Out & About in the Equestrian Kingdom
by Midnight Shadow
Chapter 7
I looked around the cozy barn, eyes wide. "What is going on?" I demanded, stomping a hoof angrily and drawing it across the smooth wooden planks that made up the floor.
Rogers smiled, widely. It wasn't a cruel smile, for all it hid his true intentions; instead it was one full of mischief. He put a finger to his lips for a moment, then moved to crouch down before me. "Girl, I'm going to need you to do something for me. This is something that only a sheriff – or an ex-sheriff – can pull off, but we want your help. You said you wanted to help, right? We can do it without you but—"
"I'll help," I said, looking down at the floor. I slowly drew my hoof across the planks on the floor again in a mute display of disapproval… until a crooked finger beneath my chin gently lifted my head, and I found myself looking into Rogers' eyes.
"I mean it," he said, earnestly. "This is what sheriffs do. It's in our nature. We see a puzzle, and we have to solve it. I see that in you, Oats, and… for a first timer—" he grinned again, "—you're not doing too badly. So, I'll ask again, are you in?"
"Are we going to get into trouble?" I whispered.
"Oh, definitely. But that's half the fun!" He turned to Velvet suddenly, and made an exaggerated pleading face.
"Oh… oh no." Velvet's ears flicked back momentarily, before flicking back up. "Really?"
I looked from Velvet to Rogers and back again, then asked the mare, "What?"
"He wants me to borrow his body."
My mouth fell open, then I spent a good few seconds chewing air as I tried to think. "What? Why?"
"Well I'm going to Equestria, but I also need to go with you to the station. And we need Velvet and Buttercup to pull that sort of stunt off successfully. More to the point, we need to do it now, before anybody can stop us."
"Ugh, Rog, you know I hate this sort of thing!"
"And yet you're the best of us at it."
"I hate you!"
"Love you too, babe."
I rolled my eyes and stamped a hoof again. "For goodness' sake, will somebody tell me what you're talking about!?"
Velvet chuckled coldly, glaring at Roger. "It's very simple. I'm going to wear Rog's body, and to do that I'm going to have to fork. If Rog thinks this is that important, then it's fifty-fifty whether the version of me that goes out in his head is the same version that'll come back. I don't like terminating a forked eigenstate, but if things go pear shaped then I won't have any choice if I want to keep my personality matrix intact."
I froze as cold chills ran down my spine. This was true death they were talking about. They were planning on uploading forked copies of their own personalities and then, when the mission was over, quite possibly just deleting them.
"No, no, you can't—" I shrunk back in horror, ears flat against my head. Even Julep's Avvy seemed to freeze in place for a moment, glitching, as she contemplated it.
"And I'll be doing the same thing, girl," interrupted Rogers, tapping my nose admonishingly. "Don't you worry about us. I've got a few routines in place should the worst come to the worst, and after all, it's not much more different than what the first few uploadees went through. It's just memories I'll be losing, not my self."
The first pioneers of uploading… huh. I thought back: a long time ago, when digital scans of a human brain with enough resolution to form a working copy of the personality inside it finally became possible, the first few people looking for true immortality had themselves scanned and successfully uploaded. And they left behind their bodies, with their original minds intact within them. However, they had been wounded by the process and were unable to be scanned again.
The grand experiment had almost ended there and then as uproar erupted over new questions about personhood, sentience and human rights. It could have become something shelved and restricted, even contraband, if it hadn't been for the philosophies that both the digital children and their fleshy progenitors formed around the experience.
They were both bound by natural laws, and not. Their personalities each would change and grow, and though one version would live long after the 'original' died, neither would grieve for the other. All they would lose, they said, were memories. Memories were precious, it was true, but life and the ability to experience and form memories even moreso. By fiat choice, the digital copies and fleshy originals declared themselves forevermore one and the same, existing in two places but inextricably linked by a common bond stronger than mere physics could describe.
As all things eventually do, their bodies died, taking with them their meat-machine selves. And things had changed far enough for all the members of this select group, that they saw it as little more than pulling a rotten tooth. All that they had been was re-uploaded, their disparate memories integrated, and then… they carried on.
True death was a thing of the past, a spectre whose meaning had changed to being something only sought out in extreme cases, and who could be avoided almost completely until the heat-death of the universe if one played one's cards right… but every so often, tragedy would strike. Incredibly unlikely though it was, sometimes backups would fail, or a resurrection would become unstable and the personality would degrade, become psychotic, and whole sections of one's life would have to be carefully excised or replaced by intelligences capable of simulating worlds within worlds… and where did that leave the resultant personality, or bifurcations thereof?
And to think these people were going to do that voluntarily!
"I know that look," rumbled Buttercup. The huge grey stallion nuzzled my ears. "Listen, it won't be the first time, for either of them. It's their decision, respect it. They think it's important enough to pursue, then it has to be this way."
My heart sunk into a cold, black pit. I was really starting to regret getting up this morning.
"Listen," said Buttercup, nudging me again. "We'll take every precaution possible, and I promise that if the worst happens, then we'll just discorporate them, okay? I've got space in my personal ordinalvault."
I spluttered as he said that, jerking my head up to look at him. "You've got a what?"
Buttercup grinned, and there was a lot of mouth to be doing it with. "Hasn't Roger given you the spiel about our being mobile communications and database platforms?"
"H-he said it was in the helmet…" I said, looking around curiously.
"Yeah, well," said Velvet. "Buttercup's got a few more upgrades than that."
"Eeyup. I got a whole second neocortex lower down my body, hooked up to my spine."
"Yeah, the great lummox really can think with his di— oof!" Velvet fell onto her side, laughing, as Buttercup clocked her one with a single massive hoof.
"To be more precise, it's roughly where the uterus would be if I were still female. Almost a hundred percent computronium, fed by a shunt into my bloodstream and a novel organ that generates and stores electricity from muscular contractions. I need to eat a careful diet of vitamins and minerals to keep it running in tip-top shape, but as a noble steed of the sheriff's office, the right feed is something I don't have to argue about. It's where I keep my own personal backup."
Oh.
Buttercup wasn't just traiting shire horse, Buttercup was traiting human 2.0.
And the fifteen let him wander around unmolested?
I sat down on my haunches, the wind quite taken out of my sails.
"Oh will you quit scaring the new girl!" complained Sprinkles, swatting Buttercup on the flank. The great grey shire horse whinnied in protest and slunk off to sulk in the corner. "Now, dearie, I think before we do anything rash, we need to sit down, have a cup of tea and get you properly equipped."
"New clothes!" shouted Julep, almost immediately stealing my body and prancing before Soda Sprinkles happily.
"Not so fast, princess," said Velvet, putting a hoof up. "First, Rog and I have got a little bit of syncing up to do. Buttercup?"
I looked over as the huge grey stallion rumbled, deep in his chest. "Setting it up, V."
"Setting what up!?" I demanded.
"A rotating steganographic cypher, powerful enough to remain uncracked within the age of the universe, as far as we know. It should hold for a while, at least." Buttercup grinned, his deep, whinnying laughter filling the small room. "You and V are going to head to the station, but you're not going alone. I'll be there too, and so will Sprocket – won'tcha kid?" Buttercup called. There were some incoherent mumblings from where the bay gelding was playing some sort of ancient computer game on a modified controller, so Buttercup stomped a hoof. "I said won't you, kid!?"
Sprocket waved a hoof absent-mindedly and nodded. "I-if you say so," he said, as if he wasn't listening. Which he probably wasn't, even though he could very well have dedicated a subroutine to the job.
"The kid's our toolset," piped up Velvet. "He's got all the latest and greatest kits, patches and sploits on him, don't you, honey bear?"
Sprocket nodded shyly and wormed his way deeper into his seat. He'd heard that at least. Julep forced a giggle through my lips. I just shook my head.
"Same trick as before, huh?" asked Roger, taking a sip from one of his ever-present cups of coffee. He saluted Sprinkles with it.
"Before!?" I choked.
"Trust me," snorted Velvet. "You don't want to know. We're going to beam high-bandwidth data, encrypted and encoded, riding on a second transmission of previous case files as you and I make our merry way to the station. Only somepony like Buttercup can pull it off. It takes some serious flops to do it in real time."
"Well, when I'm done with this cup of coffee—" Rogers said, lifting the still-steaming cup into the air.
"Was coffee the best idea? You know you have to drain the lizard when you drink too much." Velvet smirked.
"Shush you. My bladder can hold it. 'Sides, I've got time, and I'm sure you'll run me by the restroom if my body needs it."
"Uh huh." Velvet licked her lips as she said it. I blushed hotly.
"Enough with the chatter! I want to go shopping!" cried Julep impatiently.
"Fine, I'm all yours then," I said to my avvy. "Let me know when I'm up. I need a bit of neocortical downtime." I huffed and withdrew, letting the mare take the reins for a while.
***
It was dark in my own head. I considered visiting Equestria myself for a while – in hi-time, I could spot a few quests and relax a little before re-integrating and being refreshed and ready for whatever was going to be thrown at us.
There was only one problem: Darillo wouldn't let me connect.
"You no go," he said, gruffly.
The hulking figure of the diamond dog had padded out of the blackness to bar my exit.
"Woah, wait, that's not how—"
"How you know you not part of my head," he asked, grinning, showing large canines. "Not other way around?"
I grit my teeth. "Don't make me purge you."
"You could," he said, picking at a claw with his teeth, "but who else keep you safe? Stalwart? He Celestia's."
"Celestia vouched for you," I growled. "How do I know I can trust you?"
"Can't," Darillo said, staring at me intently. "Decompiled source, checked for rootkits. Performed multiple code audit. Recompiled. Checked sums. All look okay. Wiped scratch buffers. Can't be real sure, but can be pretty sure."
I blinked. Darillo had checked his own code for trojans, even going so far as to create a copy of himself which he then deleted with extreme prejudice, every step of the way checked against freely available information in order to fully ensure safety and truthiness.
He made merely paranoid look lackadaisical. And yet… that meant I could trust him. If he wasn't crazy by design. Because now this… predatory, semi-sentient guard-dog had made its home in my head, he was as part of me as Julep was. He had even upgraded various subsystems without explicit authorization, by pre-empting my authority routines and then replacing them with better ones so he couldn't do it again.
"Who… what, are you?" I asked.
"Friend," he said. "We come from… out there. Need places like this… caves, spaces… we make home. Good home. You good home."
Darillo was an eevee… but one that required another sentience to live off of. And he'd chosen me – or had decided I was acceptable at least – to be his host. And in duty to his host, I was to be kept safe from all harm.
"What do you want, then?"
"Security protocol override," he said, grinning. "If need it, take it, okay?"
"Can I stop you?"
He shrugged. "Forbid me, I delete self. Not forbid same as agree."
"Fair enough."
My heart – digital though it was at this point – was beating nineteen to the dozen as I considered his request. He wanted the ability to jump into the pilot's seat should it be necessary, with or without my explicit permission. I ran through the data he had collected on his own creation and auditing. Hooking in momentarily to the sheriff's network, I queried Buttercup's nascent superself on the veracity of it all. Several nerve-wracking minutes later, and the scratch buffer processors in Buttercup's second neocortex has emitted a single digit – 1, for truth – and then self-destructed.
"Okay. Go for it."
Darillo grinned and nodded, and then finally took up residence in my neocortex proper, upgrading as he went.
***
"And pull the cinch tight, properly tight now—" lectured Sprinkles over her shoulder.
Julep huffed as the girth bit into her barrel, whinnying and stomping about. Velvet – through Roger – chuckled, and pulled the twin girth-straps another notch tighter.
"Don't fight it, love," twittered Sprinkles. "It feels strange at first, but you'll get used to it. Can't have a saddle on loose or your rider will fall off, and you'll get blisters."
"We'll stick with a Western saddle for now," Velvet said, her voice sounding odd through Rogers' lips. She caressed Julep's side, murmuring soothingly. "These are stirrups," Velvet added, holding out one of two flat-bottomed loops, each attached to the saddle by a long leather strap, so Julep could see it. "I guess you know about saddles in the real world, but it's best to assume a rookie doesn't, either way."
Julep nodded, "I've seen them."
"On this saddle, the stirrups can rotate some. If they can't, then always turn them this way so the straps don't bite into your hide – that's mostly your rider's job, but if they get it wrong, tell 'em." Velvet turned the straps so they came away from Julep's hide. "And remember to breathe, dummy." Velvet grinned, and slapped Julep on the side so the latter coughed and wheezed. "You wouldn't believe how many new recruits forget to breathe properly when they're all tacked up."
"Sorry," Julep croaked, ears out sideways. Velvet tapped a foot until Julep breathed in, filling her lungs.
"Like I said—" Velvet laughed, as Julep breathed out again noisily then grinned at her, "—it happens a lot. Now, do you want to try a bit?"
"Uh-uh." Julep clamped her mouth closed, and shook her head.
"Pity." Velvet's eyes were bright with mirth, on both her bodies. "So, is the saddle comfy?"
Julep wriggled experimentally. "It's… tighter than the Equestrian ones."
"That's because nobody rides in the Equestrian saddles. I'll do a deformation on it later, get it just right, but for now I think it'll do. If you don't want a bridle and reins – though I strongly suggest you do, for the safety of your rider – I can get you a surcingle for around your chest."
"I'll go for the bridle," said Julep. Velvet nodded, then walked Rogers' body over to a recessed tack room and came back with a bitless bridle. It was a set of dark, almost mahogany-hued set of padded leathery straps that fit over Julep's head both behind and before her ears, with a looser, thinner strap under her cheeks, a single strap on each side that led down her muzzle and ended in a comfortably tight loop across her nose and under her mouth.
"Comfy?"
"Uh huh." Julep nodded, tossing her head about experimentally.
"If I find you or Rog doing too much heavy duty rein riding, though, I'm getting you a hackamore, and no backchat!"
"Yes miss."
"And if you do find yourself wearing a bit, then breathe through your nose like you're supposed to. Isn't that right, Sprocket?"
Julep raised an eyebrow as Sprocket blushed almost from nose-tip to tail, before dropping his game controller and bolting into the tack room. Velvet laughed gustily as the bay gelding slammed the door shut.
"He's mine, and every so often I have to remind him of that." Velvet licked her lips hungrily.
"I've known a few guardsponies like that," said Julep out of the side of her mouth. "Big, meaty boys that could shrug off a claymore. But put the right tack on them and they're putty in your hooves."
"Oh you simply have to let me visit some time."
The two mares giggled as Velvet continued adjusting Julep's gear.
***
Rogers opened his eyes. Everything was white and featureless, an expanse of nothing.
"Welcome to Equestria, Malcolm Rogers. Please choose your species of pony to continue." The voice was as featureless as the endless plains.
"I don't want to be a pony. I'm just visiting," said Rogers, addressing the white sky.
"Oh, come now…" Rogers spun about as a majestic, white winged unicorn clip-clopped into view. "You should know that not all my little ponies want to see humans."
"Celestia, your highness." Rogers bowed.
"So formal." Celestia smiled, though Rogers did detect a tightness in her expression.
"Well, I am a man of protocol." Rogers smiled as openly as possible. "I'm here on business, I just want to check up on… a friend of ours." He waited whilst the alicorn avatar accessed his public compute and store layer, fishing out the pertinent details. Celestia pursed her lips, a troubled expression floating on her muzzle.
"I see. Highly irregular."
Rogers nodded. "I know, your highness, but my partner Oats – and his avvy Julep – both need this. They're… new. They need closure. Please."
"Very well. I think I have a solution for you, Sheriff. In future you may request a griffon if you wish – their hardy, frontier society would suit your rough and tumble disposition to a proverbial 'T' – but for now… I bid you welcome, little Short Stop."
Rogers instinctively screwed his eyes tightly shut as the glare from the base white emptiness almost blinded him… and as he opened them again, he found himself staring down a pink, scaly snout.
"What the…"
Rogers brought stumpy little arms up to his muzzle and felt all over his reptilian face. He had a long nose, sharp teeth, angular nostrils, and his diminutive arms ended it terrible – if teensy and adorable – claws.
He sighed.
"Whom the goddess wishes to destroy, she first makes mad," he muttered darkly, as a cute little puff of angry smoke exited his nostrils and his forked tongue flickered out.
"Mommy mommy mommy mother mom mom ma!" cried an enthusiastic little voice. Rogers' world then spun about as a precocious young unicorn hoisted him up bodily with her magic. "I want this one!"
A large emerald unicorn with a white mane – to him, the mare was gigantic – peered at him carefully. "You can play with... her, for a while, Shimmer, but you know you can't take her home. She's not an adoptee."
"Oh but Moooooommmmmmmm!"
"You 'but mom' me one more time, my girl, and we'll go home immediately. Now take her and go play."
The mother shooed the unicorn foal off, and Rogers was unfortunately floated along with the tiny terror, upside down the whole way, to an overly large play area festooned with balloons, streamers and copious amounts of glitter. There may have been cake.
"I'm a boy, you know," muttered Rogers at the foal, once she'd set him down the right way up in a pile of cushions.
"You are? That's silly. Boys can't be princesses," the foal replied, as if that ended the discussion. She then set about painting Rogers' talons.
When I get out of this, Rogers told himself, Remind me to find Celestia's servers and erase them with an industrial-grade magnet. How much longer was it going to be? Surely not that long. Surely not. Julep was going to arrive at any moment and rescue him from this… pastel hell.
"Moommm! Where are the dolly dresses!?"
Not long now. Oh please not long now…
***