The Poly Little Pony

by Chatoyance

Flight PNY1 To Jannah

Recently, I came across some intriguing - and very disturbing - articles that explored the motivations of ISIS (ISIL), the hyperviolent radical Muslim religious and political campaign of terror and war. The bottom line seems to be that it is at it's heart an eschatological fanaticism bent on bringing about the literal end of the world. The way to do this, according to the Qiran, is to goad the 'armies of Rome' to send ground-troops to a specific location... where, after a losing battle, Allah will turn the enemy to ashes and basically call 'Game Over' on humanity. Paradise for the Muslims, hell for every-billions-of-souls-else.

And this is the why of terrorism for them, at least - blood-thirsty trolling in order to make their enemies so outraged that they try to invade on foot, basically. But it has to be the right place, in the right way, with the right conditions. In other words, just like a Christian doomsday cult... only really, really big.

As my readers well know, I have zero tolerance for war, doomsday cults, or the radical antics of any religion, so it's been a trouble to come to terms with such madness happening on such a scale in the modern world. My reaction is to write, and this story is the result.

Join me, then, as we enter a version of the world a few minutes into the future, where my Pony Singularity is in full swing. Where the PNY-1 Virus has been unleashed. What would it be like during those initial weeks when Polytranscriptase Nuclear Y-chromatin - The Friendship Virus - is busily re-writing the human genetic code, and everything is changing forever in...

Mohammad Rashid El-Sayed fondled the cylinder, his hands under his coat. The device was merely a convenient housing for a single button. His thumb softly, gently, like a lover's touch, swept fleetingly across the dimple of the round, red switch. The wire tickled his wrist.

He looked out the window of the plane. Night clouds swept by below, illuminated by a nearly full moon. Stars twinkled above, and reflected from the metal of the wing. The baby was crying again.

Rashid turned his head slowly, rolling it over the airline pillow. One press, one tiny motion, and he would be in paradise. One step closer to Dabiq. Perhaps this very act might - by Allah's permission - bring the armies of Rome to the sacred battleground. Paradise. It was only the tiniest pressure of his finger away.

He looked at the infidel baby, blond in her mother's whorish grasp. They would fall, not just from the plane so high in the air, but also below, into damnation. Fire awaited that baby. Perhaps it somehow knew and that is why it cried? No. It knew nothing of the meaning of the world. The very ignorance that damned it was innocence itself. Innocent before the universe...

Rashid removed his finger from the small, candy-red button, under the coat. That poor little baby. The mother glanced at Rashid and gave a weary look of apology. She was trying so hard to calm her child. She cared for her daughter, but also for him, and the other passengers. She cared so much. She was so exhausted, yet she was trying to do her best. She jingled the little plush, soft yellow pegasus doll in front of her baby, but it did nothing.

He didn't want to push the button. His nose was dripping again. It had been for hours, since the airport. Many people had it, whatever it was. The young mother wiped her nose. Ah - the baby must have it too. It seemed like everyone, everywhere, had the annoying little illness. It was harmless, they said, except for the slight inflammation of the nostrils.

Rashid removed his hand - very carefully and slowly - from under the coat that draped across his body. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. Some of the liquid had gotten into his mustache and beard. That baby was innocent. It had never had time to even learn language, much less the glory of being a slave to Allah. How could he send the little girl into damnation without even one chance?

His thoughts startled him. But more, his emotions. His heart felt like crying. The adrenaline he had felt just moments before had vanished. His righteous anger - where was it? He sat upright, almost heedless of the exposed cylinder in his other hand. What was going on? All around him, infidels, the enemy, Crusaders all, and he did not want to do the right thing anymore. They were like family in his heart now. He could not push the button. It would be like killing his own mother.

What was wrong with him?

He shook his head, but it did not help. His nose ran more, and he needed to wipe it. Flecks of clear liquid had speckled the back of the seat ahead of him. He felt incredible calm. He had never felt such peace in all of his twenty-six years.

He could never push that button. Not ever. Inside his very soul he knew this now. Somehow, during the flight, everything had changed. Was this the will of Allah? It seemed so wrong. He knew what was right. But he could never, not ever, bring himself to do it now.

He said a prayer. He said two. He softly spoke a du-a'a to himself over and over. It remained, this change in his heart. He put both hands under his coat, held the detonator with his damp hand, and used the other to unplug the wire. He carefully rolled up the wire around the cylinder and held it. Right and wrong had changed somehow. He sniffed, hard. He could never complete his task now.

There could be a backup! Rashid sloughed his coat to the floor. He dug through his carry-on for his phone. No... wait. There was no signal. But he had been given the phone. There was an app, even for that. The Khilafah had programmers, clever men all. The phone needed no connection to transmit a signal at a specific hour. He searched the icons with his thumbs, scrolling through the pages of the phone. It could be anything, or not visible at all. They often used deadman switches. Shutting the phone entirely off might not even work. He needed to sever all power within, to break it.

He struck the phone against the metal beneath the arm of the chair. It did not crack, the screen stayed bright. Stomping did not work. The baby was startled by his actions and began crying again.

"Are you alright?" The woman had been frightened to sit across from him at the beginning of the flight. She wiped her nose, her face earnest concern, all fear gone. "Is your phone broken?"

"I am trying to break it. I have to destroy this phone. All of our lives may depend upon it." Rashid tried bending the device with all of his might. His strength was insufficient.

"I don't understand. Please... you're scaring my baby?" Her eyes pleaded gently.

"I have a bomb. I have disarmed it, because I have had... a change of heart. I no longer wish to go to..." He could not say 'paradise'. That was odd. "...death... today. I do not desire to harm anyone. But they may have made this phone such that it will cause detonation in the case that I should... fail to carry out my... duty. The phone must be broken, the power cut." He stumbled with his words. He had a headache now. Somehow even more he felt attachment and concern for the lives of all those around him. He felt closer to them in the moment than to his own relatives, and the powerful reality of that confused and upset him.

"Miss? MISS?" The young lady was standing now, her baby held tight. "Stewardess?" The woman was strangely, eerily calm after hearing such words.

"Yes... yes... is there a problem?" The stewardess spoke in quiet, measured tones. Many passengers were trying to sleep.

"He... this man..."

"Rashid. Mohammad Rashid." He smiled at them both. They were his own sisters, to his heart. Somehow. He wiped his nose again.

"He has a bomb problem. He needs to break his phone. Do you have a hammer or something?"

Rashid blinked. A drip ran down from his nostril and over his lips. He stared. The woman spoke as if her request was an everyday matter.

"A bomb? Where?"

He spoke, before he could help himself. "In my satchel. I no longer wish to hurt anyone anymore. I am very worried that there might be a backup plan by way of my phone. It is a common thing. I need to destroy my phone, so that it is certain that my bomb is completely disarmed." Even as he spoke the words, he felt shock and surprise at his own mouth as it spoke.

"Hmmm...." The stewardess sniffed hard. She took a kleenex from her pocket and wiped her nose. "Sorry, this thing got worse today."

"Oh, I know! My baby has it too, poor thing!"

Rashid nodded, and sniffled. "Everyone seems to have it, everywhere I have been. Several flights, in fact, and all on board and in the terminals all seemed to have it. Please, think nothing more." Rashid found himself bizarrely concerned that the stewardess might feel awkward because of her runny nose. "See? I have it too." He wiped his sleeve across his face.

"Let me get the air marshal. I'm sure he could help. That's what he's here for, after all!" The woman smiled, astonishingly calm and friendly. "Plus, he's really a very nice man, once you get to know him. I'll be right back."

Rashid settled back. It began to dawn on him that something was strange. No, everything was strange. These women should be shrieking and carrying on. There should be panic and fuss. Everything was so calm. It was as if they had no expectation of immanent destruction at all. They had believed his every word as if it were the word of a trusted friend. He was sincere, it was true, but... somehow, nothing was making sense.

"Is that the bomb?" The woman with the baby was leaning over, looking into his sachel. "I've never seen a bomb before! You're sure it's turned off?"

"As much as it can be, oh yes, I assure you. It is a simple thing, really - " Rashid showed her the detonator, the little red button, the wire. He explained how it worked, and even talked about Jamal, the man who had built it. Jamal had joined them from Idaho. He had made his way across the ocean and all the way to the Khilafah, and all at the age of eighteen. He had been recruited over the internet. Jamal was masterful with electronics and explosives. It had been a fascination and a hobby back in America.

"He sounds very smart. And nice. You seem very nice too, mister Rashid. Whatever made you bring a bomb on board?"

He was about to try to explain his mission when it struck him, suddenly, that he had become apostate. He deserved death. Just like that. The thought had entered his mind like a thief in the night. 'Any god worth worshiping would never send a baby to damnation'. Allah wasn't good. Or, if that sort of thing was good, then good was evil. Killing anyone, ever, was somehow, mysteriously, the greatest possible wrong. Because it hurt them. Islam could not compete with that new and absolute truth. That thought - and more so the emotion - was overwhelming. It was also utterly alien. This was not the way of his life. This was how infidels thought. What was going on?

"Mister Rashid?"

He looked up. The man with the very runny nose blew into a red bandanna handkerchief. "I'm marshal Jonathan Marston. I understand you have a bomb on board?" The marshal crouched down and followed Rashid's eyes to the sachel. Inside, a gift-wrapped child's doll had been opened to reveal that it was anything but a toy. "Ah. Is it active?"

Rashid felt a tingle go up his spine. Everything was so surreal. "No, oh by the will of All..." He couldn't say it. Not anymore. "By all that is... kind... I believe that I have disarmed the device. But I fear a back-up plan, of the kind often done for such missions as these. It would likely be my phone - possibly an app, set to detonate the bomb at an appointed hour. I wish to smash my phone, to end all threat, but it has proved remarkably strong."

"Yeah, they make 'em tough. Some of them, anyway. iphones break pretty easy. Not an iphone I guess. Will breaking be enough?"

"I believe so, yes. If there is no power, there can be no signal." Rashid handed the phone to the marshal.

"That seems reasonable. Any danger from breaking it? No gizmos or whachamawhackets gonna explode in my hands?" The marshal tested the device with his own strength. It too was insufficient for the little machine.

Rashid thought about it. He had not considered that possibility. "I do not believe so. I have not heard of such a thing, and I do not think my actions were held in such doubt as to be worth triple redundancy. It may not even be true that there is any deadman switch at all. I am just trying to be very careful and thorough, marshal."

"Call me Jon." The air marshal smiled.

Rashid smiled back.

Both wiped their noses and sniffed.

"Well, let me see if I can rustle up a screwdriver or something and..."

"I have a screwdriver!" An elderly man huddled at the edge of the seat ahead of Rashid, looking back at the marshal, the woman with the baby, and the stewardess all. "Electrical engineer. Name's Clampett. Robert. Call me Bob!" He held out a shaky hand, and everyone did their best to shake it, between sniffling and rubbing their noses.

Bob wiped his own nose and re-seated his glasses. "Hey, let me take a look at that bomb of yours, too. I can make sure everything is disconnected, and whether or not there are any hidden tertiary tricks built in. Forty years of experience here!"

Rashid's brain felt like it was spinning as the air marshal pushed the satchel over to Bob the engineer. The stewardess smiled. The woman's baby was quiet now, and smiling as well.

"Thanks, Bob!" The marshal grinned. "Actually, come to think of it, can you do anything about this phone?"

Bob shook his head. "Consumer electronics like that... not my line. Whole different ballgame. But I might suggest not sticking the 'driver into any ports or other metal bits, just to be on the safe side. Break open the case where the plastic is." Bob set to work carefully examining the bomb.

"Well, Rashid... do ya mind if I call you that? I never heard your full name." The marshal seemed very polite.

"Please... Jon... by all means!" Rashid felt warmth flow through him. It was such a strange day!

"Hey, we're all friends here, right?" The marshal chuckled and so did everyone else. By now several additional passengers were up and watching the proceedings, over the tops of the seats, or from the isles. "So, Rashid, you want to give it a go, or shall I? I guess it's all the same, just breaking a phone open, right?"

"Wow! I've never seen the inside of one of those. They're real expensive, aren't they?" The boy had clambered almost entirely over the back of Rashid's chair. He perched like a vulture on the back.

"Careful, son, don't crowd our friend Rashid, there!" The marshal gave the boy a friendly, but stern, look.

"Sorry mister Rashid." The boy backed away, sniffling and blew his nose away from sight.

"It was alright. I was not bothered!" Rashid protested.

"Let's get this baby open and see what's what." Marshal Marston worked the case with the screwdriver, trying to pry the phone open along the seam. It took several attempts but eventually there was a sharp snap, and the clamshell halves could be pulled apart.

"Huh. Okay... that must be... what is that?" Jon held the phone close to Rashid.

"I think that is the... the chip, the main chip that runs the phone. That is clearly part of the screen... so that must be the battery. I believe." Rashid had never seen the inside of a phone before, either.

"Hey, Bob!"

"Yes, Marshal?"

"This thing the battery? Can we just lift this lil' bugger out? Is that gonna do it?"

Bob the engineer thought for a moment. He had the bomb mostly disassembled now. "Might as well. Probably doesn't really matter now, though. I've entirely removed the explosive from any contact with anything. See?"

Bob held a rectangular mass of what looked like white clay in his hand. "Stuff's perfectly safe, unless there's a fire, or an electrical charge. You could bounce it off the wall like silly putty. Used to be in the Navy. Stuff's stable as can be. See?" He squeezed the material, molding it with his fingers. "Just like putty."

Rashid breathed out relief. "Thank you very kindly, mister Bob. Even should some clever device go off, we would surely be safe."

Everyone visibly relaxed.

"Well, this flight was more exciting than I expected!" The woman's baby was giggling as she bounced it.

"I know, it's usually a pretty dull run." The stewardess wiped her nose and put her kleenex in her pocket again. "It's nice to get together, you know. Sing a song, tell a story... or all help solve a problem!"

"Good job, everyone, I guess!" The marshal grinned. "Thanks especially, Bob, for getting that putty out of there. I wasn't sure what I was doing with that phone, to be honest."

"Glad to help!"

"Listen, everyone." Rashid sniffed, and tried to wipe his nose and beard at the same time. "I want to apologize, sincerely, deeply, for bringing a bomb on board. I... the reasons I did so seemed so... right... so true... before... but now... now it is like my very soul has been remade. My heart is not my own any more. It belongs now to you. I do not know why, or how. I... I just want to say I am very, very sorry for putting all of you in danger..." He began to sob, and hid his face within his hands.

"Aww... it's okay now, mister Rashid!" The woman with the baby did her best to pat Rashid on the shoulder to comfort him.

"No harm, no foul, son." The marshal was close now. "They gonna come after you, because you didn't go through with it?"

Rashid nodded. And if they discovered why, if they learned of his apostasy, he would be killed. He explained everything to the air marshal.

"I'm supposed to take you into custody in any case - I'll make sure you get the protection you need. Give you my word. I won't let a friend of mine fall into harm. Stick with me, Rashid. You got a U.S. marshal looking out for you."

Rashid beamed through his tears and his draining sinuses. "You are a gentleman and I am proud to be in your custody!" He held out his arms to be cuffed.

The marshal laughed. "Aw... no need for that, Rashid. I think you've proven your intentions pretty well."

This made everyone smile and they all patted Rashid and thanked him and praised him for his change of heart.

During the rest of the flight, everyone on the plane walked around, introducing themselves to each other, sitting and talking, playing word games or other simple activities. Rashid watched with astonished eyes as total strangers behaved as family all around him. As he held the woman's baby, allowing her a chance to use the restroom (and to talk to another woman with a child on the flight), he looked out the window at the moon.

"Somehow, I know not how..." He sniffled for a moment "...I found paradise anyway."

"Hmm? Wha's what?" The marshal had been dozing off. They sat together now. It just seemed right.

"Nothing. Sorry, my friend. Get some rest."

The marshal nodded back to dreamland.