//------------------------------// // Chapter X // Story: Blank Slate // by Integral Archer //------------------------------// Copper Chromite loved the radio more than all the engineers before him combined. None really knew why he was not content with the lounge’s antechamber as his broadcasting station, why he had moved all the radio’s components down that hallway. His argument for the long, arduous chore he had himself undertaken was: “The recording room is soundproof. It does wonders for sound quality.” He occupied the room on the right. His guests occupied that on the left. His door was always closed. His guests could not see him through the one-way window. Whenever Stable 2 heard his voice on the radio, he could never be seen. They would hear him making jokes, speaking in absurd voices and accents. But he never spoke of what he said after a broadcast. When he was complimented on something funny, he would shrug and ignore the compliment. When he was asked to elucidate on something he said, he would give a vague answer and change the subject. Copper Chromite kept only one key to both doors. When he wanted to begin a broadcast, he unlocked the door on the right, opened it just enough for his body to fit through, and closed it behind him quickly. He exited it in the same manner, making doubly sure that he had locked the door behind him. He never locked the door on the left. In the first few days when the new location of the radio was known, it stirred quite the interest in Stable 2. Copper Chromite was seen to enter the studio. They would hear a voice over the speakers built into the roofs of the common rooms, or over their Pip-Bucks’ speakers. When the voice stopped, they would see him exit the studio. Most thought that it followed that it was he, especially in the light of the fact that he had undertaken that massive chore of dismantling the original radio, who was the voice that they heard. But he never admitted to it nor spoke of it. One asked: “How can we be sure, actually sure, that it’s Copper Chromite that we hear?” It was a good point. Though he expressed an interest in all electronics, Copper Chromite never spoke of the radio, what he said on the radio, or the maintenance thereof. “I don’t come back from work to talk about my work” was his invariable excuse. Even when he was not broadcasting, he stayed in the room with the door firmly shut and locked. He only came out to eat; and that, rarely. Most of the time, he never went back to his residence at night. But the biggest oddity of the entire situation was this: Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway, a glowing yellow aura could be seen making its way out of Copper Chromite’s room whenever he was known to be in it. The steel door seemed to shiver in the presence of this energy, its cracks shuddering as it barely managed to hold back whatever was inside. The glow penetrated the steel and emerged from the doorjamb in long, triangular beams; these swords stretched out onto the floor like claws, imperceptibly creeping further and further down the hallway, shunting the white of the fluorescent lightbulbs. When a resident told his friends what he had seen, they didn’t believe him. One found a small flashlight, just as the electricians, the janitors, and the engineers used, and shined it directly on the floor in the hallway. The spot which the light should have reached was no more illuminated than the space around it, effectively demonstrating that the hallway lighting illuminated a space completely, that nothing was more powerful than it. Even the Pip-Buck’s lamplight failed to displace the hallway lighting. It had to be seen to be believed. Together, they went down to the recording studio. When they turned the last corner, they stopped in their tracks as if electrocuted. They saw the streaks of yellow with their own eyes. Around it, the white light quivered, dissolving away in the might of this implacable presence. The observers kept their distance. The glow looked like it would burn them if they touched it. They went away, quite perturbed. “What could he be working on?” said one. Then they started to speculate. “Maybe he’s soldering something.” “I’ve never seen him solder anything larger than a motherboard. An electronics soldering tool could not create the long lines of light we saw. Hell, I don’t think any other soldering tool would be able to either.” “Maybe he has a fire going in there.” “If our electrical engineer thinks it’s safe to have a blazing fire in a small room that is presumably packed with electronics and has no venting, I weep for the future.” Then one suggested, meekly: “Maybe he’s working on some sort of new spell.” She promptly received a slap in the back of the head with an indignant hoof. “You idiot!” her fellow speculators retorted. “Copper’s an earth pony. Earth ponies don’t have powers.” “Oh, I beg to differ.” They turned and saw Copper Chromite standing a few strides’ distance away, leaning against a post, a contemptuous and condescending pout on his face. The group exchanged puzzled looks for a few moments. Then, suddenly, one took off in the direction of the radio room. It took only an instant for her friends to understanding her meaning, and they started as quickly as she had, following her a few footsteps behind. The one in the rear of the procession looked back: Copper Chromite wasn’t following them; he had not even changed his stance. When they reached the room, they gasped even louder than they had the first time. The light was gone. After much pushing, shoving, and quarreling, one of them was thrust from the group. With the help of urgent pleas, persuasions, and threats, he carefully shuffled his way toward the door. The group watched from a distance. They saw him carefully prod the floor where they had seen the light. They saw him touch the door with a shaky hoof. After these gestures of probing, he walked back. He appeared more confused than he had been a moment before. “Well?” they asked him. “Nothing,” he replied. “What do you mean nothing?” “I mean nothing. It’s just a floor.” “What about the door?” “What about the door?” “What’s wrong with it?” “Nothing. It’s cold.” “Cold?” “Yes, cold. Cold like steel should be.” “You are hilarious.” They turned and saw Copper Chromite standing behind them. Though a thousand questions were racing through their heads, they hesitated. The creature in front of them did not appear to be Copper Chromite. He looked taller, more mature, and more self-assured. He had spoken those three words not as a point from which he could laugh—there had been no hints of humor in his voice—but as simple fact, a fundamental observation of reality. There were two kinds of ponies in Stable 2: those who had power and those who didn’t. These two groups segregated themselves as much as possible, and the powerless avoided contact with the empowered as much as possible. They did not know how, but they all thought that Copper Chromite now belonged to the empowered, and they thought that he knew this too and that he was enjoying it immensely. Finally, one brought up the courage to speak. “What . . .” he stammered, “what’s in your room, Copper?” “I am,” he replied. “No, I mean, what’s in your room right now?” “I am.” “That . . . that doesn’t make any sense.” “When I’m not in my room, I’m still in my room.” The spokespony looked to his group. They chattered among themselves in hushed voices. Copper Chromite clicked his teeth absentmindedly. Finally, one blurted: “You’re such a hypocrite!” “Excuse me?” Copper Chromite replied. “You always chastise us for being evasive. Your answer is the most evasive I’ve ever heard!” Copper Chromite chuckled patronizingly. “It sounds that way, doesn’t it? Yes, I can hear that now. I’m sorry that that’s the only answer I can give you. Even if it doesn’t make any sense, it does. I’m not asking you to trust me, but know that I realize how I sound, and know that I don’t believe I’m being evasive. When I’m not in my room, I’m still in my room.” They walked away, scratching their heads with confusion. They lingered on his words. It was a contradiction, a blatant one. But it was nothing new. It was one contradiction out of many that they lived with. Contradictions do not aggravate the stable dweller; she lives with so many that they merely fatigue her. She feels no emotion when faced with a contradiction, not anger, not incredulity, not indignation, not bemusement; she simply feels bored. Sarcastic jokes were made initially: He has a magical ball that transforms him into his smooth-talking alter-ego, the DJ Cucro—how else to explain that he refuses to do the voice in front of us? He is plotting a coup d’état of the stable, and his lieutenant is his breadboard. He has some sort of objectionable pornography stash in there. But through the jokes, his last words remained with them: “When I’m not in there, I’m still in there.” They kept coming back to that contradiction. They eventually gave up their questioning, filed the contradiction along with the other ones, and thought no more of it. The glow did not disappear when it was ignored. Though none noticed, it shone brighter. But when Copper Chromite was known to be out of his room, it did not shine at all.