//------------------------------// // Chapter Seventeen // Story: The Conversion Bureau: The First Choice // by Westphalian_Musketeer //------------------------------// A set of light-brown fingers drummed against a cushioned armchair in a cargo jet specially designated for the use of the finger’s owners. The fingers moved over to a set of buttons and turned on a display in the cabin’s wall. A silent news report flashed onscreen, but was, for the viewer, thankfully silent. The owner of the fingers brought out a zippo lighter from his jacket pocket. The brass casing was imprinted with the image of a horse. It had been passed down through his family through the decades since the the sun had been stolen by the tyrant, Celestia. In one deft, controlled motion, the man turned on the lighter and stared into the open flame for a few moments. “Sound on,” the man demanded in a Balkan accent, and he was met by the news report. “A day after what many have called the largest PER attack of all time was thwarted, the full details are out. The PER, using resources from the Gavin Schummel corporation, by then puppeteered by the illegitimate son of Robert Gavin, set a series of potion dispersers throughout the New York area. The thermobaric bomb that was meant to propagate the mist however, was sabotaged by the combined efforts of the Joint Reconnaissance Strike Force. "The son of Robert Gavin, Robert Gilchrist, going under the pseudonym of Tiro Vanberg, was killed in the process. Forces are continuing to hunt down high level PER leaders who have been revealed by the actions of the JRSF. "In other news, thousands of volunteers in the New York area have opened their hearts and their homes to assist the many people who were con—” “Sound off.” The man closed his lighter and set it to the side. He ran his fingers through his short-cropped ivory hair. The veins and tendons in his hand tensed as he reached for a six-by-eight-inch steel box that sat on the table next to him. He pressed a finger to the DNA reader on the outer casing. A small lancelet collected a sample of blood, and the casing cracked open, allowing him access to the DATab within it. The screen lit up and he entered a code that only he and nineteen others on the planet knew. “Identification please,” the machine asked in the electric tone of a woman. “Mr. Mustang.” The screen flashed green, before the image of a red circle with a fist within it materialized on the screen. “Humanus Pro Vita.” The final security measures were deactivated, and Mr. Mustang had a temporary secure line to another member of the Human Liberation Front. “Good day Mr. Mustang,” a woman on the DATab said. She was in a business suit, fitting for her section of the HLF cabinet she was in. Twenty persons made up the Cabinet, five to each section, military, political, business, and overarching. “Do not assume it is day where I am, Mrs. Juno,” Mr. Mustang replied. The woman onscreen stiffened before relaxing. “No doubt you have heard the news.” “Absolutely, Mr. Utah’s infiltration of the JRSF and augment intervention allowed us to stop the Manhattan attack. In spite of what the media claims.” Mr. Mustang tensed as he heard a buzzing sound come from the other end of the line. “Indeed,” Mrs. Juno answered. “But many people lost their lives, though most don’t realize it yet.” “We failed those people who were converted. I am correct, no doubt, in assuming that all the cabinet has agreed to begin putting them out of their misery.” The buzzing at the other end of the line grew louder until a black shape stepped into view in the corner of the screen. “That is your long term objective, Mr. Mustang,” Mrs. Juno answered. “However, our benefactor has requested we provide them additional payment for our next shipment of...” “Bug spit,” Mr. Mustang completed. The buzzing from the figure sounded again as a set of gossamer wings flapped rapidly. “Understood, arrangements shall be made for newfoals to be captured alive. I am to assume that full resources shall be made available.” His inflections remained flat, there was no questioning tone in his voice. “Correct, grey agents, augments, contacts, safehouses, Utah is no longer in New York, its resources are yours to ensure the mission is completed.” Mrs. Juno lifted up a fist, her elbow still on the desk. “Humanus Pro Vita.” “Humanus Pro Vita,” Mr. Mustang answered, ending the call. A few seconds later, the DATab sparked and started smoking, never to be used again unless the constituent parts were melted down and then used to recreate another DATab. Monica hovered amongst the shelves of the archive, placing a few more books into place. Just below, she could hear some music coming from a side door. Monica hummed along with the tune and let a gentle smile ease onto her face as she continued sorting books. Monica’s ears twitched when a new sound began accompanying the music: the sound of hooves. She looked down below, and seeing that there was somepony approaching, she hovered down to the ground a few feet in front of the pony. “Good day!” Monica greeted, extending a hoof. The mint-green unicorn silently bumped her hoof against Monica’s. “Hello,” she responded quietly. “Um, what’s your name?” “Monica Radrim, assistant archivist, pleasure to meet you Miss... Hang on a second, did you ever go to earth for working on the Human Archives Project? You look familiar.” “Lyra Heartstrings,” the unicorn completed, sidestepping over to a shelf. “And no, I don’t work with the Archives. I’m happy with my job as is... I just came here for a book on musical theory.” Lyra turned and showed her lyre cutie mark. “Okay, well, you’re in the right section,” Monica said, returning to a hover. “I’ll just...” She went over to a few shelves and pulled out two large books, each bounded in a green hard-cover. “Either of these look good?” Lyra examined both of the books. Her lips pursed, and she held herself in a tight manner, her legs close together. She nodded to one book and said, “I’ll take that one.” “Alright, fantastic, I can just write down your name and the date.” Monica reached into her saddlebags and pulled out some writing materials: quill, securely-stoppered inkpot, and paper. With a few motions of her neck and lips, Monica wrote out two receipts for the book, one for Lyra, and one for the archives. “Okay, be sure to return it in a week.” “Thanks,” Lyra said. Her magic quickly enveloped the book and she walked briskly away from Monica. Storing her things back in her saddlebags, Monica sorted through books until she again heard a sound that was intrusive to the music that was still playing. “Monica!?” came a yelling voice. Monica hovered over the shelves, poking her head out like a prairie dog sticking its head out of a burrow. She saw Rainbow Dash flying over the shelves with enough speed that her tail waved like a flag in her wake. She was wearing a small saddle bag, deep-blue with a bolt of lightning stitched onto the flap. “She’s looking for another book already?” Monica commented to herself. Hovering up above the shelves, Monica yelled, “Rainbow!” That drew the cyan pegasus’ attention, and soon Rainbow and Monica were standing on top of a book case. “Hey there, Monica, glad I could find you. I’ve got two things I need to talk to ya about.” Dash looked around nervously; her eyes darted from side to side. “Need another recommendation?” Monica asked, smirking. “You’ve gone through some of the more prominent classical works. What do you think about trying some medieval works?” “Thanks for the offer, but neither thing is that. I know enough about how this place is organized to find something I might like, thanks to you. First off, did Twi tell you about the celebration for ten years of the archives project yet?” Monica shook her head. “No, but that’s really great that she’s doing that.” “Yeah, well, she’ll probably make an announcement soon enough. Now the second thing...” She stepped towards Monica. Her face, the very form of seriousness, nearly pressed against Monica’s muzzle. “You can’t tell anyone about what I’m going to tell you. Promise?” “Uh, I’m not really comfortable getting into something without knowing what it is,” Monica answered. “I-ugh.” Rainbow sat on her haunches. “Maybe it’ll be easier if I just show you.” She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out of a few sheaves of parchment. She put them on the ground in front of Monica. “I was thinking about what you said about autobiographies, and, well, I want to write my own.” Monica let out a breath she had been holding. “Oh, is that what this is about? You want writing advice?” “Yeah,” Rainbow answered. Rubbing her mane with a hoof, she mixed the colors together before she shook her head, putting all the hairs back into their stripes. “I showed it to Big Mac, and he said that writing stuff down would probably get me to intero-expectation-something-or-other.” “Introspection?” Monica offered. “Yeah, that. And then there’s the fact that a wonderbolt, writing about their life? I wish there’d been something like that when I was younger.” Rainbow stood up. “So, you can help?” “Well, I can give advice, and...” Monica looked down at the pile of paper and skimmed the contents. “I can help you with your run-on sentences.” She flicked a hoof to Rainbow’s chest. Rainbow frowned with her eyes while one side of her mouth turned upwards. After a few seconds of holding that expression, she chuckled. “Yeah, my captain said my reports could make him run out of breath.” Jameson was crouching, one knee touching the ground while the other supported his elbow. His palm covered his face as he gulped for air. He removed his hand and looked around him. He blinked the moisture out of his eyes. Dozens of white tents, all large enough to fit two sizeable cars end-to-end were arranged in rows. Printed on the sides of each in bold letters were the names of various aid organizations, JRSF and ConSec. Newfoals and humans walked amongst the tents in the parkade. Many of the newfoals would stumble, then be steadied by a human volunteer. Thousands of people had been converted, and the influx had been managed with a combination of people giving their time and their money to help those who had fallen on hard times. Potion was still being removed from large swathes of the city, leaving many homeless. Jameson stood up and gave a small burp with the taste of bile before he turned around, and walked by the tents. Far away, on the right side of his vision, he could see the archives still covered in a mass of crystallized potion. “A dash six-oh-seven, A dash six-o-five,” he counted off, before he reached a tent labeled ‘A-593’. He heard the sobs of a boy crying inside, and Jameson entered the tent. A pink earth pony mare with a purple mane and tail, syringe cutie mark, and a green nurse’s smock was pressing a stethoscope to the chest of a light blue pegasus colt who was sobbing. Beside the colt, a green-coated, poison-red-maned pegasus filly was curled in the arms of a brown unicorn mare. To the side was an cerulean pegasus stallion with a white mane. To one side was a table with a water cooler, and some instant coffee packets and sugar. The adult pegasus looked up at Jameson before a smile spread over his face. “Todd!” he yelled, before his legs coiled for a jump. The stallion got a hold of himself though, and he walked over. “Son, I was worried you hadn’t made it!” Thomas Jameson, father of Private Todd Jameson, looked over to his wife, Alice Jameson, still holding their converted daughter, Ria. Alice, the brown unicorn, stroked her daughter’s red mane while Ria’s twin brother, Kyle, continued to mope as the nurse folded up her stethoscope. “Alright,” the nurse pony said, “you’re all perfectly healthy except for Kyle’s sprained leg. Make sure he keeps off of it for a few days. Thomas walked over to the nurse. “Thank you Ms. Thetic, thank you for helping my family.” Ana Thetic bowed her head. “It’s my job; besides, I always make a point of helping others, goodness knows there have been times I’ve needed help.” She lifted up a hoof and waved it around to emphasize her point. “I want to go back!” Kyle moaned, limping from his spot and burying his face into his mother’s side. “Give me a human potion!” Jameson walked over to his brother and reached towards him. Nurse Thetic swiped his hand away before he could console his brother though. Jameson looked at her with dissapointed eyes. “Don’t touch him,” she mouthed silently with a look of hope. Narrowing his eyes at the nurse, Jameson recalled that converts didn’t need to be reminded they were covered in fur by someone touching them. Jameson sighed, lowered his hand and looked at his brother. “Kyle?” he asked. When there was no answer except for some sobs, he continued. “It’s your brother, Todd, I killed lots of the bad men who did this to you.” “I don’t care. I want to be able to draw and play with my computer again!” Kyle turned his head to see his brother’s lips turn downwards. Jameson gave a sigh. “There isn’t a way to go back. EarthGov doesn’t have the resources to do that, not when the barrier is still expanding.” Thetic’s ears pinned back when Kyle screamed, “I DON’T CARE ABOUT EARTHGOV! I WANNA GO BACK TO BEING A BOY!” Alice lowered her head to Ria’s ear and whispered. With a small nod, the filly walked over to Thomas and let him stroke her mane instead. Raising a hoof, Alice stroked her son’s mane. Nurse Thetic walked over to a cup of water on the table, grabbed it in her mouth, and brought it in front of the colt before she grabbed a packet of sugar. “I’m sorry Kyle, but even if Earthgov gave the time for a human potion to be developed, and they have tried in the past, it would be hundreds of times harder to develop than regular potion, if not impossible.” She pointed to the cup of water. “Imagine that water is a person before they take a potion.” Taking the pack of sugar with both hooves, she tore off the end with her teeth. Spitting out the paper, she continued her lecture. “Now imagine this sugar is potion.” Dumping the sugar into the cup, she grabbed the cup and swirled it around in her hooves until the sugar dissolved. “Now the person is a pony. Some of the magic particles that conversion gives a person can’t be picked out.” She put the cup off to the side. “Getting the sugar out would mean boiling all the water away.” Thetic looked up at Kyle, who had quieted down, but tears still leaked out of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, standing up. She looked at Jameson and Thomas before inclining her head. “I have others who need my help, best of luck.” She stepped out of the tent. Kyle hiccuped, and Alice continued to rub his mane. Jameson sat on the ground, legs crossed, and his lips turned upwards, though his eyes remained joyless. “So, what happens now?” Thomas asked. Jameson brought out the piece of paper. “No more fighting PER for me. Standard procedure, they don’t want to run the risk of field executions.” EarthGov had established a procedure to avoid deploying soldiers whose families had been targeted by the PER. The treaties they had with the Equestrian nation required that ponies be punished at Celestia’s discretion. To a grieving soldier, one bullet, six feet of dirt, and a report of them being killed as a human was often seen as the more appropriate punishment to PER officials who tried to escape justice by ‘gooping out’. A family member being forcefully converted was grounds for a soldier to be honorably discharged. Thomas’ gave an irked expression. “You’re better than that, son. You weren’t discharged were you?” “No, just never going to be assigned to missions with a high likelihood of PER involvement.” Jameson ran a hand through his hair and folded up the piece of paper. “I talked to one of the higher ups. My squad’s going to be part of escort for the increased traffic to the barrier once they’re done helping search the sewers for any PER in hiding.” He brought his hands together and licked his lips. He blinked rapidly a few times. “Think you’ll be heading for Equestria?” he asked. Thomas nodded. “Alice and I discussed that before you got here. The last thing we need is for you to be constantly worrying about us here on Earth. We’ll be on the next ship to Equestria.” Thomas stood up and patted Ria on the head before talking to her. “So you’ll be able to see your brother right before we go to Equestria.” Ria smiled before walking up to Jameson with a bright smile. “You’ll get to see me just before the prettiest pony on Earth becomes the prettiest pony in Equestria!” She stuck out her tongue, making Jameson laugh. Willard was walking down a side tunnel in the archives. Unlike the main chamber, the walls were rounded and rough. The floor was fairly smooth however, from hundreds of trips down to where the tunnel was leading. Listening attentively to a sound coming from the direction he was heading, Willard tried to figure out what it was. He rounded a corner and was able to make out some of the words of two sources. “Spike... even... you have... I... don’t.” “I... sometimes... the diamond dogs... the ones... I wish Cyrus would do something about them.” Willard turned another corner to see a large hole that led out to Ghastly Gorge, where he would drag rocks from the diamond dog’s excavation. An annoyed grunt preceded a rock about the size of Willard’s head sailing over the cliff edge to fall out of sight. Willard walked out to the back of a larger cave that attached to Ghastly Gorge. The beautiful evening purples and oranges highlighted a dragon and a pony standing at the edge of the cliff. “Spike, I know you hate the diamond dogs, but they’ve been of immense help in getting these archives running. Even if some of them are unapologetic about what happened to Rarity years ago, that was when the alpha was away.” Twilight cast a quick glance at Willard and pursed her lips. She was wearing her burned and stained robe. Grabbing a rock from the ground, Spike threw it like a shot put. “I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that some of them are constantly antagonizing me,” he said, throwing another rock. Twilight grabbed the rock with her magic and then brought it back. “I fail to see how your throwing rocks off a cliff is supposed to help the matter.” “Beats sitting in the library, just gorging myself on what gems I can find,” Spike stated flatly. “I just... I just need to exert myself sometimes, and this is the only way I can without going at one of Cyrus’ dogs!” Spike tried throwing another rock, but Twilight caught it in her magic. “Twi, give it back.” “Not until you promise me you won’t go picking any fights with Cyrus or his other diamond dogs.” Twilight pulled the rock beside her. “Twilight, give it back!” Spike took a step toward the unicorn, his wings flaring. The small mare took a step back. “No, you need to control your impulses, all of them, whether it’s greed, hunting, or—” Twilight lifted the rock up. “—whatever this is supposed to be.” Spike sat on his haunches. His front claws flexed. Smoke leaked out of his nostrils. “And what about your impulses to just take the insults they say? ERGH!” he cried out, spinning around and clawing at the cave wall. The scratching sound of his claws against solid rock hurt Willard’s ears. He winced and frowned at the noise. Moment’s later, the adolescent dragon ran towards the cliff edge and took flight. “Spike!” Twilight called after him, lifting a hoof, but he was gone. She gave out a pouting sigh and sagged a little as Willard stepped towards her. “Sorry you had to see that,” she said, straightening up. “Teenagers?” Willard asked. “He’s pushing his twenties now, but by a dragon’s standard, yes.” Twilight stood up. “Don’t suppose you have any advice from raising Monica?” Her ears were flopped down. “Fortunately for both myself and her, but unfortunately for you, no. After my brother died, I spent a lot of time... thinking. I felt like a fool when she actually started coming out of her shell before I did. Then it was really just a matter of making sure she wasn’t hurt.” Willard looked up at the darkening sky. Sighing, Twilight stood up. “I’ll see if I can find him a healthy vent.” She trotted past Willard and back into the tunnels, where the earth pony followed her. “I’ve gotten everything in my schedule cleared up. I can have that interview with Miles.” Willard nodded and trotted past Twilight. “I’ll go fetch him.” Vickers’ boot slipped on a particularly slick stretch of concrete, sending him down to one knee, and splashing his newly received rank stripes that marked him as a corporal. “Son of a!” he hissed into his helmet. “Thing’s will get easier now that the attack is over my ass!” He lifted himself out of the passing sewage and grunted. “At least they gave us fully sealed suits again.” Crystal plodded by him with a foul expression underneath his half-helmet, muzzle open to the reeking air. “Speak for yourself, this place stinks!” Lieutenant Karan turned around. “At least we know that the locations revealed on that DATab have already been sweeped; it’s just central command being thorough.” Karphal walked past Vickers and the pony, and he stopped in front of Karan. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m underground. Reminds me of when I had to help clear out a group of diamond dogs in a mountain. At this point, I’m not going to be merciful.” Vickers walked past them in turn. “I’m inclined to agree with Karphal. We’re stuck down here, without Jameson, all because the PER had to get its knickers in a bunch about people not wanting to convert.” “Nobody said anything about being merciful.” Karan stepped out of the weak flow of sewage and scanned the room for a moment. A ladder led up to a catwalk that led down the only other corridor leading out of the room. “Hey, you hear about what whiskey squad found?” Vickers chuckled. “Opened a maintenance door and saw two PER fighting over some potion, each of them trying to goop out.” “Yeah, I heard about that,” Karphal said. “They tossed in a crystallization grenade to neutralize the potion. The PER were still arguing when they were dragged topside.” Karphal hoisted Crystal up onto the catwalk, then followed the two humans up the ladder. “How are the wings?” Karan asked. “Healing, still can’t fly without having to land immediately afterwards, but give me a few days and I’ll be good.” The four JRSF soldiers walked down the corridor, their boots, hooves, and paws rattling the walkway. Cement walls were covered with a combination of pipes, wires, and fluorescent yellow numbers. “Two more days,” Vickers whispered, “Two more days and we get to unwind for a bit, then we’re back with Jameson.” Crystal shook out a hoof, careful not to deploy the blade. “And I can get some time to clean my hooves!” Inside Twilight’s personal lab within the archives, Miles was sitting on a cushion the mare had thoughtfully provided. Willard leaned against a wall with a passive expression. Twilight pulled out some stationery from her desk, and set it on the ground. “Now,” Twilight said, “I’m going to ask you some questions Miles, if you become uncomfortable, you can ask to stop.” “Can I leave now then?” Miles asked, looking to the door. “Colt,” Willard said. He raised an eyebrow at his charge and shook his head. “I want you to at least try.” “Alright,” moaned Miles, making a pushing motion towards Willard and turning his face away. “Now.” Twilight lifted up some paper and a thin rod that looked like an old-fashion ball pen. Willard’s eyes widened at the sight after having become inured to seeing nothing but quills and ink-pots throughout Equestria. “When the general public became aware that the Equestrian barrier was expanding, what did you think?” asked Twilight. “I uh... I thought that the ponies were responsible for that.” Miles looked at the floor and scraped his hoof on the ground. “I was convinced that EarthGov would figure that out and find a way to stop... Er, I’m going to say ‘you’, but I don’t actually mean ‘you’ specifically.” “Mhm.” Twilight nodded, glancing up from her paper at Miles every few moments. “And when they didn’t, and conversion started, I felt like I had been betrayed by them. Every year went by with reports on the barrier expanding, and people converting. Then there’s the PER. They forcefully convert people, and EarthGov was fighting to stop them. I signed up for the military as soon as I reached the age of consent.” Miles bit his lip, and his brow furrowed. “They weren’t doing enough, every week or month you’d hear about the PER attacking. A school here, a hospital there. I got tired of having to work within the red tape, of letting PER who gooped out live. Someone offered me the opportunity to fight them without holding back. I agreed. “The HLF told me things that I believed, that conversion was Celestia’s plan for destroying the human race and Earth, and that conversion warped people’s mind to make them want to convert others by any means necessary. The PER were just proof of that. “Eventually, I thought ponies were just, shells; sick mockeries of people they once were. That people would do that to themselves willingly made me angry. And then I was selected for the mission to Carrenton. I was converted there.” Miles’ teeth chattered together as if he had been locked into a meat freezer for hours. “When you were converted, how did you feel?” Twilight asked, pen scribbling furiously. Miles gulped. “Imagine if you knew everything about you was going to die; that your body was snatched away, your mind changed into something that wasn’t your own, and this thing was going around doing stuff you’d never do.” Miles lay down on the cushion. “And then not knowing when your mind was going to be destroyed, when you’d become incapable of controlling yourself, of knowing that you were unable to control yourself.” He closed his eyes. “I was terrified.” Twilight scribbled a few more lines on her paper before putting it to the side. She glanced between Miles and Willard with moist eyes that reflected the light in the room. “Okay,” Twilight declared. “Would you like to talk about music?” Clever girl, Willard thought as he observed Miles slowly return to sitting up, and going on about strings and brass and intervals. The blue earth pony looked over several papers and books on Twilight’s desk. He read out the titles silently: Bram Stoker’s Dracula, transcript for Loup Garou, Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. Interesting reading list, Willard thought as he flipped open the thin booklet and read the opening line. “When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself changed into a monstrous cockroach in his bed.” Willard looked over at Twilight, and he squinted his eyes before shrugging and sitting back down. The interview concluded after a few more minutes, and Miles hastily left. Walking over to the door, Willard stopped by it and turned back to face Twilight. “I appreciate your not pushing him any further.” “Thanks, I used to be horrible at handling newfoals... and even before that social stuff in general...” Twilight looked at the ground, remaining silent for a few moments before looking back up. “I’m arranging a celebration for ten years of the Human Archives Project. I’m going to be announcing it shortly, but I thought you might want to speak with Miles about it first.” “I’ll go over it with him soon, thanks for the forewarning.” Willard stepped out of the door before he turned back. “Uh, Pinkie Pie is going to be there, isn't she?” When Twilight nodded, Willard chuckled. “Scratch that, big thanks for the warning.”