Sweetie was on her back in the sand. She wasn't sure exactly how long she had been out there—hours, maybe days? This world had many of the same truths about it as her body in the real one—she never got tired, never got worn out or sick, never needed a break. She never needed to eat or use the restroom either, though both of those things were still available in her new virtual home.
Even if her mind didn't feel any different after a few hours straight of calls and interviews, some subconscious part of her still gradually ran out of energy. She felt as though she should need to take a break, and so she came out here.
Sweetie's family had never taken her along for their vacations. Her parents always left her with Rarity, so she could "stay with her friends" during those often month-long trips. That meant she had never had a chance to experience what luxury trips might be like. Her premature death only reinforced that restriction, since the hardware to keep her alive was only present in a single town for years afterwards.
As it turned out, the experience was pretty cool. Simulated sand wrapped around her legs and body, embracing her with a soothing, slightly uncomfortable heat. Occasionally she rolled to one side or another, shaking herself in the sand. When she wanted, she could stumble forward into the ocean, and refresh herself in the perfect tropical water. Not warm, but not cold either—just right to cool her down after some time in the sun.
Sweetie could lay there for hours, or recline in a large cabana in the shade, sipping cold water from a glass that never emptied.
Maybe being dead wasn't so bad. She could certainly think of worse ways to spend an afternoon.
The view over the bay had very little—nothing beyond her beach, only a little island off in the distance with a few swaying palm trees. Out there, she could almost forget about the stress waiting for her at home. Her marefriend didn't want to be here, and kinda didn't seem to think she was “alive” at all. Whatever that word even meant. Sweetie was far past caring.
Not so for Scootaloo. Her friend still had to answer all the same troubling questions that bothered Sweetie for the first few years of her revived existence.
"Wasn't sure if you were coming back inside," said a voice from behind her. Scootaloo dropped down onto the sand, spreading both wings as she did so. "Expected the sun to go down, and for you to give up and come in. But it never did."
Sweetie looked up, grinning nervously. Her marefriend was far from her usual spunk—but at least some of the bitterness was gone. What was left instead was weariness, like someone who had just gone through two straight days of hard work. She hadn't—appearing in the interviews and calls as little as she could.
"I don't know how night and day works here. But I think while we're home, we can control it. I saw instructions next to the big clock near the door."
Scootaloo nudged her with her wing. "I thought not having to sleep was a robot thing. You're not a robot anymore."
She shrugged. The real answer was complicated, and probably not going to inspire a positive reaction from her marefriend. She didn't have to know that dreaming was itself an unsolved problem, and the way digital ponies recorded their memories was so different from living ones that they had no use for sleep. If she cared to find out, she could look it up for herself.
"I think the idea was to... teach the ones living here what it would be like when they got out into the real world. They won't need to. You get used to it after a while—if ponies tried to force me in here, I think I'd be upset."
Scootaloo met her eyes, smiling for the first time since the hospital. "There are other reasons ponies might want a bed, Sweets."
"Nothing stopping them," she agreed. She did her best not to blush, but ultimately found it a losing battle. Still, she spoke anyway. If they were going to be stuck here, maybe for years, Sweetie Belle had no intention of wasting that time. "They aren't robots yet in here. There's no worrying about the difference between a living pony and a metal one. No risk of getting hurt. Pretty sure the only thing that could hurt us in here is something going wrong in Lucid's computers."
Scootaloo's smile widened. "Nothing stopping us, you mean. From doing whatever we want with our time here. Maybe years, he said?"
She nodded her agreement. It was hard to feel any enthusiasm about losing so much time—all those friends she wouldn't get to see, family who would be missing her. Good thing Rarity didn't see what happened to her second body.
"Almost like a honeymoon." Scootaloo stretched out onto the sand beside her, settling one wing behind Sweetie. "Do you think we can get room service?"
Probably not, that was the one thing the nurse said was scarce in here. Space on the big computers to make other minds work.
"Not a deal breaker for me," Sweetie said. "I can get you anything you need. And if you get bored, you could always learn how to fly. Might be fun."
That made her sit up straight, spraying a little wave of sand behind her. Strange that none of it stuck to their fur, even when they were wet. It clung just long enough to be comfortable, then it was gone.
"I didn't think they had robots that could fly yet. The wing muscles took too much energy, they would have to build the body too light to have enough power..."
"They haven't yet. But there aren't limits here. The nurse flew right in front of us, remember? No reason you couldn't."
Scootaloo grinned, spreading both wings into a textbook takeoff stance. "But if this works, you have to learn with me. No limits. So why couldn't you have wings?"
Could I do that? Just decide to be a pegasus for a while? Or an Alicorn? That thought was so uncomfortable it might as well be a religious prohibition—there were only five alicorns in the world, and she wasn't going to be adding one. Except that before Twilight, there were three, and before Cadance there were two...
Scootaloo took off, spreading both wings in a series of energetic flaps. The sand scattered from beneath her, and she was suddenly hovering there, perfectly balanced.
The mare squealed like a filly, shooting up into the air with sudden enthusiasm.
Despite her early success, she quickly lost control, zooming sideways until she splashed into the surf. Sweetie stumbled after her, splashing down into the water up to her forelegs. Damp sand yielded only a little beneath her hooves, and small waves barely pushed her aside.
Scootaloo's head appeared above the surf, mane a tangled mess and coat dripping with foam. Her smile was so wide she took a mouthful of water when the next wave smacked into her.
She emerged coughing and spitting, paddling her way to shore. Fortunately for her marefriend, she could swim better than she could fly. A few seconds later, Scootaloo emerged on the shore, clambering up through the surf and up onto the sand beside Sweetie Belle.
"I was flying! Did you see? I was actually flying!"
Sweetie nodded eagerly. "I saw. Might want a little more practice before you decide to fly off on a long trip—but you were doing it!"
"Maybe there are some reasons ponies would want to come here after all." Scootaloo shook out both wings, clearing away the water. "Anything that's broken can just get fixed? Maybe I should've died sooner!"
Sweetie's enthusiasm faltered at those words, leaving her with a slight bitterness in her mind. If she could go back and not get sick, Sweetie would still do it—so much pain, for so many different ponies, all undone. She nodded along anyway. "I guess you might have something to do until they get bodies for us after all."
But their time in the Dream wasn't all relaxation and fun—the trip inside left a bloody trail behind them, one still felt by many ponies in the real world. Eventually it was time to leave their new home and venture a short distance into an empty church building on a hill.
None of the locals went anywhere near it. The grass and trees there were no less vibrant than anywhere else. Even so, the solemn attitude about the place remained. They put on a pair of dark dresses, and trekked up to the waiting, open doorway.
A familiar mare waited outside it, light purple with her half-shaved mane. She wore a similar dress—maybe the exact same one, though it had openings for her wings. "Hey. Good to see you two. Or maybe I should be giving you condolences? I still haven't figured it out."
"I'm not dead," Scootaloo shot back. In the intervening days, the young mare had recovered a considerable amount of her energy. In some ways, her marefriend was better than before. Even in a few days, she already had time to fly. "So, what's to console? Living here seems pretty great to me."
The mare stuck out her foreleg. "Never got to introduce myself last time. I'm Moire. Dead too, as you can see. Didn't get to see my funeral, this is a first for us. Seemed like a big deal on the other side, but you would know more about that than I do."
Scootaloo took it. "Scootaloo. I think you already know my marefriend. Since everypony here is only alive thanks to her."
Moire nodded, then stepped aside. "Well don't be a stranger while you're here. Really—I don't have bits to pay for credits, so I only get to be awake when I'm working for Lucid Bioinformatics, or ponies with credits want to see me. Ever want to come over for dinner, I'll cook some awful food. Or anything, really."
Sweetie's mouth fell open. "Wait. Did you just say that you... die? Whenever ponies aren't around you?"
The bat laughed, her voice a pained, energetic giggle. "No. Starting and stopping is a little risky, even today. But we can slow down, so slow that whole days go by while you're wondering what you're going to put in your tea. You don't feel any different, but some part of you still knows. Hard to explain."
"Maybe you could help me with some flying practice," Scootaloo said. "Her too. Sweetie will need more practice than I do. Seeing as she doesn't have any wings."
The mare twitched, and a faint voice whispered into the headset clipped to her ear. Sweetie couldn't make out a word, but the intention was obvious.
Sweetie muttered something about getting a chance to visit her, then hurried through the opening into the old church.
Very little detail was paid to its construction, even compared to the other simulated buildings in the Dream. The stained glass windows all repeated the exact same pattern, showing Celestia's cutie mark and a simple natural design. The pews were all identical too, right down to the scratches and bumps in polished wood. Moire directed them forward, to the very front row.
A large screen sat in front of that seat, along with a camera mounted above it. Their intended resting place was obvious. No sooner were they sitting down, than the screen filled.
It showed two angles of a very similar church—one facing forward to the stand, where a coffin rested surrounded by flowers. Another pointed backwards, into a room absolutely packed with ponies.
Scootaloo's family were right there in the front row—her explorer parents, the aunts who cared for her, and a few cousins and other relatives Sweetie didn't know.
Behind them were dozens of others, packed into every open seat, clogging the aisles, and clustered around the walls. Ponyville's little church was far from large enough to contain such a well-attended gathering.
Many of them looked—heartbroken. Sweetie saw red eyes, heard the barely suppressed sobbing.
At their appearance, every pony within sight turned towards them, all squinting and shifting in their seats to get a look at something. She could imagine a screen very much like this one, occupying the empty space just in front of the stand.
A stuffy old pony stepped up past the coffin, clearing his throat. "We are gathered here today..."