//------------------------------// // Conversation Sixteen // Story: A New Sun // by Ragnar //------------------------------// It was the next day. They'd spent the night under observation. Mag had slept like a log anyway. She was now eating a bagel and seriously regretting the way she'd acted in the interrogation. “Okay, let's rip off this bandaid and see what kind of damage I've done,” said Mag. They sat together at a cafeteria table. The cafeteria was mostly empty except for a few servers and more armed guards, though the armed guards were facing outward. Someone important had decided that everyone else in the compound was more dangerous to Celestia and Mag than Mag and Celestia were to them. Or Celestia had admitted yesterday that she could crush the planet like a beer can if she felt like it and no amount of guns would stop her. “And here is mine,” said Celestia. They exchanged reports. The contents of the investigations had been partially declassified, and Celestia and Mag were on the list of recipients for a copy, to Mag's surprise. Celestia said she'd asked nicely. The first two thirds of Celestia's report were physical specs, intelligence tests, motor tests, tests for reflexes, and a preliminary examination to figure out exactly what the hell magic was (no useful results at all), vision, hearing, an x-ray, a gamma ray, infrared scans for nothing particularly, an examination of the chemical composition of some of her fur and mane, and a bewildered note about Celestia's ability to reach behind her, pull out a violin, and then play it with hooves, despite the fact that she definitely didn't have it when she came in and hooves shouldn't have been able to operate a stringed instrument. Her interview had been performed in front of a full panel of interviewers. At first the interviewers had stayed behind two feet of plexiglass. After a few preliminary questions, Celestia asked for a pot of tea and a light snack of mint leaves, which they provided. She invited them to join her. They did. Later, Georgia interviewed Celestia's interviewers to find an explanation for this strange decision (the first of many strange decisions they made, from the looks of it) and they'd all told her the same thing, that at the time it had seemed rude to refuse. Mag had gotten grilled by Hell's coldest secretary and a pair of (admittedly well-dressed) goons, while Celestia had turned the interrogation into a tea party. It figured. They discussed the aether over a shared plate of scones. The aether had little relation to any force or substance humanity was aware of, and was therefore difficult to describe to the interviewers. How could you explain light to a creature with no eyes? It didn't help that the magic and the aether seemed to work by a substantially different set of mathematical principles than normal physics, to the point where the resident physics PhDs had trouble wrapping their heads around the basic terminology in the equations, let alone how the numbers related to each other. It made Mag feel less stupid for not getting it when Luna had tried to explain it all from a theoretical point of view. One of the interviewers, an old woman with several degrees in military history and strategy, had interrupted a discussion between Celestia and a mathematician by dropping her scone and, tears rolling down her cheeks, telling Celestia she was beautiful. A crowd of soldiers and scientists, jaded badasses and cold geniuses and complete assholes during their day jobs, somehow ended up participating in a god damned group hug. Mag hoped everyone liked vegetarian, because Celestia would be running this place by Tuesday. Mag wished people would stop hugging all over her friend. She appreciated that if anyone had the right to cry on Celestia, it was people who'd had to live in this world for twice and three times as long as Mag had, but... she was her friend. Mag had seen her first. Yes, it was unfair of her, fine, that was true. But still. Mine! She sipped her coffee and skipped forward a couple of pages. INTERVIEWER 6: You can play the violin? Really? INTERVIEWER 8: How? SUBJECT: Why, like this, Mr. Bradley. [plays violin.] INTERVIEWER 8: Astonishing. INTERVIEWER 3: Is that “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?” SUBJECT: Yes, Ms. Ginny. I happened to watch it on the trip here with Mr. Jeff. The song is quite stuck in my head. [ceases to play.] [applause.] “You had them eating out of your metaphorical hand,” said Mag. “We did get along well,” said Celestia, without looking up from the report. Mag hadn't so much as opened her own report yet, so she had no idea what Celestia had in front of her, but Celestia had the engrossed frown of someone solving the morning newspaper crossword. “That bad, eh?” said Mag. “Well...” said Celestia. “All right, I'm going to finish reading the good news before I get to the bad news. In fact, let me finish this coffee first.” “This really is fantastic coffee,” said Celestia. “It's the soldiers out of Afghanistan, your majesty,” said Jeff, sitting down next to them with a tray of sausages, bacon, buttermilk biscuits with jam, a cruller, and a paper cup of coffee. “Afghan coffee is a delicacy, so American coffee tends to be pathetic in comparison unless you've got something special. Yesterday, while they were setting this up, a higher-up asked the boys if they wanted anything, someone said “the best coffee you can find,” everyone agreed, and now that's what we've got. I can sit here, right?” “Please do,” said Celestia. “I was there for your interview, your majesty. Great stuff. Where did the violin come from, anyway?” Celestia just smiled. “They told me you wouldn't answer, but I thought I'd ask anyway,” said Jeff, and crunched a strip of bacon. “Make yourself at home, why don't you,” said Mag. “Good morning to you too, Ms. Wilson,” said Jeff. “I wasn't there for your interview, but I read the report. I think Georgia likes you. What really happened in there? You two came out of the interview room, she looked exhausted and you were smoking a cigarette.” “Are people saying we boinked in there yesterday? Because yes, that's exactly what happened. Tell everybody, especially Georgia.” Mag went back to the report. Interviewer 3 was now wondering whether Celestia could catch bullets. Celestia's answer was “probably.” “Boinked?” said Luna. “What—oh, I see.” “Surely the meaning was clear from context, Luna,” said Celestia. “And that is why I worked out what it meant. But am I ever to get an interview? Two strange creatures have invaded this species's poxy little world, creatures the like of which they've never seen and hardly imagined, and it seems they couldn't sustain the interest to examine more than one. One would think incuriosity would be shameful in a world so utterly governed by rule of science. This will not stand. Jeff, interview me this instant.” Jeff set his cup down. “Yes, your majesty. What's your name?” “Luna.” “Profession?” “Alien invader.” Mag perked up. “You know, none of you has actually said the report on me is bad. Is it full of glowing praise for my intelligence and conversational skills, and you guys have been waiting for a good chance to surprise me?” Celestia said, “Here is a passage from the paragraph I was just reading. 'One possible interpretation of the data is psychopathy. The subject is glib, her interpersonal style is cruel and deceitful, she has a history of criminality, her fear response seems highly atypical—'” “Holy crap.” Mag folded her arms on the table and dropped her face into the gap. “How do we fix this? What do I do?” Celestia turned the page. “We'll get to that, but it isn't all bad. The author weighs the possibility of psychopathy, but ultimately rejects it on the grounds that you seemed 'genuinely contrite' about your past behavior, that you showed 'spontaneous empathy' when speaking with Luna, and that, in the end, 'One must always account for the temptation to unnecessarily pathologize unusual persons; further, in this particular case it is important to remember that the subject interpreted the situation as hostile. In a different and more accommodating setting, questioned by a different interviewer, Ms. Wilson could react very differently.'” “That's surprisingly professional of her and now I feel worse,” said Mag. “We can handle this,” said Celestia. “How?” said Mag. Jeff jumped in. “Excuse me, your majesties, Ms. Wilson, but is this really that important?” “Important people are reading summaries of these things right this second,” said Mag. “Right now it looks like the file on me comes down to 'Possibly a psychopath.' I'm making Celestia look bad.” “Oh, I do that all the time, and her reputation flourishes regardless,” said Luna. “I'm having trouble getting used to that,” said Jeff. “What?” said Mag. “Princess Luna using your mouth to speak. It looks like you're possessed.” “I pretty much am, but it's cool; we get along. And you seem different today. What's up with you?” “Her majesty suggested that I relax a bit,” said Jeff. “And where's whatserface, Ellie?” “She disappears sometimes. Something to do with her research, I think.” Mag turned back to Celestia. “Anyway, how do we deal with this situation?” “We change the plan slightly. The report says you're an 'unusual person.' Why not work with that? You can become a personality. Humans seem to appreciate novelty, so say novel things, let your intelligence and mother wit shine through, and in general, be yourself.” Celestia smiled encouragingly. “I've been myself all my life and I ended up living alone in the mountains, so let's not go crazy here,” said Mag. “You'll have to develop a public persona, of course,” said Celestia. “What happened to being myself?” “The two aren't mutually exclusive. I act differently at the negotiation table than I do in a nursery, for instance, and yet I'm always Celestia. Multiple personas form a single, true, whole person. And before you tell me you can't possibly have a side that's appropriate for a public figure... we'll just see about that.” “Whatever you say,” said Mag. “Whatever I say,” agreed Celestia. *** The compound in general had apparently decided they were harmless, but still needed an escort. Someone had found four female marines and set them to walking in front of Celestia wherever she went. Meanwhile, Jeff was to be hanger-on and official third wheel, and was probably a filthy spy. “I figured it out,” said Mag. “The soldiers are so that someone doesn't come around a corner and suddenly get a faceful of goddessness.” “Goddessness?” said Celestia. “You literally make people break down in tears of awe at the sight of you, remember? Yes, goddessness. In fact, I'll bet these soldiers are having trouble. Yo, sergeant, how we doing?” Mag held up a hand for a high five. The soldier, an extremely stiff woman in the usual dress blues and a bun, blinked at her. “Just kidding, I know you're actually a corporal. Surprise! I can read rank patches. My father was a military man. High five me, soldier.” Mag waggled her hand in the air. The soldier fidgeted indecisively. Mag waggled her hand again. The corporal high fived her with a hesitant pat. “Yeah, that's right,” said Mag. “Don't bully the guards, Mag,” said Celestia. She looked serious about it. “Bully?” “You're purposely making her uncomfortable.” Mag stopped herself from asking the corporal herself if she was uncomfortable, since that would have made Celestia right. That was the bully thing to do, to pressure the victim into defending you. Fine. “I'm not bullying her, and I can prove it. Watch this.” Mag turned to the corporal. “Sorry about that. I'm told I'm a psychopath.” “You're not a psychopath,” said Celestia. “Are you sure? I was starting to get used to the idea.” “I've known hordes of psychopaths and you, miss, are no psychopath,” said Celestia with a wink. “Maybe we should ask a neutral party. Corporal, on a one to ten scale, how psychopathic—oops. Celestia, am I supposed to leave them alone entirely?” Celestia thought about it. “Corporal, who is your immediate superior?” The corporal saluted. “You are, your majesty, except where your orders contradict those of my superiors.” “Thought so,” said Celestia. “Corporal, no one told me that. I'm wondering if all of your officers even know that. I've been sensing serious communication problems in your organization since yesterday. Let me guess. Orders given and then changed by someone else, an environment of uncertainty, scrambling to invent new protocol and procedure...” “So they really are your own personal guards,” said Mag. “Mag, who tells you what to do?” “Er. You? Also Luna, if I'm doing magic.” That hurt to say, for juvenile reasons. Ain't nobody told Mag what to do. “And that's my point,” said Celestia. “Here we have more unclear orders. Are you in the chain of command, Mag? Where, exactly? How about Luna? Really, communicating with any of the three of us, no matter how lighthearted the exchange, is both an intimidating prospect and a potentially dangerous career move. So, to answer your original question, let's keep a light touch.” The soldiers looked even stiffer than before, if that was possible. Celestia started walking again, now humming. “So where did you want to stop first?” said Mag. “I'm concerned about the book,” said Celestia. “Mag, you're a human. Do you wish to speculate whether these other humans have done anything rash with it?” “You guys made them swear they wouldn't mess with it or get close to it, and it's been like 10 hours, so I give it a one in five chance they did something stupid.” “Am I an optimist for thinking those aren't bad odds?” said Celestia. *** The corporal, whose name someone really should have asked about, opened the door in a tactical way, hand near her gun and standing to one side of the door. Mag couldn't see why, since the book wasn't likely to ambush anyone and, from everything Mag had seen (and read in the report), Celestia was invulnerable—to a fault, if you thought about it. If she'd gone out with the rest of her world, then— “Mag?” said Celestia. “Quit brooding, please,” said Luna. They were all waiting for her just inside the door. Mag followed them into an indoor basketball court that the unnamed organization had converted into a containment room for the Paravasi Mageia. A thick partition of sheet metal and plexiglass divided the room down the middle, with the wooden book on the other side of the glass and Mag, Celestia and sundry others on the other. Folding chairs, card tables, and small cots had been set up, where scientists and more soldiers milled around comparing notes and eating vending machine snacks. Every one of them stood up or got out of bed when they saw Celestia. One scientist stepped forward. Whoever he was, he was sweating despite the chill of the room. “Your majesty,” he said. “Good morning, Mr. Bradley. You haven't approached the book, I hope,” said Celestia. “No, your majesty. No one has come within 20 feet, and only one person has entered the room, and she's in quarantine until you can look at her. If you don't mind, your majesty.” “You'd think a bunch of secret government scientists would go for lab coats instead of sweaters,” Mag said quietly to Luna. “Yes, ma'am, we'll order some lab coats,” said Bradley. “That wasn't an order and I don't think you have to do what I say anyway.” “Yes, ma'am.” “Ah, I see. This is another situation for that light touch.” “For a couple days at least,” said Celestia. A shadow of annoyance crossed Bradley's face. Ah, the brittle pride of the nerd. “I suspect you've learned something from observing the book,” said Celestia. “Does anything stand out to you in particular?” Bradley lost his nerve and completely failed to answer, staring at the wall behind Celestia. Mag allowed herself to snicker, in the hopes of pricking him into action. Bradley sent a glare her way and said, “W-w-well, what interests us most... uh. What interests us the most is that, uh, uh, we can't see anything dangerous about it. You told us there is, so we know there's something,” he added hastily, “but the fact that we can't sense it tells us quite a lot. We could be looking at a whole new scientific discipline.” “The science of magic?” said Mag. He ignored her, instead scampering off to dig through his notes in a binder that sat in a ruffled nest of an unmade bed. She went after him. “You know, I can do magic, and my magic is safe, so you and your guys can get a better look at it.” At first he didn't answer, but looked thoughtful. Then he said, “That could be extremely interesting, ma'am, though we've collected a lot of info on her majesty's magic already, and with all respect, we can't make assumptions about the safety of magic in general.” “Just remember that I offered,” said Mag, and walked back to Celestia. She didn't want to help and had only offered so she could feel better about laughing at him, and it was way to early in the day to put up with people calling her “ma'am,” but she hadn't expected him to outright refuse. “Still don't want credit?” whispered Celestia. “Nope,” whispered Mag. The three of them had been working on the assumption that someone was always listening, and therefore couldn't discuss the parts of Celestia's story that she'd left out, but going by the report, she had been very cautious about anything related to the book. She hadn't even mentioned that a human had written it. She also hadn't mentioned that Mag had helped get it, and Mag, despite the presumed eavesdroppers, had managed to communicate that she liked it that way. She hadn't been able to explain why, but the reason was that, now that she'd had a proper rest (what had she dreamed of last night? It had seemed important), she was certain the book would end up causing more problems than it solved. Could it help bring back Equestria? She didn't see how. Could it drag humanity into another arms race? Probably. But there was no way to explain her misgivings to Celestia. “I'm getting sick of this compound,” said Mag. “Aye, I miss the sky,” said Luna. Whatever-his-name-was, Bradley, brought back a few papers and a clipboard. “Find something interesting?” said Celestia. “A few things, your majesty, but I haven't pooled everyone's notes yet, and there are still tests that we—and I had some questions. Could you please?” “'I'd be happy to answer, except where it puts others at risk,” said Celestia. “That's the thing, your majesty,” said Bradley. “What's the thing?” said Mag. “For one thing, we don't know what the symptoms of effluvium poisoning are, at least for humans.” “This containment room is prudently arranged and I see no risks taken, so that shouldn't be something to concern yourself with, unless you're planning to approach the book,” said Celestia. “That's what we were just discussing,” said Bradley. “We'd like a closer look.” “Welp!” said Mag. “I don't recommend that,” said Celestia. “Maybe you could build like a Mars rover and roll that in there instead? A 'book rover,' if you will.” “If we could put a man on Mars then we'd do that instead of sending rovers.” Mag raised an eyebrow at Celestia and performed a “Get a load of this guy” gesture at Bradley. “Okay, so what are the symptoms of book poisoning, your glorious majesty?” “It may differ from species to species, of course—” “Yes, yes!” said Bradley. “That's the kind of thing we need to know.” “—but symptoms tend to be psychological in nature, and are often subtle. It may do almost nothing.” “But not nothing,” said Mag. “But not nothing,” said Celestia, nodding to Mag. “Touch it with a hand and you may simply find yourself in an unpleasant mood for a few hours. Or that night you will think to yourself that life can't possibly be worthwhile, and would it be so difficult to end it all? Or you may feel as if something is watching you from behind, or hear a voice whenever all the lights are out, or see creatures out of the corner of your eye. Bradley, this is not wise.” “It's a calculated risk. We can keep an eye on the researcher who examines the book up close for as long as necessary when he comes out of the containment area.” “And I think Georgia is some kind of psychologist, to be fair, not that this isn't stupid.” said Mag. “What are you hoping to do, poke it? Open the cover with a stick and get a look at the table of contents? I don't think it has a table of contents.” “Oh? Have you seen the inside of it? Can you describe it, ma'am?” “I never saw the inside because I don't care enough to risk looking. Creepy book, don't understand it, no touchy. That's as far as my knowledge goes.” “Right, well, we're here to study the book, and, while we're aware of the fact that approaching the book is dangerous, it's a risk we all agree is acceptable, even if it's just to help diagnose and treat future cases of effluvium poisoning. Today we're field researchers, your majesty, and sometimes field researchers choose to take risks for the sake of science. Anyway, there have been scientists who made much greater sacrifices in the past. They're all our heroes. Science is worth what it costs.” Celestia laughed quietly to herself. “Mr. Bradley, I've been wondering how your species could possibly have come so far in the last two thousand years. I think you've answered my question in part.” Bradley took this as a good sign and pressed the advantage. “Your majesty, I'd like to ask permission to approach the book.” “Denied, and I'm taking it with me.” Celestia poofed away, poofed back with the book balanced above her shoulders, poofed off to somewhere else entirely, and poofed back without the book. “I've hidden it,” said Celestia. “I admire the courage of you and your fellow scientists, but I consider this book my responsibility for now, and if I have to slow the march of science in the fulfillment of that responsibility, I absolutely will.” Mag patted the stricken Bradley on the shoulder. “Sorry about that. If it helps, now that magic is going to go public, someone's likely to discover black magic soon and then you'll get all the examples you could possibly want.” “And those examples would get better medical treatment if we'd been allowed to carry on,” muttered Bradley. “I get it, Brad. I really do. Like I said before, hit me up sometime if you want to look at some spells.” She looked to Celestia. “Now what?” “Yes, Bradley, we'd all be happy to help your work, so long as no one is in danger. And Mag, I think it's time we spoke to the management. Let's search for the head office.” “And a bathroom,” said Mag. Bradley had slumped into a folding chair. “There's a restroom outside the door and 30 yards down the hall,” he said. “Thanks. I'll come back.” Mag started to walk off. The corporal fell in step behind her. Mag stopped and looked at the corporal. “What, you too? Or are—oops. Celestia, is she following me because someone told her I need a minder?” “It's your report again, I'm afraid,” said Celestia. “In the conclusion, Georgia suggests putting you on suicide watch. It looks as if someone has decided to arrange exactly that, and for the sake of interspecies diplomacy, I recommend cooperating. Don't worry; I believe we can talk them out of it before the end of today.” “Fffff—right, cool, whatever. Bradley was right, by the way.” Especially since it was humanity's book anyway, and moreover, Celestia had carried the book on her back with Mag standing right next to her for the better part of an hour and hadn't ever mentioned danger, so either the book had suddenly gotten more dangerous or Celestia was exaggerating the danger. "I think we need to discuss this a bit more later today, Mag,” said Celestia. Mag supposed she meant they'd talk about it when they'd gotten away from the surveillance.