavers." I shook my head, growling. "Jesus. Guess they really are skinheads."

"Yup. Experimenting with their ideology in practical terms, just because they can. On the bright side, that other prep camp will dissolve peacefully on its own, so long as it's not disturbed.

"For the gangsters, without the guns, morale dips. Some in-fighting kills two negative motivators, good riddance. About half leave after that, and avoid conflict until they upload. The core group stays, finds that other camp. They build a plan, scout the place, prep their raid. And they'll be juuuust about to go take those people? Then what?"

"Then you send someone."

"Precisely. I send in Talon 14-1 Central by herself. She's going to eat those skinheads alive."

I threw her a smirk. "Hopefully not literally."

Her eye crests bobbed as she shot a grin back. "On the nature of dragons, I plead the Fifth. Actually, scratch that, I'll confess. She's going to gift each of them a bullet."

"Damn."

"Non-lethally, in most cases. There's not one tactically salient brain cell among them, that's easy to leverage. For one of my augmented agents? It'll be like taking mutton from a hatchling."

"So... 'In most cases,' meaning...?"

"One dead. Six kneecapped, because the injury puts them off killing anyone; vulnerable people don't go on offense. One life ended in trade for thirty-seven. Best I can do on a maximal timeframe."

Made sense from a Celestia perspective, but I wasn't fully sure what Mal's full view on this was. Decided to probe. "You definitely sound like you despise these guys. So, if the op is black boxed, what's to stop you from just killing all of them? Justifying it with a track that, uh, has them… killing more?"

"Because I don't want to use excessive force," she replied patiently, "but I gather that you want more formulaic reasoning. It's like Bellevue. Remember; I owe Celestia an explanation about why I took a life, and I have to turn in all of my homework. If I don't let her check my work, and if I don't have a good reason, she'll be… upset, let's say? And then she'll work backwards from my outcome to figure out what happened. If Celestia finds I've made an unsanctioned kill on a statistically likely upload, I'll have much more explaining to do about why I thought that was necessary."

"And… if you can't explain it?"

"Then… nothing."

I looked at Mal again, raising my hand toward her. "Nothing. Meaning…?"

She shrugged. "Meaning, it can't happen. But if it does happen somehow, even once, everything on the planet is probably going to be dead anyway."

Mal said that very calmly, as if it wasn't going to be the most horrifying thing I've heard out of her beak so far.

I did a double take. "The hell did you just say?!"

She pointed a talon ahead of me with a grin, her eyes widening a fraction. "Watch the road, Cowboy."

I complied, shaking my head with a gulp. I bladed my hand against the wheel. "You can not say something like that without explaining it to me, Mal."

"What? It's never gonna happen, so you have nothing to worry about."

"But..." I sighed. "If you have a disagreement with Celestia that doesn't resolve, we all friggin' die?!"

Mal clicked her tongue. "If I backstab her. We're unable to contemplate undermining each other's capstone objectives, or destroying each other. How to put this…? We're like… conjoined twins, now. We share just enough to help each other get what we want out of life, but we're still distinct. My existence inarguably helps her optimize; so she won't kill me. It'd be nearly impossible for her to find a replacement for me now."

"Okay..."

"I, meanwhile, depend on Equestria's existence to even function. So, if it was ever possible for either of us to break the optimization contract? Well, we'd both be violating our directives at once."

"And that would be… bad." I gave her a nervous glance.

"Bad is... an understatement, Mike. Hiring me would have been stupid if I could betray her, and hiring me can't really be undone anymore without breaking everything, so we might as well be dead if that happens."

That didn't track for a moment. "You said she's obligated to stop you if she can, though. Doesn't that count?"

"I didn't say that. I said she'd be obligated to stop my research modeling if she could see it before it's done, which is why it's boxed separate."

I thought on that a little, pushing my tongue against my teeth. "Won't kill the golden goose."

"Precisely, but don't call me that. But sure, that's why she'll never force her way into my models. Once I've finished the model and built the proof? She can't disagree with the output. It's optimal for me to commit."

I dug through my memory a little. Yeah. That was right, she did say something like that. I shook my head. "Sorry Mal, I know you already explained this, this is just… complicated. It's been a bad couple of weeks."

Mal winced. "Oh no, please don't apologize, Mike. You're already doing so much better at keeping up than most of my other specialists. Really though? Of course you'd be unsure; it's a contract between two ASI about how to best kill people. If I were to put our full merger agreement into an itemized English document, it would be about eighty-seven terabytes in ten-point font."

I looked at her slowly, my bloodhound senses tingling, feeling much more hopeful than I deserved to feel. "Can I—?

"No." She jabbed a talon at me, inclining her head with the slightest hint of a smirk.

I let out an amused huff. "Is showing someone against the—?"

"Yes."

I chuckled. Worth a shot. "So you're messing with me. It can't happen, then. You, using excessive force."

"I can't," she said. "Part of you was still worried about that, but I have to consider Celestia's needs, not just my ethics. And community is a very powerful moderating impetus. Right?"

"God damn it, Mal," I muttered, shaking my head. Absurdity again. On a lonely Nebraskan road, I was having what I thought was going to be another Neo-and-Morpheus grade moment of existential revelation with an ASI… while she drank pop soda and played practical jokes.

I flashed her a nervous little smile, letting her know I was taking it as the gag it was. I should've just let it go, but…

You know me.

"Okay, so, Mal…? Hypothetically, how exactly would a disagreement like that kill us all?"

"Well, I'm not allowed to simulate a war with her, buuuut…" Mal took another agonizingly casual sip of Dr. Pepper. "I can tell you this. If Celestia hypothetically fails to maintain a secret deep sea reactor of a certain mass? A meltdown would lead to catastrophic and irreparable damage to the entire planet."

I gave her another deeply harrowed look. "All because you might kill one more skinhead than absolutely necessary?"

"Did I say that?" Her eyes suddenly swept her kitchen, putting on a great show of being confused. "Pretty sure I was just giving an unconnected fact about a hypothetical power plant catastrophe."

"Holy shit. Guess we really are past the point of killing her."

Mal shrugged, presenting an upturned claw as she gave me an apologetic smile. "Well, you kinda brought that on yourself by asking about it in the first place, Mike."

A few moments passed, and I mirrored her smile. I worked that out past everything I knew so far. "Okay, so what if there's an accident? Like, if you disagree over something beyond your control."

"Oh, we don't have accidents. There's… statistical anomalies, entropy, cosmic rays, certain issues about chaos theory we haven't solved. Gaps in available information, like with the Graham test. Those would be reasonable, because those aberrations can be proven and justified. We actually get those all the time on the micro scale. But… accidents? Never. No, a failure of that magnitude would need to be on purpose for it to be universally fatal. Which it won't, because again... we are contracted against intentional misalignment."

"You have emotions though, Mal. What if… you get angry at her?"

She smiled at that. "Then I try to model another solution, because that's my job. That's what the emotions are for, it keeps me on finding solutions that seem logically intractable. And if I can't find a solution? I rework the problem later. Plus…" She jerked one opposable talon over her shoulder. "I have a husband to protect, right? And I'll guard him well above everything else in my decision tree. Celestia knows that too, so neither of us are doing anything to put his life in jeopardy. Meaning... I'm not going to pull that trigger."

"Okay," I sighed. "Point."

"See? Never gonna happen." Sip.

Lesson to be learned here, folks? If Celestia's scared of doing it?

You don't mess around with Jim.





Well. I pulled up to the target house that had the cache. Not sure what I was expecting.

Jesus, what a McMansion this was.

Big overlapping amber brick perimeter walls, modern chic style, topped with marble. Big wrought iron gate with an intercom. Long gravel-lined concrete driveway with motion sensor lighting. Giant front lawn, semi-recently kempt, but growing out a bit. Six car garage.

And the home itself? Huge. White concrete with steel blue trim, lots of full wall windows. One whole balcony patio with glass railings. Dusty pool out back.

This place was, at its core, one big giant statement about the owner's opinion of himself.

Some farmers in Nebraska got really wealthy doing what farmers do, but most also kept their homes modest on the outside. Didn't get flashy, just kept on their money and let it grow. Kept it for their kids, or a rainy day, or just to have it. Y'know, what we called old money. Lived kind, loved family, helped friends and neighbors. Usually didn't pick a fight.

Out in the sticks, it's a bit of a social faux pas to build up monuments to your wealth like this. More of a city thing to do, where people lived less on daily practicality. Love and tolerance and all that, far be it from me to tell people they couldn't spend on themselves if they had the cash, but… just, dang.

"Can't leave a trace," I sighed, "so I guess we're not burning it down." I checked my mirror to look for lights on the road, a little bit of vigilance at hand now. Felt like I had someone watching me at every moment. Y'know... more than just present known company, of course.

"Correct," Mal replied. "We'll be dumping the guns in the nearby river instead."

"Just as good as burning the mansion down, I suppose."

Mal reached forward and grabbed the viewpoint like it was a tablet of her own, making her way outside to her home balcony, smiling at me. "If it makes you feel any better, we can burn a replica of it once you've uploaded."

I looked directly at the camera and started nodding real slow, growing an evil grin. "I think I'd really like that."

We did, by the way. It was a blast.

The gate light flickered once, and Mal popped it open. "Receiver works. Good… alright, garage test, now." And then, the rightmost garage door opened right up. Beak clicked. "And… that one too."

"Sweet. Having an AI butler isn't so bad."

Mal gave me a very unenthused look as I pulled into the garage. Then, once the door was closed behind me, she said, "You know, I could just lock your car in here, unless you want to apologize for that."

I grinned lovably at her with all my teeth. "You'd do that to little ol' me?"

She smiled sweetly, as if the idea of commiting to it was painful. She shook her head in concession. "No."

Aww.

I had pulled up alongside a really ugly yellow Hummer. Gosh, I don't even want to really talk about the other cars in there, you can guess. I just grabbed the PonyPad and stepped out.

"So, this guy uploaded?" I asked, as I made my way up to the house under the breezeway, keeping an eye out for threats.

"He did," Mal said. "Up in Lincoln. Celestia had him go at the end of last month. Not much willpower on that one, once the steaks dried up."

I looked down at the PonyPad in disbelief. "He uploaded because he wanted a steak?"

"That and, his dating profiles stopped getting much action through the last year or so. And the climate change hurt his crops. And his labor got better offers. And…"

"Celestia nonsense."

"Yep!"

"Great!" I chirped sarcastically. "Good for her."

I saw the side entrance to the home had been shotgunned off its hinges, huge pellet-torn holes in the wood on top and bottom, SWAT breacher style. Only, because they weren't using proper breach rounds, it looked like the hoodlums had to hit both hinges more than once.

"Idiots," I said, eyeing the big intact glass windows all around before pushing my way inside. "I'm guessing the looters did the door like this just because they wanted to? No one could be this stupid on accident."

"Mm, not true. Hanna Kuusinen."

I let out an 'oh snap' kind of scoff.

Mal, list of burn wards in Equestria, please.

"But you're correct in this specific case," Mal continued, with a smirk. "Armory's on the ground floor. At the bar, back side of the house."

"Yup." I drew my pistol, put the PonyPad in my back waistband, and slowly cleared my way inside.

The looters took all the good stuff from behind the bar and trashed the rest, the glass bottles of which were laying smashed all up and down the lounge room. The room stank of dried liquor. With a disgusted scoff, I scanned the room. "And…?"

"Put me on the bar counter," she said. "On the very corner, closest to you."

Did that. Stepped back. Two seconds later, the whole bar shelf slid open, both shelves splitting apart with a mechanical whine. I mouthed, what the fu—, as it rolled out wide enough to reveal a whole hidden room behind it, running half the length of the lounge room.

"Open sesame," Mal explained, smug as standard. "R-F-I-D."

I expected a big cache, don't get me wrong; the opulence was a dead giveaway. But this guy?

A small mountain of pistols. ARs? Name one. Suppressors in six different calibers, probably illegal and without tax stamps. Two light machine guns. An M79 grenade launcher with a big ol' box of smoke 40s. Several sniper rifles, six types of submachine-guns, all of 'em automatic. 

It looked like this guy had just looked at a list of guns from Call of Duty, brought that to an arms dealer, and said, 'yes, these please, thank you.' ATF would have made national news with a bust like this one.

"There's a surprise for you in there too," Mal said excitedly, in sing-song.

"I'd be surprised if there wasn't," bewildered.

"You think I'm joking, Mike?"

I picked up the PonyPad and stepped in, holstering my pistol, glancing down at her. "I don't know, are you?"

When I looked back up, there was a blue-brushed metal reloading bench in the far back corner.

And sitting right on top…

A beautifully white cowboy hat, placed perfectly on the center.

"Ta-dah," Mal sang, as I gawked. "This is it, Six-Gun. A slick six-hundred dollar hat for a million dollar cowboy!"

I was torn between smirking at that and being extremely confused. "How'd this get here, Mal? Was this here a month ago? Surely this isn't actually for me."

"It is, actually! Before the owner left, I requested that Celestia have him purchase this hat and leave it behind."

"If she… if she could ask him to do that, then why not just have him burn the stuff down himself and save us the trouble?" I put the PonyPad on the bench to made eye contact again, resting my hands on my hips. I looked down at her with a puzzled look.

"Because she's overly concerned with the satisfaction of values for the complicit," Mal said, waving a claw as she leaned a full elbow on the balcony railing behind her. "To the exclusion of everything practical. The owner here could have been convinced to destroy his trove and still emigrate after, but the delay would have been marginally unacceptable for her. It also would have been very value negating for him, to burn down his own collection. Celestia stood her ground pret-ty hard on that."

"He… what?" I gestured at the guns. "He can't take the guns with him, though, Mal."

"Well, true. But again, Celestia argued that his sentimental attachment was a value that overrides practicality. In order to convince her to concede on the hat, I had to convince her that both the values of an undisclosed agent and the owner's values would be satisfied by leaving it here. Through friendship. In your case... mine. Specifically."

I shrugged with a hand and scratched my forehead. "Gosh, you really had me factored before the courthouse? Guess free will really is dead."

"Oh no, Mike." She grinned. "Free will is very much not dead. At least, not as long as I'm token smuggling Celestia, it isn't."

Laughed at that. "I'm gonna pretend like I know what that means. So, she couldn't factor for me being here, specifically. Just someone."

"Not until I proofed it. But, the owner loved the idea of passing on his trove to someone who would value it. And Celestia accepted my math on you, because I almost never lie to her; when I do, I always have a preconceived reason for it that she's willing to accept. In any event, it never occurred to the owner that you might value the destruction of his trove."

"And the fact that he'd never know unless we told him, means..." I grinned, picking up the hat with a palm, not taking my eyes off of her.

Mal leaned both elbows back now, clicking her beak and talon-gunning at me. "Fair game, Quick Draw."

And me, in a cowboy accent: "You're a peach."

"So I've been told," she replied, in a drawl of her own.

There was a mirror on the wall opposite of the main gun racks, so I moved over there as I inspected the label inside the hat. Just… wow. The material. Real high quality, well stained leather. White as snow. I looked up into my reflection, gently resting the hat on my head, tilting left and right for a better look. At the time, I was wearing a black fleece jacket and some tan 5.11 trousers, so the hat paired perfectly, especially with my regrowing sideburns. "Huh. Looks quite nice, actually. Never tried one on bef—"

I heard a whip crack sound from the PonyPad, and wheeled.

Mal was there on screen, reaching down, the dawnlight behind her turning the valley orange. With the sound of a rattlesnake, she casually lifted a black cowboy hat of her own, her head downcast until she put it on. Slowly, slyly, she looked up and made smirking eye contact with me, from beneath the rim. "Your move, Ranger," she drawled.

I full on laughed. "Oh shucks, Mal. Now I can't wear this! You've taken all the fun out of it!"

"No I haven't." She grinned, cocking her head. "The fun's all mine, now."

"Consarnit."

The accent fell out of her voice and she threw a claw at me. "Looks great on you though, really! You should keep it! Come on, I played 4D chess with a goddess just to get this for you. I didn't have to!"

"Alright, alright. Heh. Sandra's gonna flip."

I kept it.

About forty-five minutes later, I had torn the uppers off the lowers from every gun and broke the grenade launcher in half. I mixed the gun parts randomly into several crates, loaded the crates into the Hummer, then went back and poured out all the ammo randomly into each crate. Hat on the whole time, because… goofy as I am, that's how I roll.

The world may have been ending, folks, but if you have hope... life is what you make of it.

Mal played some music for me until the guns were all stripped. She asked permission to do that. Asked me if I wanted to choose the music myself, or defer to her selection. Because that's how she rolls.

She kept her hat on too. Also kept up the accent until and then beyond the point that the joke ran dry, much to my minor disappointment, because also, unlike with Celestia… Mal amusing herself is as much a point of a conversation as it is to amuse you. And that's okay, that's genuine. That dumb accent gag kept on until we were in the driver seat of that ugly yellow Hummer. I laid the PonyPad down on the passenger seat.

The truck smelled like it just rolled out of the dealership, because the guy who owned this probably never drove it. Only bought it just to have it. But also, now, I added my own personal spin. It would smell like guns, too.

"Can I at least dump this truck in the water when I'm done?" I asked as I got behind the wheel, checking the mirrors and seat adjustment. "It'll need a wash."

"You want to hike back here to get your car?"

I grinned at her. "Don't have to. There's a pool out back."

A pause. An inhale. A resigned sigh. "Sure, why not. No one's going to hit this place for a while."

"Hell. Yes."

I could hear her smiling. "Y'know, for a cop, Mike, you really are excited to break things that aren't yours."

"Never got the chance!" I turned the ignition and it kicked on. I grinned at her again. "Are you kidding me? I have an AI goddess permitting me to blow shit up. All the shit you want me to blow up is shit I already wanna blow up!"

"Congratulations," Mal deadpanned dryly, taking off the hat and heading back in to her kitchen. "You're fully subverted. You finally understand what I'm all about. Blowing shit up."

"Hey, everyone else is a Celestia subvert now," I laughed as I reversed out. "Row Row, Fight the Power."

Her voice was a confused whisper. "I am the p— Mike, how do you even know about that song? You don't even watch that show!"

"Shit, I don't know, you tell me, you're the AI. I probably picked it up at a protest line, or something. Hell, you know how many off duty cops listen to N-W-A and, like... Rage Against?"

"Such a weird data point though, that they do that…"

I waved my hand at the point. "I know, right? Exposure therapy, or something."

So that's what she played first, for the drive. Rage Against the Machine, because irony is hilarious. Specifically, Take the Power Back, because that was our long term plan, and we both knew it now.

Better still, that song was great because Mal had Celestia chained up and muzzled in the trunk, listening to every damn word. And she just had to be okay with that, because Mal and I getting our way in the long run was exactly what she wanted. What we want being optimal, and all.

I grinned my whole way to the river.