//------------------------------// // Freedom // Story: The Literary Hypothesis // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// “Look!” said the yellow filly unicorn with a grin. “Fairies!” She was sitting on the grass among the sombrero cactus plants, her forelimbs raised and wide to show off her discovery. All over the cacti, all over the grass, and all over her were countless iridescent butterflies, each one folding and flexing its wings to get comfortable. “I found them! I found them! I told you I’d find them!” “I think it’s more they found you,” said the mare as she smiled and shook her head. “And they’re not fairies, Caramel. They’re Glitter High Butterflies. I saw them when I was just a little older than you. They always come out west every seventeenth year, from today and all the way back to the founding of Equestria.” The filly Caramel turned around on her backside, scattering a few butterflies that sought rest elsewhere, and looked out. Beyond the pair, the ridges and crests and valleys and mesas stretched across endless orange and brown shadows to the darkening hills on the horizon. Overhead, the sky faded to a flaring purple, each cloud brightly green and pink under the sunset’s dimming light. She sneezed, and the butterflies rained off her and settled onto the ground all around. “They look like fairies,” she said quietly. “And I’m gonna take one and put it in a jar.” “And why would you do that?” said the mare, who kneeled down to sniff at a nearby pair of wings. “Because fairies grant wishes, Mom, when you trap ‘em in a small space.” “I think that’s genies, dear.” “Oh.” Caramel hauled her featherweight self onto all fours. “Well, I can still take one home, can’t I?” “I think they might miss their friends back here, don’t you?” “Wow!” The filly’s eyes shone and she cast her gaze at the carpet of wings around her. “Butterflies have friends?” Mom shrugged and raised her head. “Who knows? Anyway, I think the tricky part will be stopping them from coming home with us. Look at your mane!” She laughed and pointed at the butterflies that had flown up and settled on the filly’s locks, but Caramel shook herself down and flung them off. Butterflies darted away in waves as she hopped up the slope and joined Mom’s side. “You see?” said Mom, gesturing to the sunset. “It’s not dull out here at all. Wide open spaces, strange creatures hidden under every crevice, and just look at that sky! I’ll have to bring you up here one of these days and teach you to paint, because look at that!” At these words, the filly shook her head until her locks whipped her ears. “I don’t paint. Paint is icky and wet. I’m no good at it anyway.” For a moment, irritation flashed across Mom’s face, but she was soon smiling again. “Well then, what are you good at? What kind of art do you like?” Caramel stuck out her chin and tapped it, still staring out at the sunset. From far above, the screech of a red-tailed hawk broke into her concentration, and the slash-like silhouette drifted across the glowing clouds. Her own horn glowed pink in sympathy. “Dreams!” she shouted. At once, she squealed at a wall of fluttering light that rose up before her. Mom grunted when the filly darted round and tried to snuggle up to her tail and rear legs, but she waited patiently until the iridescent swarm settled back onto the warming rocks. “Nice try, honey,” Mom said with a skyward glance, “but dreams don’t count as art.” Caramel poked her head out and stared down the slope, trembling slightly. “Dad says that’s where they start.” “Try again, honey.” “Stories, then!” The filly ventured out, one forelimb raised in case she needed to flee again. “I like stories. I like books.” “Stories about fairies, maybe?” Mom gave her a nudge, but Caramel didn’t look away from the butterfly carpet. Instead, the filly sighed. “Fairies do exist,” she mumbled. “Dad says they do.” “Oh, honey,” said Mom, and here a twitch entered her eye and her jaw stiffened. “Dad says a lot of things.” The breeze whipped at the edges of the butterflies’ wings, whistling between the branches of the cacti that towered over them, and tickling the hair of their manes as they passed. Mom closed her eyes, and the filly glanced at her and did likewise. The cool caresses slid over her face. She felt the heat of her cheeks being wiped away. “OK,” said Mom, opening her eyes. “Let’s go back to the town before it gets dark. Don’t want to get caught out under the moonlight. The worms are coming to the surface tonight, and they might find us.” Caramel saw her turn away. Instead of following, she continued to stare out at the sunset, just seeing the last crescent of light sink below the hills. “Am I going back to Aunt Grey’s house?” “Not if you’re a good filly this time. Now let’s go, honey.” Caramel didn’t move. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not going back to Aunt Grey’s house.” She heard a sigh from behind her, but refused to move around. “I told you, honey. No one’s going to send you back, so long as you’re a good filly. I really mean it, Caramel; we have to get home. Didn’t Aunt Grey teach you? It’s not all wonder and merriment out here.” “Glitter High Butterfly.” Caramel stared up at the red-tailed hawk’s silhouette, which was disappearing into the fan of crepuscular rays over the desert, and she grinned wide enough to stretch her cheeks. “I’d like to fly up there too.” With a groan of frustration, Mom marched back and blocked Caramel’s view of the dying light. “I won’t tell you again, Caramel Crisp!” “Oh fine, then!” The filly threw herself around and scurried down the slope, not even waiting for Mom to skid down after her. She broke into a gallop, kicking up a trail of dust from Mom’s arriving hooves to the torchlight of the timber village, right in the heart of the valley. The yellow mare known as Doctor Caramel Crisp glowered. She enchanted the double doors, which burst aside for her. A bronze badge, after all the years I’ve poured into this work! A bronze badge. Fudge and sugar! The grey guy was up to a silver one, and he’s only been with us for a few weeks! Beside the next set of double doors, the earth pony guard tipped his helmet respectfully. “Evenin’, doctor. How’s Doctor Steam Dodger today?” She didn’t stop, and he hastily pushed the door aside and stepped out of her way. “He’s over his cold,” she said over her shoulder, almost shouting. “And Cap and Maraca are enjoying Manehattan! Sorry, gotta gallop! Another nutjob to collect!” As she followed the curving corridor round, passing wards and windows in between forcing the double doors to open every few yards, she ground her teeth and summoned a notepad from her breast pocket. The words “To Do List: IMPORTANT” glared back at her. She knew it continued on for a few more pages, both sides. “Sorry,” she murmured; a nurse had almost collided with her. With a growl of irritation, the nurse quickstepped around her and shot through a door on her left. Doctor Caramel Crisp pocketed the notepad and kept an eye on the figures criss-crossing the corridor ahead. Didn’t she have enough seniors in the lab already? Enough silver and gold flashed in her face every day to make up a private fortune, and would you believe they wanted yet another one? Already, she was pining for her cramped little office with its filing cabinets boxing her tiny little desk into the corner. She even pined for the giant pillar that some far-sighted architect had left her room with; she’d still rather clamber around that to get out of her office than rush through these wide open corridors, looking for some has-been. Babble followed her as nurses, plain-clothed ponies, and unclothed patients bustled around and occasionally into her. She ducked, dodged, stopped, apologized, and almost pirouetted her way through the throng. She wondered if it was lunchtime or something, and then she groaned and remembered. There was supposed to be some sort of Coronation in Canterlot today. She snorted in irritation. Of course, they wouldn’t want to leave the patients out, but it made this a needless chore. Like politics ever mattered, she thought. Load of waffle and blah-blah-blah, and welcome to the new world, same as the old one. What difference would one more faddish event make, really? Finally, the corridor was sparse again. With a slam, she shut out the worst of the bustle and chatter. A few more yards ahead, Doctor Caramel reached the double doors coming up on her right, and she turned and skidded to a halt. Her head leaned forwards and she squinted at the writing painted onto the otherwise featureless wooden slabs. “‘Wood Shavings for Packing!’” she read aloud, and then she rolled her eyes. “Well fudge. This really is a nuthouse, isn’t it?” Her horn glowed pink. From her other breast pocket emerged the folded-up yellow copy. Unfolding in midair, it revealed the title “Release Request Form”. Quickly, she scanned the lines of the main text, which had been circled here and there with blue ink. She folded it back up and stuffed it in the pocket before she went through the entrance. Both doors echoed to a slam behind her; they’d been so unexpectedly heavy that her pink spells had given out the moment she crossed the threshold. Beyond was yet another corridor, padded doors stretching away on either side. At the far end, she could make out a single one like the throne at the head of a communal table. Her hoofsteps echoed back sharply as she strode towards it. Two guards stood on either side. Unicorns. Judging from the golden shine of their armour, they were probably high-ranking spell-casters. Neither of them reacted when she stopped and wiped the glare from her face. Instead, they continued to stare ahead with the cool, bleached indifference of polished machines waiting to be operated. “Doctor Caramel Crisp,” she said, flashing the release form in their faces. “Bronze-level Member of the Royal Institution of Science and Technology, currently aiding the R-and-D division of Enchanted Enterprises, and three times winner of the Award for Best Brewed Tea and Coffee in a Serious Workplace.” “Here to collect one Doctor Stone Meadow.” The guard on the left didn’t even glance down. His voice rumbled and quaked through her knees as though he were speaking through the ground. “You’re expected.” “Documents?” she said. “Documents.” The guard on the right summoned magic through his horn without so much as blinking. Out of nowhere, a quartet of papers popped into being and hovered before her. Fumbling, she unearthed a ballpoint pen from one of her pockets and began signing on the lines marked ‘X’, each page being shuffled to the back once it was done. “Nice day,” she said after the second form was signed. “Nice day.” “Nice day.” On the fourth document, Doctor Caramel Crisp smiled. They didn’t chat, they didn’t pretend to care, and they just did the job and nothing else. These two were already a sweet relief compared with most of her colleagues. The forms vanished as soon as she’d put her pen away. “So,” she said. “Stone Meadow is in there?” The guard on the left nodded one curt nod and then reset to factory settings. “Officially sound of mind as of today. All protocols and relapse emergency contacts will be handed over at the front reception on your way out. Just ask specifically.” “Thank you.” Doctor Caramel Crisp made to push the door aside, but then her spell faded. Now that she was actually here, it surprised her how little she knew about the mare. She took a step back, wondered which guard to face, and then shrugged and added, “Listen, I’m basically delivery here. I don’t want to get… well, a fork shoved in my back on my way out, so this is more out of curiosity than anything, feel free not to answer, but… but what was she in here for, anyway?” Only the eyes of the guards moved. They swivelled to send each other a glance. In the silence, she could hear them squeak in their sockets. “Old research project,” muttered the guard on the right. “Has a history of ‘em.” Something about the way he said it – even through the omnipresent monotone that quaked through her knees – made her ears stand up. “Research projects?” The guard on the left nodded. “Shrinking spells, giant bodybuilder formulas, spider-pony hybridisation, and other such experiments.” “Attracted a lot of controversy," said the guard on the right. “Royal Institution of Science and Technology got complaints.” “Had her tested.” “Failed the tests.” “Insanity plea.” “Courts accepted.” “Hence rehab.” “Hence today.” “Hence question.” “Of course,” said the guard on the right, “that will all be explained in the Nega-verse Trial documents you will receive at reception.” Doctor Caramel Crisp raised an eyebrow. “Nega-verse Trial?” “Alternate universe experiment,” said the guard on the left. “Dubbed a ‘strange tale of suspense and astonishment’ in the Manehattan Herald Tribune.” “Tried to pull an evil version of herself from another world,” added the guard on the right. “Called it the Nega-verse, derived from a portmanteau of ‘negative’ and ‘universe’.” “But it failed.” “Failed badly.” “Hence rehab.” “Hence today.” “Hence question.” “Question misguided.” “Likelihood of forks in back is negligible.” “Officially.” Doctor Caramel Crisp sighed. She took it back; her colleagues were nowhere near this disturbing. She gave them a flash of a smile and pushed her way through the padded door. Standing to attention in the middle of it was a purple earth pony. To Doctor Caramel Crisp’s shock, her acquaintance’s physique was stretched and lithe in the manner of a Canterlot model, and instead of sticking up in the usual puffy cloud of chaos, her emerald mane flowed silkily from her neck and scalp, curling elegantly just shy of the floor. On her back was a single large tome that at first glance resembled a beige brick. That was, as far as Caramel was concerned, where the good sides ended. The mare in the cell was humming to herself, eyes wide and pupils shrunk to pinpricks. A quiver ran along her lips as though she were suppressing a cackle. As soon as the door opened, the mare leaned forwards and loomed over her. It was all Caramel could do not to throw herself backwards and slam the door shut. The lips twitched into a grin. “Excellent,” the mare said in a surprisingly low voice. One of her eyelids flicked up and down. “And hello there. You must be –” She bit down hard, suppressing a giggle from her throat. In a more normal voice, she continued, “You must be from the enterprise.” “Yes. Doctor Caramel Crisp.” Gruffly, she held out a hoof, and then yelped when the mare seized it in both of hers and almost yanked it clean off. “Delighted! Delighted! I look forward to working alongside your good self. Well now, Doctor Caramel Crisp, shall we begin my new life together?” With a grunt, Caramel yanked her hoof out and trotted backwards, grimacing at the throbs where she'd been squeezed a little too enthusiastically. “I didn’t have anything to pack,” continued the mare cheerfully. “So let’s not ‘hang about’, as they say.” “Yes, Doctor,” said Caramel. To her surprise, this earned a fit of cackles from the mare. “Doctor, Doctor! Ooh, I do like the sound of that! Well, I’ve been shown a new path, and we must not wait for anything more! Oh! One more thing!” Caramel found herself knocked aside as Doctor Stone Meadow skipped and jumped to the door. By the time she’d regained her balance and hurried out, the mare was reaching for the tome on her back and talking to the guard on the left. “Thank you ever so much for letting me borrow your copy,” she was saying with an overflow of glee. “I simply don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t had such a literary lifeline to cling to!” The guard muttered something and, with a flash from his horn, the book vanished. “Keep it if you like,” he said. The book popped back into existence on her spine, and she gave a squeal and embraced him round his immovable neck. “How wonderful! How generous and noble of spirit! In faculty, how express and admirable!” She planted a kiss on each cheek, which the guard didn’t even blush at. “The envy of the world! The paragon of animals –” Caramel stomped past, not even looking backwards, and Doctor Stone Meadow fell into line behind her, still cooing and rattling off some antiquated speech with no self-restraint whatsoever. With some distaste, Caramel shoved the doors open and forced them to remain open while the overjoyed mare chatted her way through them. As Doctor Stone Meadow drew level with her, still chatting, Caramel sneaked a look at the spine of the tome. Every doctor had wondered what a mare of that calibre liked to read, and it was with some embers of smugness that she became the first to know. “The Words and Works of the Great Bard.” She strode down the corridor, pleased to see the crowds had dispersed. “I didn’t know you were the literary type.” “Oh, it’s a hobby.” The mare shrugged and grinned. “Inspirational, if sadly rendered distant and alien by the language barrier. You should read The Complete Adventures of the Old Buck. The humour’s a bit old-fashioned, but what do you expect from something so – ahem – historical?” Doctor Stone Meadow’s face broke into a grin. It was so wide it almost nicked her ears. “Then again, you’d probably prefer something more upmarket. Have you ever read The Caricatures of Lord Bandy Legs? I think the political satire applies just as well to modern times as they did to his own day and age. It’s a shame they’re out of print.” Caramel suppressed a sigh and stared straight down the empty corridor. Oh fudge, she thought. Why didn’t I bring earplugs? Aloud, she said with a brittle smile, “I’m sorry. I don’t read very many novels. Too busy. Don’t seem to get the time of day I used to. Ideas, research papers, grants negotiations…” You know, she thought bitterly, the grunt work. “Oh they’re not novels.” The mare winked at her and nudged her rump with her own, almost knocking her into the wall. “Not a word against novels have I, but they hail from another world. No, my required readings are among the world’s first and greatest comic books.” Caramel felt her shoulders sag. Oh my sacred toffee and beans, she thought. She’s one of them types. “Of course, there is ambiguity over what constitutes the world's true first comic book. Were we to stretch the concept to its breaking point, some would say the Ancient Amonians with their hieroglyphs created the form.” While they walked on down the corridor, Caramel tuned out the monologue drifting beside her and focused instead on the upcoming project. After a while, her thoughts drifted down to stories and to fairy tales and alighted, for a shameful moment, upon fairies. But she shook her head and snorted quietly. No time for that sort of nonsense now.