Chapter 6
“Your ‘friend’ is Councillor Janet Martins?! She’s a Genesist! They’re against conversion!”
Wrenn had to exert all his self control to keep from grabbing commander Laura Aston by the shoulders and shaking her until she saw reason. It certainly didn’t help that she had called him up at five in the morning, on the one day he desperately wanted to sleep in, to drag him out of bed to an 06:00 meeting with her ‘friend.’
Hutch, who was walking with them full speed down the corridor, seemed equally upset,
“For Pete’s sake Laura the woman once fought an eight month battle to take funds marked for the Bureaus and have them reallocated to that spit-and-baling-wire pie-tin flying saucer contraption that her party is building in Africa to blast twenty thousand peoplecicles into deep space!”
“Relax Hutch. Genesists aren’t exactly against ponification, they just take issue with the way everyone gave up on the alternatives.”
Hutch came to a standstill and crossed his arms. Commander Aston stopped and threw up her hands, “I don’t necessarily always agree with them ok? but Korvan is part of the Biotech party, and while they’ve gone back and forth on the issue of the Bureaus they have always always *always* hated the Genesists. Martins will back us on this just to get at Korvan, nevermind the fact that she’s probably intrigued by the idea of diversifying conversion with this new Gryphonization thing.”
Wrenn was startled, “You know about that?”
Aston shrugged, “It’s become an open secret to all high level government and Bureau personnel. Ever since the entire top floor here got read in on it earlier this week. It's creating a lot of buzz, and I guess that works in our favor too.”
The trio resumed their quick march. “So have you actually talked to her about this?” Wrenn was not optimistic about the answer.
“Nnnnnooo... I decided you two and the three musketeers could pitch it better.”
Hutch sighed, “Fantastic. How did you say you knew Councilor Martins?”
“She’s a longtime family friend. Her dad and mine were college roommates, and her mother practically raised me after my family passed.”
Wrenn glanced over at Aston, “So we have a reasonable chance here then? In your opinion?”
Laura shook her head, “Don’t push your luck. She inherited exactly none of her mom’s saintliness and a triple dose of her pragmatism. Imagine me, but older and without the glowing sense of humor and excellent people skills.”
“You have people skills?”
The comment earned Hutch a swift sharp jab to the ribs.
When they arrived at the door to the office Sildinar, Kephic, and Varan were already waiting for them. Councilor Martins had requested they meet in a more formal setting than a conference room, which gave Wrenn a sense of foreboding.
Commander Aston stopped in front of the door and turned to face the group, “Remember, she’s a pragmatist. She can play political, but she also likes being candid when cutting a deal. But its just that to her; a deal. In the end it’s all about her goals, she’s always honest, and she’s the definition of a party loyalist. Ready?”
They each nodded in turn, and Aston tapped the door control pad.
The room’s lighting was keyed to a low ambience, not dim enough to cast shadows but still less bright than normal. A semi-circular desk took up most of the left side of the space, and behind it stood a brunette in her early forties wearing a blue pinstripe suit that looked, if possible, even more well kempt than Councilor Korvan’s had.
Aston spoke first, “Councilor Martins, may I present Commander Hutchinson, Lieutenant Wrenn, Sildinar, Kephic, and Varan.”
The woman shook each of their hands, and claws, in turn; showing no hesitation whatsoever when she reached the Gryphons. Wrenn mentally pegged her as a ‘get it done’ type.
“I’m pleased to finally meet the heroes of the hour. Tell me, what brings you gentlemen into my circles today?” Her voice struck the perfect balance, implying a smattering of emotion that could have been sincere curiosity, or could have been a vaguely intimidating display of coyness.
“It’s no secret that my party hasn’t espoused a great deal of support for the Conversion Bureau Initiative. Why invite me here?”
Varan surprised everyone by taking the initiative, “Because we share a mutual enemy.”
Councilor Martins gestured for the Gryphon to continue.
He stepped forward, “Councilor Korvan is seeking occasion to break the accords between your government and ours in order to defend his political career and secure his position. To remain.... legitimate and maintain access to the Conversion Bureaus we need the accords to remain intact. We invited you here to aid us in turning the situation to our favor.”
Martins pursed her lips and stood thinking for an uncomfortably long moment, “Aside from the obvious opportunity to cause my rival trouble... what exactly do you intend to offer me? Surely you understand that I’m not keen to involve myself in something precarious like this when I haven’t been made aware of the particulars, much less when it stands to benefit me too little to offset the risks.”
Wrenn stepped in, “We are offering you a win/win situation.” Hutch and Aston both gave him a look that clearly said ‘don’t screw this up.’
He took a deep breath and forged ahead, “The reason we need these accords with the Gryphons is because they have developed their own version of potion. A Gryphonization serum. Korvan is trying to bring the program down out of fear, and he has to be stopped before he creates a major incident.”
Wrenn gestured to the Gryphons, “These guys? you don’t want them teed up against us. They don’t do politics, they don’t think of negotiating the same way, and they are not pleasant when they’re angry.”
For a moment there was silence, then Wrenn kept pressing his advantage, “Even if it didn’t come to conflict, they have the cooperation of the Equestrian government. I don’t think that the royal sisters would take kindly to us humans breaking our word in a treaty that they helped to setup. The fact remains that we agreed, fairly unanimously as I understand it, to go ahead with this. We can not let one man unilaterally undo the work of hundreds.”
He took a deep breath and collected his thoughts, “If we can keep the accords stable and on track, then you will benefit one way or another. If Gryphonization creates the backlash that Korvan is so afraid of, then more people will support the Genesist cause of sleeper ships.
If it succeeds, then your secondary goal of diversifying humanity’s future has taken a huge step forward, and you certainly don’t lose any existing support.”
Wrenn stepped up to the desk, ready to bring it down the home stretch, “Besides all that; If you let Councilor Korvan gain a foothold in controlling the Bureaus he is going to turn them on you and your party actively. Right now we don’t speak out against you, we don’t bother you, we don’t disparage you in any way. But he’s going to turn that around the first chance he gets. If you do nothing, it's lose/lose.”
All eyes were on Martins. Her expression betrayed no emotion, it was the face of a person occupied purely with thought and analysis. When she spoke her tone was shockingly more personable, “I must say, you make a good case. You also took quite a risk fully revealing classified information to me like that.”
She drummed her index finger on the desk and pondered for several more seconds, “Give me five hours to consider your offer and discuss it with my fellow Councilors,” She held up a hand, “You have my word I will not fully disclose the Gryphons’ new program or research. I simply don’t want to make the same mistakes as Mathas. I can’t, in good conscience, decide something unilaterally for my party. I’ll see you all back here at eleven.”
And just like that, it was over.
The group found themselves out in the corridor, walking slowly towards the main atrium.
Hutch was the first to speak, “I’ll admit, no offence, I didn’t think you could do that.”
Wrenn shrugged, “Neither did I, so no offence taken.”
Laura smirked, “I told you. He's as a keeper. You should see if you can get him to accept that transfer offer before we bury Korvan. Anyone want to grab lunch?”
Hutch shook his head, “Want to yes. But I have an inspection scheduled for the new security measures.”
Sildinar nodded, “Rather; ‘we’ have an inspection scheduled. We offered our tactical services in ensuring that the upgrades will be sufficient to protect the Bureau in the future.”
Wrenn shrugged, “I actually thought I’d get out of here for a few hours. Go downtown, find a latte... pretend the world isn’t coming to an end like the rest of the population does every day.”
Laura snorted, “Suit yourself then. I’m going to find a tall beer. I’m off duty.”
“Approaching 23rd Street Station. Please be careful when exiting the train.”
The mono-rail subway passed out of the tunnel and into the above-ground station so quickly that it was dizzying. The old three-rail system of the previous century had fallen out of use due to lack of efficiency and the dangers it presented to passengers. Modern subway trains used a single rail with the power source buried in the center, insulated away from any passers-by.
Subways, and anything smaller than light-rail, were still running on actual rails because maglevs weren’t worth the extra materials and energy over such short distances, where they couldn’t accelerate to more than 100 mph.
Wrenn stopped after passing through the doors onto the platform, looked up, and took a deep breath. The smells of rubber, metal, and chemical sanitizer assaulted his nostrils, but he didn’t care.
It was a Thursday, and for New York Thursday was sun day. Most major cities of the world had a sun day; a twelve hour span during ‘daylight’ when a massive network of holographic projection arrays and colored arc-lights mounted on rooftops would be pointed skyward and turned on to create the illusion of sunny blue sky.
The system couldn’t be left on every day. The energy cost was astounding, and the maintenance was already intensive, even with a one out of seven days schedule.
Wrenn had once been told by a very elderly gentleman that the illusion was in no way similar to a real sunny sky, that it was more like a foggy pre-dawn in Maine, before the collapse. Wrenn had to take his word for it, he had never seen a clear blue sky in his life, except in artistic renditions of pre-collapse Earth and Equestria.
The only times he had been outside the cloud layers around cities, the sky had been a dull sickly shade of gray tinged with teal, and the sun had been blocked out, both results of the extreme chemical imbalances still plaguing the atmosphere.
Three resounding synthetic musical notes snapped him out of his sky-induced thoughts and back to reality.
“Please stand back, train now departing from platform two. The next train is scheduled for 8:45. This is 23rd Street station, serviced by Orange and Blue line trains. Remember to keep your personal belongings with you at all times. Unattended baggage will be seized by the military police forces and destroyed without delay.”
Wrenn made his way down to the street lazily. He felt oddly comforted by the seething masses of Manhattan’s sidewalks. A place where he could be apart, but not alone. Lost in a crowd.
As he strolled aimlessly down the street, hoping to spot a coffee shop, he amused himself by watching the people. Mostly humans, but with an appreciable enough smattering of Ponies that they weren’t an uncommon sight.
A fair number of converted humans, and even a few native Equestrians, had opted to live on Earth until the bubble claimed it once and for all. Some for the adventure, others to learn the culture or history first-hoof, and most had a seemingly endless altruistic desire to help the dying world and its people however they could.
Wrenn wondered to himself if that was how the PER had begun. A single convert who’s psyche hadn’t quite clicked after the process. A person who saw the dying pains of Earth and felt motivated to ‘help’ beyond offering a hoof in friendship.
Just then he spied a small ‘hole-in-the-wall’ type coffee house tucked into the corner of an older building that was itself sandwiched between two gleaming new mega-skyscrapers. Wrenn dashed across the pedestrian crosswalk with only seconds left on the timer, and slid in through the old-style push/pull doors.
The inside was done up in the manner of an old twenty 'aughts coffee shop; faux distressed wood floor, granite bar, stone hearth with a holographic fire, hanging colored industrial style lights that would have been ‘chic’ in the twentieth century.
The works.
Wrenn seated himself on a stool at the bar and asked for the biggest iced latte on the menu. Made with Equestrian coffee. While it wasn’t in short supply at the Bureau, and it was extremely expensive anywhere else, Wrenn still wanted to get out and have his drink with a change of scenery. He certainly wasn’t going to hork down any of the synthetic swill most customers bought. It was cheaper by a factor of ten, but in his mind it wasn’t even coffee.
While he waited for the iced concoction, he stared idly at one of the holo-screens on the back wall. Apparently Pony sports had become something of a fad. Wrenn found it oddly satisfying to watch the pastel Equines as they tried their hooves at human games, especially considering how different things like football and hockey were when a third of the team could fly, a third could effortlessly kick a one hundred yard field goal, and a third could perform telekinesis.
Wrenn’s drink arrived about the same time as the holo-screens switched to a question and answer based game show, mostly made up of human contestants. He stamped his thumb to the proffered DaTab, his DNA automatically authorizing a digital transaction, and sipped the iced delicacy, savoring the flavor.
On the screen, the next contestant had opted for the computer science category.
“This protocol defined interactions between computers on wide area networks, such as the internet, until just after the turn of the century.”
“TCP/IP” Wrenn mumbled around his straw.
“Uhh... what is TCP/IP?”
“Correct”
The contestant went several more successful rounds with basic computer related questions, most of which Wrenn also knew the answers to. He found it refreshing to be engaged in something so trivial, even if it was only temporary.
“These repositories of data are used in assembly language coding to store information in binary or hexadecimal.”
The contestant looked a bit frazzled and stammered. Wrenn rolled his eyes, “Oh for crying out loud, *registers!* how can you not know that?” He realized a moment later he had blurted it out a bit too loudly for propriety, but to his relief no one seemed to have noticed.
“Not bad. Most of you are pretty obtuse with computers considering you invented 'em.”
The voice startled Wrenn so much he nearly spilled his latte. His head jerked from left to right and back again, searching for its origin.
“Uh... hey... down here chief.”
He glanced down and to the right and noticed he had company. A female unicorn with a short straight cobalt mane and tan fur had taken up a seat on the stool next to him. Her cutie mark was some kind of rune Wrenn couldn’t place, so he assumed her talents lay in the magical realm.
“Oh. Hi. So... uh... you have an interest in computers?” He had heard of Ponies, even non unicorns, taking an interest in computers before. Hoof compatible keyboards were even for sale at certain electronic retailers, and holographic interfaces could be scaled effortlessly to hooves.
Yet the concept of a ‘nerdy’ Pony was still uncommon enough that he found himself intrigued, especially since this particular unicorn knew what a register was, meaning she wasn’t just the average computer user thrilled to even get the browser working.
She tossed her mane and shrugged, “Yeah. Call it an extension of my talent. I have a thing for knowledge magic. Finding things out, concealing them, calculating them... I’m Sky Writer. Y’know, etching knowledge in the stars and all that stuff. Most people call me Skye. Apparently there’s an island somewhere out there named after me.”
Wrenn leaned over and offered a hand, noticing as he did that the rune on her flank was made out of lines drawn between small points of light, like a constellation.
“Wrenn. Lieutenant Isaac Wrenn.”
Skye stared at his hand like it was purple and growing extra fingers. “You really don’t know how to do this do you?”
“Uh.. you’re the second pony to look at my hand that way in as many weeks... so no I suppose not.”
She placed her hoof in his hand and shook anyways, “You really haven’t gotten to know many of us have you?”
“Ah... none actually. I don’t have a lot of friends. And the ones I do have are relatively new. And very much not ponies.”
She snorted, “Well, you’ve *got* friends. That's a good start. Most of mine weren’t big on me ‘jumping ship’ to come to Earth. Thought it was a load of crap that I wanted to come study glowing boxes full of words. But then I was always the odd mare in the herd. What’s your special talent?”
“You mean my career? I’m a soldier. Usually Earthgov special forces deployments, but I’ve had quite a run as a sort of.... ConSec liaison, if you will, these last weeks.”
“Nice. You know anyone hiring over there? Nobody seems to like the idea of pulling in a Pony for computer work besides the Bureaus, and they already have a lot of qualified human techs.”
Wrenn frowned, “No I’m sorry. I don’t think...” he paused as something occurred to him, “Scratch that. Here’s a related hypothetical question.”
“Shoot. You’ll get my best possible hypothetical answer.”
“Say I was looking for something, but I wasn’t completely aware of what I was looking for... suppose I knew certain circumstantial variables but not the exact sort of file or activity log I needed.”
Skye grinned wryly, “Speaking hypothetically; That's one of relatively few situations where my magic and my tech knowhow can cooperate to get unique results. Speaking realistically; I’d say anypony stuck in that kind of situation is looking for somepony intruding in their systems, but doesn’t know where to start.”
Her acute observation surprised Wrenn. Most native Equestrians didn’t feel a desire to learn to interpret human subtexts, much less follow through on it.
“I can’t promise anything, but if I throw in a coffee will you hop the subway back to the Bureau with me and give us a ha... err... hoof? Maybe if I put in a good word they can find you an opening.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, then grinned, “Eh. Why not. I’ve tried everything else. You’re on. Hit me with your worst.”
“Now you see it.... Now you don’t”
A series of all but invisible slits near the ceiling of the corridor lit up and began to pulse. With each humming throb the green odorless argon test-gas that had been distributed into the space vanished into the slits at incredible speed.
“The new PER potion cylinders are capable of dispersing a gas ideally into an enormous volume of space by proportion to their size, almost instantaneously. We created a system of vents spanning the building’s existing system, but hermetically sealed. Each ingress port is tipped with a Thaumatically charged filter; it can draw in offending gas almost as fast as it is created. We got the idea from the cylinders actually, they seem to use Thaumatic components to fire off the equivalent of a fog spell, which is a simple Unicorn spell that happens to be able to distribute gas ideally.”
The young earth pony grinned widely. Hutch clapped him on the back, “You boys never cease to amaze me. I didn’t get half of what you said, but I gather it's a good defense against the new potion bombs and that's all I needed to hear. Good on ya, I officially owe you drink.”
Sildinar stared up at the new vents, his telescopic eyes examining details as small as a millimeter in width. “I agree with the commander. Your work is superb.”
The stallion stammered, he knew that any sort of praise for defensive workings coming from a Gryphon was high praise indeed.
Kephic grinned, “Scratch one from the PER tricktionary.”
Varan shook his head, “The refit only affects our Bureau, and perhaps given enough time other Bureaus and government facilities. The general population is still at risk.”
The young pony interjected, stammering all the while, he still wasn’t used to dealing with Gryphons, “Actually... uh... we might have a solution to that. too. maybe. Its going to take time, months at least, but we might be able to engineer... ummm.... think of it as a Thaumatic detector for the type of spell used in the cylinders.”
Hutch snapped his fingers, “Well then get on it. If you had any other work, drop it. As far as I’m concerned this is now your baby. Have at it.”
“*Totally* legit. That’s the phrase isn’t it?” Skye had never been inside the Manhattan Conversion Bureau itself, and she was clearly impressed by the architecture.
Wrenn nodded, “Yep thats the one. Only problem is that it's been out of date for at least a hundred years.”
“There’s always a catch with you people and slang.”
“Oh yeah. It's pretty messy. Listen, I hope you don’t mind hanging around for a while. I have a critical meeting shortly, then after that I should be able to get you into a room with a fully wired up terminal.”
Skye sighed, “I suppose I’ll go terrorize some small children with my inane technobabble. Gotta amuse myself somehow right?”
Wrenn wasn’t entirely sure she was joking, but he left her to find some way of passing the time on her own, and set off at a fast clip to the appointed conference room, fingers crossed that no one in the group would show up late.
Councilor Martins didn’t strike him as the sort of person who would look upon tardiness with a forgiving visage.
He quickly discovered that he needn’t have worried, everyone else was already assembled in the corridor.
“Coffee Cup.” Varan said without looking up from the DaTab he was busy typing on.
It took Wrenn a second to realize he was still carrying the remnants of his latte.
He quickly disposed of the cup in a trash bin, and straightened his shirt.
“Right then. Ready when you are.”
Once again Commander Aston lead the way into the room.
This time, however, she stopped short just inside the door, and Wrenn had to backpedal to keep from tripping over her.
Eventually Aston stepped aside, allowing everyone else to see the source of her shock.
Councilor Martins was standing behind the desk, almost in the same spot where she had been that morning. Flanking her on the left side was a Gryphon in burnished steel armor with brass filigree, and diamond trimming. On her right was an Alicorn with a blinding white coat and flowing multi-hued mane.
Martins shrugged, “Welcome back. I confess I’m just as surprised by our visitors as you are. I’m even more surprised by the conversation we’ve just had.”
Celestia stepped around the desk, “The daily messenger brought news of the attack on your city. I anticipated serious political ramifications, so I came as soon as I could. King Siidran is here to represent his peoples’ interests in this affair.”
The king inclined his head, “A crisis of this magnitude can not go unanswered. Action must be taken to maintain balance. On this the Princess and I agree wholeheartedly. We are here to convene an emergency summit with your governmental council, and to appear before your media, if they will have us.”
Martins glanced between the two dignitaries, then at Wrenn, “There’s more. Celestia has offered me a deal; My party will support the new Gryphonization program, and in exchange she will lend her direct support to our sleeper ship project, both in terms of media endorsement and in terms of sending her magicians and scientists to assist in construction efforts and locating a suitable world.”
Hutch’s eyes grew wide, “You would support the Genesists? But why? I thought Conversion was your big gift to the human race... why support something that sits in opposition to it?”
Celestia’s laugh was an airy, joy filled sound that seemed to brighten the room, “Conversion is only one part of what I seek to give your kind. My goal is not Ponification. That is simply one possible means to the overall end; saving the inhabitants of this world. If my aid can provide the critical push needed to give your race other options, then I will provide all the aid I can muster.”
Wrenn sidelined the growing list of questions he was longing to ask both monarchs in favor of a single query, “So. What happens now?”
Martins placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward, “Now we wage politics.”
Siidran sighed, “I was hoping you would not say that.”
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References are fun!
Tying material together gives the world a sense of reality.
The most successful sci-fi/fantasy movies, games, and written stories all seem to share this in common; they have enough of the alien to be intriguing and enough of a connection to the familiar to resonate.
As to everyone else, thanks so much for your continued encouragement, and for pointing out any errors that may crop up.
In-case it wasn't clear by now, this is going to be a long, long, LONG story.
My current educated guesstimate for a minimum length is 24 chapters (keeping to a chapter length of between 4100 and 4900 words), not counting the prologue.
I'm up to the point of what I've written so far now, and I now have to write more before I can release anything.
This means posting a chapter per day is likely unfeasible. It may happen at times, but probably not regularly.
Just a heads up.
I do have a fairly complete plan for the story's overall arc, that's been there since the beginning, but the path to each 'node' in the story keeps getting larger and more complex.
The PER and HLF each have their own conspiracy arc to be completed, and there is an as-yet unseen villain also plotting behind the scenes.
And that's just for the bad guys.
I've almost accumulated enough possible arc material to split the overall plot into this story and a sequel, which is looking tempting.
Politics. Every soldiers worst nightmare trust me I know firsthand.
...... please not DNA identification. It wouldn't work, twins can have the same DNA, and a simple fingerprint ID would be a LOT more secure.
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Biometrics probably consists of fingerprint + DNA + Life-signs to ensure no use of a severed digit, or latex cast, or even hologram, to spoof.
651095 not politics... anything but politics !!!!
determinismsucks.net/archive/Lily_the_horror-(n1298395100102).png
also when my uncle got on leave from the military he told me the closing time at the bar was his worst nightmare
All this intrigue, and you haven't even introduced half the villains yet? Dis gon be gud.
Completely trivial nitpick: that's an...interesting definition of register you've got there. I was thinking along the lines of "literal" or "immediate" when I read that problem. A more blatant definition would be "storage area for data on which the CPU can directly manipulate."
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That seems pretty secure.
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Maybe I should.
Maybe I shouldn't
Doesn't matter in the end, because I simply won't
Humanity just has to man up and face the music; they're biologically obsolete.
Listen, Guardian. You're doing a great job. 4,000 words per day is astounding, and the extended wait would be worth it regardless. The story is more intriguing than a lot of novels.
"My goal is not Ponification. That is simply one possible means to the overall end; saving the inhabitants of this world."
For lines like this I like your Celestia more than the ones from most CB fics.
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Oh my God, I have to save that picture, cause it's hilarious!
But politics are fffuuuuuuunnnn
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That's because this isn't TCBlestia, its regular actual Celestia. If she could have saved humanity without ponification, I'm sure she would have done so.
An excellent chapter...why do I have a feeling that pony he took into the Bureau is PER?
"I've earned a break," he said.
Delightful world building. People need a sense of natural rhythm, of normalcy... but normalcy, in this case, comes at a high price. That's as bleak as it gets.
I'm still trying to figure out the science of magic in this universe, but I'm already imagining the cybersecurity-style arms race of PER altering the formula to avoid detection, and ConSec altering detection to catch the new formula. Back and forth.
I've had this same exact exchange.
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Thank you!
There's a lot of fun to be had in the stranger details of a dystopia.
As have I, a loooong time ago before a class presentation.