//------------------------------// // 6. Neighbor Within The Limits Of The World // Story: I.D. - That Indestructible Something // by Chatoyance //------------------------------// I.D. INJECTOR DOE That Indestructible Something By Chatoyance ═════════════════════ 6. Neighbor Within The Limits Of The World "Anyone who loves his neighbor within the limits of the world is doing no more and no less injustice than someone who loves himself within the limits of the world." - Franz Kafka "Can you narrow the field at all, Mr. Crown?" Guillaume was working with Nadzieja, because Thibault was sick with the flu. Nadzieja had once been a member of the old Polish secret service or somesuch, the UOP, the Urząd Ochrony Państwa - whatever that was - and had ended up working for Mr. Crown exclusively. Malus Crown seemed to attract the disaffected and the alienated who also were willing to do pretty much anything for insane amounts of cash. Really, thought Guillaume, that was pretty much everyone, come to think of it. "What are you laughing about, Bill?" Nadzieja always called Guillaume 'Bill'. He let it slide because she was attractive for an older woman, and because the way she said it sounded affectionate. Guillaume stopped chuckling and threw a smile at Nadzieja. "Just thinking about how absurd life is, really." "I ran out of laughs for that long ago. You must still be capable of surprise then. This, I will note." Nadzieja returned to her cross-checking and searching. Her fingers flashed over the Mac keyboard. Mr. Crown rotated the chair he was perched so carefully upon, as always on the edge of his seat. "Guillaume. You had a question?" Guillaume raised his head from his 27-inch iMac and nodded. "I wondered if there was any way to narrow the field a bit. There are just so many stories, and so many authors with so much in common. Isn't there any other clue, any other detail that might help?" The problem was difficult, perhaps impossible. For days now, Mr. Crown's little team had been tasked with finding a needle in a very large haystack. The goal of their search seemed to be one single man. Who wrote stories. Fanfiction stories. He had to be a man between the ages of 21 and 30. He had to be obsessed with a cartoon, a children's cartoon about ponies living in a fantasy land. There was a vast number of such men, because apparently the cartoon was strangely popular with an unexpected audience. 'My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic' was a cartoon for little girls that had somehow become intensely popular with adults, including adult men. This was the cartoon that had inspired the trip to Prague, and which Mr. Crown was completely dedicated to. Somewhere out there, in the world, was a single man, a young man, who also liked the cartoon, and Mr. Malus Crown was desperate to find him. The young man had to also be a soldier. A soldier that wrote a very specific, but also incredibly common sort of story. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of versions of that story, each written by a different author, all soldiers, all men. The story was fairly simple. A soldier, almost certainly representative of the author, is injured and killed. He might be shot on the battlefield, or blown up by a hidden explosive device, or crushed in a wreck of plane or car. Some versions of the story had no clear explanation of how the soldier character dies, but die they did, in every story. Next the soldier in the story wakes up. He is a pony, a pony from the cartoon. He might be a stallion, or a mare, he might be a unicorn or a pegasus. He might even be a little foal. Rarely, the soldier wakes up as a diamond dog, or a gryphon, or even as a dragon - all other creatures native to the fantasy land from the cartoon. The core of the story is always the same. The fantasy land, Equestria, is the afterlife. The rulers of Equestria are two pony goddesses, and for varying reasons they grant the reincarnated human soul permanent residence in their land. Perhaps the soldier has been brought to Equestria to save it from enemies, sometimes it is simply a reward, some stories posit the entire thing as an accident, others as a choice made by the soldier's soul. Hundreds and hundreds of stories, all similar, all with the same basic concept, all written by disaffected soldiers stuck in unhappy places. The majority of the authors were Americans, but there were some British and Australians as well. Guillaume had written to some of the moderators of websites that collected such stories to find that such stories were among the most common that they saw uploaded. There were a lot of unhappy soldiers all wishing the same wish, and dreaming the same dream. Guillaume had once asked Mr. Crown if he was thinking of Bishop Berkeley and his notion of Immaterialism, sometimes called 'subjective idealism' Crown had seemed pleasantly surprised by the suggestion. "Heh, that is indeed something that had crossed my mind. You are well read, my good Guillaume." "Do you think, sir, that the wishes of soldiers are altering the world itself?" Mr. Crown shook his head slowly. "No, not exactly. I don't agree with Berkeley that reality is created by thought. I find that smacks too much of spirits and gods. I don't see mankind as possessing such power." Crown had shifted uncomfortably, as he always did, a faint grimace on his face. Guillaume sometimes wondered to himself if Malus Crown was a sick man, perhaps a man facing mortality and driven into a mad Quixotic quest as a way to deny his end. He certainly seemed to be uncomfortable much of the time, and he was very gaunt. "Why is it that we search for this soldier, then?" Malus had stood, and stretched himself, shaking out his legs. "I think that there might be keys to the world, and that our mysterious soldier may have found one." Crown pondered briefly, tapping his foot. "Perhaps 'key' isn't the right word. A back door. A back door to the world, I think." All Guillaume could do, of course, was to shake his head when Mr. Crown had turned away. The man would only answer so much, and more he clearly guarded to himself, as if he were embarrassed by his madness, and unwilling to bother those in his employ with the full pathos of it. This had endeared Mr. Crown to Guillaume, as much as it was possible for anyone to do so. "Nadzieja?" Guillaume, back again to the present moment, had found a possible candidate. He was a soldier, he had written several stories all about the proper topic - a soldier is killed and wakes up in Equestria as his afterlife - though this particular author had posited a curious twist. In his fanfiction, the soldier character begs the goddess Celestia to permit any human who wished to, to travel to Equestria when they died, and to allow them to become any creature native to her world. He had written three stories within his little fantasy. This writer also fit the last criteria that Mr. Crown had required. It was a fairly morbid one - the author was himself dead, just as the character in his story. Interestingly, the man had died in exactly the same way as the character he had written about - together with the men of his troop in a transport, blown up by a buried explosive device. "Yes, Bill?" Guillaume clicked his single-button iMac mouse. "There. Would you find out what you can about mister... um... Private First Class Richard Deckard? American military." Guillaume thought for a moment. "Please?" "Of course, Bill. It is what we are being paid for, is it not?" Nadzieja flipped her mid-length, dark black hair with a hand, and dove back into her typing and clicking. "Huh." "What?" Nadzieja shrugged. "It is curious. This one man, his records have all been sealed, and from the highest level too. I cannot find any reason, he is otherwise uninteresting." Guillaume waved his hand. "Mr. Crown?" ──── ∆ ──── Gregoria had needed Rachel to utilize the cellphone, hooves just didn't conduct like fingertips did. Gregoria's mother had no problem with her daughter staying over for a while, one less mouth to feed and it was clear she secretly was hoping that it might mean a second shot at leaving the nest. If anything, she was over-eager, which made Gregoria feel just... wonderful. "She doesn't mean it that way, Greggie! She just feels glad you are having fun with me!" Rachel constantly tried to see the best in people. It had always been her most annoying trait. Well, it had been, before, when Gregoria's brain wasn't a pony brain. Now, Gregoria found she wasn't annoyed at Rachel trying to cheer her up, or that Rachel was choosing to interpret her mother's excitement at getting rid of her daughter for a while as gladness for a social opportunity, rather than relief from a burden. None of that annoyed Gregoria now, thanks to her new pony brain. What was annoying, was that she was feeling massively cheered up. That was positively scary. The two friends had gone out to get groceries, especially things that an Equestrian pony might be able to eat. Gregoria had explained her new profound vegetarianism, and Rachel had gone on at some length detailing the things ponies on the show had been shown to eat. Anything plant based was exactly right, but much to Gregoria's surprise, eggs were allowed. Apparently even native terrestrial horses could digest eggs, so there was nothing bizarre about it. Horse breeders gave eggs in order to supply extra protein, and to make coats shiny. Apparently, at least for equines, eggs did not count as meat. There was an argument there - an egg was just an overlarge single cell held within a shell. No tissue, no animal, liquid protein for the taking. At first, Rachel had been nervous, constantly looking about ready to block an imagined horde of black-and-white Frankenstein movie villagers attacking with pitchforks and burning torches. Gregoria's profound 'pony-ness' was so obvious to her now that it stunned her how nobody else could see it. "I was like that, wasn't I? Like them?" Rachel pointed to the women standing next to the apples and pears. Gregoria snorted. "Yeah, like just only two hours ago! You remember me when I arrived, right, what did I look like?" She snorted a second time, more softly, but still a pony-ish laugh. "I... I'm actually not sure." Rachel seemed distant, and stopped in the market. "It's kind of, well, fuzzy. Like my memory now is kind of struggling. I remember you as old-Gregoria, but also as if you were how you are now. It's like I knew but I didn't know, and now I'm remembering... sort of." Rachel knitted her brow. "That sounds kind of goofy, doesn't it?" "No, maybe not. I don't think the blindness thing is like not seeing, or like seeing something that isn't there." Gregoria and Rachel were walking again, headed towards the produce bins to the side of the fruit. "It isn't some weird veil or shield or cloak or whatever. People see me, they see me as a pony just fine. I think their brains are somehow choosing to interpret what they see as human, rather than pony. I think it's like color." Rachel pointed out something that looked very pony. Wheat grass, in a little box. Juicers - people who liked to make health food drinks in their mixers - had a thing for grinding up wheat grass, so now markets sometimes carried it. The little boxes looked like squares of lawn. "Color? How do you mean?" The box of pasture-land made Gregoria drool. She nodded vigorously until she saw the price. Four bucks for a tiny square of grass! "I read once, on some science site, how we don't really see color. We compute it, and sometimes we compute it all wrong." "So maybe my memory of first seeing you getting all muddled is... sort of my brain realizing its own, um, computer error or something?" Despite the price, Rachel got two of the small cartons of wheat grass. It wasn't enough to make a meal of, but she had noticed how strongly Gregoria-the-pony had reacted to it. Rachel wanted to make her friend feel happy, if she could. "Yeah... something like that. I'm not having any reaction about the bridge though." Gregoria pointed a hoof at chard, celery, carrots, and some leafy thing she couldn't see the label for because it was too high. The prices for all were very low and Gregoria smiled and the two of them began loading their cart with greenery. "Maybe it's because that happened so long ago. Maybe there isn't enough fresh memory to make a fuss in your head?" Rachel grabbed a big red beet and dangled it in front of Gregoria who took a sniff and then nodded happily. "Want any lettuce? Do ponies like lettuce?" Gregoria grinned. "This one does! Cabbage too, if they have any. Ooh! Can we get some apples? That pony on the show was like "Mooaarr Apples!!!" "You're thinking of 'Jappleack' from those Diggity Demon fan cartoons. She's not really canon." Rachel pushed the cart to the fruit section and picked out some good looking Fujis... and a Braeburn, because, Braeburn. "But Applejack, she grows apples and she loves apples too. Actually, all the canon ponies seem to like apples. Just not to the point of insanity." "Um... listen, you know I'm paying for all of this, right? I've got my card in my, um, saddlebags." The ratty old bicycle bags were slung over Gregoria's back, and she had her boots on again too. "I'm not a freeloader." Rachel laughed. "You silly. You're my guest. Besides, you gave me a miracle today, so I figure I owe you big." Gregoria's ears sagged. "I have some money, I'm not entirely broke. There's a lot of stuff here! I want to help!" Was that genuine, or was that her 'helpful Equestrian pony' brain talking? Maybe it was still genuine - after all, she was a pony now. It was really hard sometimes to tell where old Gregoria stopped and pony Gregoria began. It was getting more blurred with every decision she made. "No, you don't understand. I meant that. You brought me a miracle today. You have no idea what that means to me!" Rachel seemed odd, almost beaming. She'd been sad and clingy for months and months. That was why human Gregoria had abandoned her. Now she was positively bubbly. "What's up, tell me? What do you mean 'miracle?' My going pony? Seems more like a curse to me." They were in the cereal aisle now, and Gregoria watched Rachel grab several containers of oats, both milled and whole. "Ponies eat oats. Really. I bet you'll go nuts for them." Rachel thought a few moments, then piled in a big metal container of Scottish oats for 'variety'. "I said miracle and I meant it. Think about it Greggie. You got turned into a pony, overnight, just like magic, zap! You're a pony!" "Don't remind me." Gregoria began to sulk. "No, no, don't be like that, it's not a curse, I know that for a fact. It's a blessing, the biggest blessing in the world, even if it's hard for you right now." Gregoria had gone on at length to Rachel about how deeply being a pony sucked muffins. How everything was so difficult and how lost and alien she felt. "How is this," Gregoria jabbed a hoof at herself "not a curse?" They had stopped in the pasta aisle. Pasta was grain, and ponies were oatburners, they thrived on grain so pasta had to be alright to eat. Besides, it was vegetarian in any case. Gregoria seemed eager enough, she had liked pasta before, so pasta as a pony had to be at least as good. "I know you've had a hard time, but try to think what all of this means to me." Rachel crouched down and held Gregoria's face in her hands. "I've lost my sweetie. But along you come, all changed into a pony! You're not dead, you're still you, you just happen to be a talking pony. That's a miracle from where I am. It's completely impossible, completely bonkers, yet here you are. Think about what that says about the world!" "It says the world is a very mean place that plays dirty tricks on ponies, that's what it says!" Gregoria was far too cute when she pouted now, and it was everything Rachel could do not to start cooing and giggling at the sight. "It says that anything is possible. Anything." Rachel paused, crouched on her heels, to let that sink in. "If the impossible can happen, then maybe nothing is impossible. Maybe anything is possible. Maybe there really is an Equestria out there somewhere. Maybe space men are real, maybe magic is real, maybe... heaven... is real." The implication of that last statement was not lost on Gregoria. If miracles could really happen - and being transformed into a real live Equestrian pony was about as miraculous a thing as could be imagined - then maybe, just maybe, Rachel could hope to see her Rick again, someday, somewhere. That was what had made Rachel so happy. Gregoria's transformation had opened the possibility of... previously impossible hopes. Gregoria chafed at this inside, it was logically unsound. One impossibility being shown to be possible did not automatically toss all previous understanding out the window - but she couldn't bring herself to argue with her grieving friend. Hope was a precious commodity right now, and for Gregoria herself, it was the only thing keeping her going. She decided to let the issue slide, partly because of her over-compassionate pony brain, and partly because she was afraid that in talking Rachel out of arbitrarily assuming an afterlife, she might talk herself out of arbitrarily assuming there was a cure for her transformation. They shopped in silence for some time, nodding at things - tomatoes? Mnn. Artichoke hearts? Mnn. Chile? Oh wait, that had meat. Huh-uh. Finally, Rachel spoke. "You can't just walk around like a pony, right? You have to wear clothes, sort of, right?" Gregoria was startled out of not trying to think about the possibility that her own hopes to be changed back might be logically unsound. "Huh?" "Your clothes. No offense, but... they're not exactly 'Rarity Originals', you know?" Rachel giggled a false laugh to try to ease the tension of effectively insulting Gregoria's ensemble. "Heh, yeah. I know it's pretty awful." Gregoria's cheap skirt never covered her bottom for long, and almost instantly ended up as a cloth band around her waist which dragged on the ground and sometimes tripped her hind legs. The tube-top was beyond hopeless, more a collar than anything, and the boots just flopped, constantly threatening to come off her pony legs. "It's necessary, though, right?" Rachel considered a bag of onion-flavored potato chips. "Otherwise everyone would see you as naked?" "That's the deal. I have to wear something. It doesn't seem to need to fit properly or even make complete sense. I think there's some rules to it, but they seem pretty sloppy. But yeah, shoes on my back legs, something to suggest I'm covering my ass, and something people can interpret as being a top. Without it, I'd just look naked." Gregoria stared at a box of cookies. The Keebler Elves were all ponies. With buckle hats and pointier ears. "Rachel - look at that box, that one, right there. The elves on it?" "Keebler, yeah." "Look normal to you?" Gregoria was pointing at the box with a hoof. "Um... yes?" "I see them as ponies. It's like the bridge in your picture." Gregoria put her hoof down and leaned in to study the box. Ponies. Dressed like leprechauns or whatever the Keebler company thought elves dressed like. It certainly wasn't Lord Of the Rings clothing. Rachel squatted and took the box in her hands. She studied it as if trying to force herself to see what Gregoria saw. "I wish I could see it. Pony elves sound funny!" "Don't wish that!" Gregoria sounded upset, because she was. "You know what I told you before. The flashes, the dreams. Maybe wishes do it!" Rachel put the box back on the shelf and turned her attention to Gregoria. "Did... you wish to be a pony, Greggie?" Gregoria's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. "NO!" She shouted the words. "NO! I would NEVER..." Rachel put her hand on Gregoria's muzzle, shushing her. "Sorry! It was just a question, I'm sorry!" Gregoria stared at the floor. "Greggie... Gregoria, come on, I know you wouldn't wish for such a thing. You barely even tolerate the show. I know it. You put up with it for me." This made Gregoria feel bad. She looked Rachel in the eyes. "I... It's good, for a cartoon, I just... It's just that..." "It's OK, Greggie. You're just worried about me. I understand." Rachel had been squatting too long, and she was having a hard time getting up because the blood had gotten pinched a bit. "Ow..." "Here, lean on me. I have a strong back. Now, at least." Gregoria positioned herself so that Rachel could push herself erect with a hand on Gregoria's pony back. Rachel moved about, uncomfortably. One of her legs had gone numb and she was dealing with unpleasant spiky tingles as it woke up. "Thanks... oh, damn. I hate when that happens." "I know what you mean. Or at least I did. I haven't had anything like that since I changed." Gregoria had to admit that her new body was remarkably robust. Her limbs never went to sleep, even if she lay on them. She never seemed to get tired - Rachel said that was an earthpony trait. Endless stamina. And she was scary strong, another earthpony trait, apparently. The cover on the huge metal trash bin behind the apartment building had been stuck, so Gregoria had given it a kick for Rachel. The heavy, thick steel lid had buckled in the middle as if it were made of tinfoil. They had both looked at each other, Rachel had tossed her trash, then they high-tailed it out of the alley hoping nopony had noticed. Gregoria suspected that if she really tried, she could probably buck down a brownstone building and not even break a sweat. She felt like superpony in that regard, and had since tried to be very careful about her earthpony strength. Rachel began to push the cart to the checkout. "So, you have to wear clothes. I have an idea. A couple of ideas, actually. You willing to visit a few more stores, or are you getting tired?" Gregoria glared. "Oh right. Earthpony. Hee! Silly me." Rachel began putting their items on the conveyor belt. ──── ∆ ──── The evening meal had been quite fun. Gregoria had enjoyed trying all sorts of proper pony foods. She found she couldn't get enough of oats - she preferred the natural to the milled, claiming that she could taste the iron from the milling process. Her new pony teeth crushed the hard oat kernels with ease, something her human teeth would not have enjoyed. The flavor for her was deliciously rich and seemed fattening, something which Rachel claimed to be true, at least for terrestrial ponies. The leafy produce was another heavenly banquet, the raw beet that Gregoria had shown interest in a special favorite. Rachel laughed with delight watching Gregoria's eyes roll back with each happy crunch. Rachel held the beet and fed it to Gregoria like a slave girl in a movie about Rome feeding grapes to a Praetor. Carrots turned out to be a special thing too, apparently sweet-spicy to Gregoria's new senses. Rachel sat enraptured by every little detail she could get from Gregoria about how everything smelled and tasted to her. It was quite the experience, to try to imagine what ordinary things were like to a completely alien sapient creature able to talk about what they perceived. Even Gregoria found it fun - inside herself, she was also fascinated, comparing her 'pony' and 'pre-pony' sensations. It was a whole new world to explore. Or perhaps, more accurately, the old world had been made new for the both of them. After dinner, it was time to try out the results of their additional shopping. Rachel had gone a bit overboard, which she was prone to do, and bought all sorts of things for Gregoria. They had gone to a leather-goods store, which had made Gregoria's nose burn from the smell of the treated leather. Although she couldn't remain inside long as a result, she had managed to choose one of the three motorcycle saddlebags that fit her. Now she had a very attractive set of saddlebags done up in shiny black leather with studs. It doubtless made for a very 'punk' purse in the eyes of others. There was a moment of 'adjustment' that Rachel had gotten to see in the store - when Gregoria was trying on the motorcycle saddlebags, the owner of the leather store blinked several times. Then he got a far-away look, and at Gregoria's hint, Rachel paid attention to the man's eyes. The pupils seemed to be having trouble finding a proper diameter, independent of each other. Then, suddenly, the man was alright. He just seemed to ignore the proceedings after that point, as if a human trying on motorcycle saddlebags was the most normal thing in the world. "Was that what your mother was like? Was that what I was like?" Rachel seemed unnerved by the leather store owner's behavior. "Yeah... that's what happens. It's kind of creepy. Especially the bit with the eyes." Gregoria found Rachel agreed entirely. There were some unnecessary dangling straps on the new saddlebags, which Rachel trimmed with an exacto blade, a serrated knife, and a pair of scissors. When the bags were trimmed, Gregoria practiced slipping them on and off like the ponies on the show seem able to do. The stiffness of the leather made it possible to leave the bags standing with an arch between them. Gregoria found she could slip her head through that arch and then slide the bags down her neck. With a little wiggling, she could set them evenly across her back. "They still stink, though!" Gregoria wrinkled her nose. "That'll go away after a while. I think it'll go away. It does for purses, I know that." Rachel put on a cross face. "Besides - ungrateful! You should be a happy pony. Not every pony gets fancy saddlebags, you know!" "What, so I'm your pet now?" Gregoria tried lifting one of the flaps with her teeth. She was pleased she could reach it. "Hey... I always wanted a pony. Now, you're it." Rachel grinned. "Then you can muck out my stable. I certainly eat like a horse - guess what I also do?" Now they were both laughing. "OK, now, let's try to see if my other idea works as well as your new 'purse'." Rachel seemed like she was a child opening presents for herself. Rachel went to her closet, and pulled out her sewing machine and set it up on the table. She lifted the boxes of clothing she had bought for Gregoria - her plan was to adapt them for a pony body, following the designs shown in 'Friendship Is Magic' - skirts that were open and flowed only over the back, blouses easily tied and removed from a pony body with teeth. Shoes small and round and shaped for pony feet - Rachel had a very clever idea to simulate shoes that would free Gregoria from clumsy boots forever. Rachel seemed positively excited to see if she could help her very best friend. Gregoria found it all quite odd. She had dropped her supposed best friend because she had become a burden due to legitimate grief. Gregoria had ignored Rachel's calls, deleted her emails, and made herself absent the times Rachel came in person to try to find out what was up. She had refused to acknowledge Rachel's birthday, all to avoid having to deal with a 'clingy' friend. Now, Gregoria herself was in desperate straits. She had forced her problem onto Rachel, selfishly, because she had nopony else to turn to. By all rights, Rachel should have spit on her. Yet here she was, spending her savings on new saddlebags and other things to make Gregoria's life easier, on special food just for her, and giving Gregoria all of her time. With a sinking feeling, Gregoria realized how she would have treated all of this back when she had been human. Without a second thought. "What's the matter? Greggie? Gregoria? What is it? Are you in pain?" Rachel was there, just like that, while she stood on her four yellow legs and cried. Gregoria was in pain, oh she was suffering terribly. The tears rolled down her hairy, golden cheeks and splattered on the floor. The beautiful new saddlebags felt like lead on her back, weighing her down with shame and regret... and also with horror. Gregoria was filled with the deepest, most profound horror she had yet experienced throughout the entirety of her transformation and its aftermath. The horror inside her gobbled and devoured like some terrible creature, some toothed, sharp-clawed abomination from hell, and there was no way to escape it, all the tears in the world could never, ever escape it. From the moment she had first awakened to her new pony body, Gregoria had known without any uncertainty that she was the righteous victim of a monstrous evil. That her task was to fight the vile cruelty had been inflicted upon her by her forcible transformation into an equine beast. Her cause was just and the rape of her form and shape was something to be avenged. To that end, Gregoria had kept the sharpest division she could between her human mind and the pony brain upon which the software of herself now ran. This was the means, the only means she had, to retain her human identity, to claim that she was in truth really 'Gregoria' and not a little yellow mare. Comparison and contrast, what was before, versus what she endured now. In every moment, she sought any deviation from her memory of her human self, and counted that alien, inflicted upon her, foreign, awful, and ultimately to be eliminated. As her tears splattered even harder on Rachel's linoleum, Rachel's generous and loving gifts all around her, her belly full of Rachel's kindness, all of it completely undeserved, the true, absolute horror of Gregoria's transformation finally hit her. The enemy she inhabited, this alien pony body, this alien pony mind, was innately kinder and more worthy of life than human Gregoria had ever been.