• Published 2nd Jan 2018
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The Maretian - Kris Overstreet



Mark Watney is stranded- the only human on Mars. But he's not alone- five astronauts from a magical kingdom are shipwrecked with him.

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Sol 308

AMICITAS FLIGHT THREE – MISSION DAY 312
ARES III SOL 308

[08:31] SYSTEM: ERROR - Signal Corruption Exceeds Recovery Threshold - Unable to Display

[09:36] SYSTEM: ERROR - Signal Corruption Exceeds Recovery Threshold - Unable to Display

[10:10] JPL: Well, as you see, Mark, we’re beginning to have problems even at this low bit rate. Explanation will have to wait. For now, don’t bother making the cargo brackets for the alien engines. Put it off until later.

[10:42] WATNEY: How come? Did Bruce Ng and his boys run into a problem? Anything we can do to help?

[11:37] SYSTEM: ERROR - Destination reports Signal Corruption Exceeds Recovery Threshold – Message Not Sent

[11:39] WATNEY: I see the problem. Roger wilco.


Spitfire frowned as Mark worked his way through the end of the chapter, delivering Smeagol’s lines in the weird voice he used for that character. It was a terrible voice, a wheedling, whining, rasp-edged voice that got on Spitfire’s nerves… which, of course, made it perfect for Gollum. Spitfire liked it a little better than Mark’s normal voice for one reason; doing the Smeagol voice forced Mark to slow down a little as he read, which made it easier for her to figure out what was being said.

“I don’t get it,” she said. That was one of the English phrases she’d memorized whole, mostly because she found it so useful so often. “We know Gollum betray… will betray them. Now he look nice for, for, for little time, and Sam, he, he, he make it bad?” Faust alive, but she sounded like Rainbow Dash right after she slammed into a mountain headfirst at speed… twice in a row. Which was a thing she did sometimes. “Why writer show this?”

“Maybe Gollum is changing,” Cherry Berry said. “He is a hobbit, or he was one. And Gandalf said hobbits resist the influence of the Ring. Maybe he’s fighting it off?”

Smoke rose from the snort Fireball gave at that. “I bet he already did betray,” he said. “Maybe he feel bad about it. He’s loco, you see that.”

“I think he’s changing his mind,” Starlight Glimmer said. She was fussing over something by the color-changing crystals, squinting at one and then another. She hadn’t taken a turn reading this time. “Or anyway, that’s what I want to believe. I listen to Smeagol’s bits, and I keep thinking how easy I had it, how generous Twilight Sparkle was to me. And the good part of Smeagol isn’t having it easy at all.”

“Is no good Smeagol,” Spitfire insisted. “Is bad Smeagol and Gollum worse. This cheap writer trick.”

“I think it’s a good moment of… um… right and wrong,” Cherry said. “The ring made Gollum do all sorts of evil, but there’s still a little part that resists. And it takes control for a minute, and Sam swats it down with bad temper. Suspicion.”

“Good.” That, unexpectedly, was Dragonfly. “Smeagol isn’t to be trusted. I’m sure he’s already sold out the hobbits, but to what I don’t know.”

“But it’s the Ring doing it to him,” Cherry insisted.

"Nope," Dragonfly insisted. "First rule of mind control: you can't directly force someone to do something against their will. At least part of them has to want to do it."

“Actually,” Starlight began, “that wasn’t how it worked when… never mind.” Spitfire couldn’t help smirking as the unicorn took an extreme interest in the rainbow crystals again.

"As I was saying," Dragonfly continued, "the Ring couldn't have done a thing to Smeagol by itself, not without making him into a total puppet. Which obviously it didn't do. Look at his history. Gandalf said he killed his brother, or cousin, or whatever, for the Ring. He snuck around, poked and pried at things, listening for secrets, stealing little things. That's how he was before the Ring- that's how it got him. Bilbo, on the other hoof, didn’t want anything for himself. He was kind, generous, brave, and loyal. The Ring couldn't do much with that. That's why it kept slipping off his finger- it wanted a new host.”

“But Bilbo couldn’t give up the Ring by himself,” Cherry protested. “It had hold of him enough to make him protect it.”

“Sure,” Dragonfly said. “It’s a gold ring that makes you invisible. Not hard to persuade someone to want to keep it. But Bilbo actually wanted to be rid of the thing. He wanted to give away the Precious, think about what that took! And it wanted to be rid of Bilbo, is what I think. That’s why I think it let Bilbo drop the envelope.”

“We’re getting away from Smeagol here,” Starlight said. “What makes you think Smeagol isn’t reforming?”

“Because Smeagol doesn’t want to reform,” Dragonfly said. “He wants his treasure back. That’s who Smeagol is. That’s who Smeagol always was. The Ring didn’t create that, it just made it worse, took away whatever good things he might have had in him. But you just can’t make someone do something they really don’t want to do. You have to first persuade them they want to do it. You have to start a crack. Smeagol was vulnerable already when he first saw the Ring.”

“Dragonfly,” Mark said slowly, “is this first-hand knowledge? The mind control, I mean”

The changeling looked Mark directly in the eyes and said, “Yes. Yes, it is.” She looked at the others, continuing, “Before the invasion I had a lot of infiltration roles, usually as a pegasus courier. Fastest changeling in the hive means a pretty fast pegasus disguise. My job was to read the messages and pass on anything useful back to headquarters. And yes, that meant hypnotizing a lot of ponies so they’d give me certain jobs or let me look at something I wasn’t supposed to see. I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Dragonfly looked at Mark again and added, “And the last time I used that ability, you were half-unconscious with a badly burned arm, and I was burning magic like, like, like something that burns really fast, to keep you awake and driving and get yourself and Starlight back to the Hab.” She stomped another hoof. “If you hadn’t wanted to live, deep down, it wouldn’t have done a bucking thing. If you’d given up and decided to die, you would have died no matter how hard I tried to bend your mind. So don't expect me to apologize for knowing how to pull your levers when I really need to!”

This silenced the literary discussion so thoroughly that Mark needed a full twenty seconds before he could think of anything to get it going. “So, would you say that you feel sympathy for Gollum?”

“A little,” Dragonfly said after some consideration. “When I lost control and drained you, it was because some part of me really wanted to. Have I mentioned lately you’re delicious?”

Spitfire put her face in her hoof. This discussion kept finding new and previously unexplored worlds of awkward and uncomfortable.

“So I know exactly what it’s like to give in. Except I don’t think Smeagol ever really fought it.” She sighed. “No, if I understand the word sympathy right, then I feel sympathy for the Ring.”

“Explain.” Mark only said the one word, but it was one word more than Spitfire could muster.

“Pretty simple: mind-bending monster that wants to get home.” Dragonfly shrugged. “And six years ago I could add, ‘so that it can help destroy or enslave the whole world.’ That’s how I was raised. That’s how I’m made. The only difference is that I can decide that, although I definitely am a monster, I will not act like a monster. I don’t know if the Ring has that choice, and I sure don’t see any sign that it would choose to be nice if it could, anyway.”

More silence, followed by Cherry Berry murmuring, “You know, the only other changeling I can ever remember referring to herself as a monster is Chrysalis. None of the others think of themselves that way, at least not out loud.”

Dragonfly shrugged. “Maybe I’ve been around ponies too long.”

Spitfire, having gradually got over her shock, ran through the conversation in her mind, came to a quick decision, and got to her hooves. No one had ever bothered to return the two-meter spare section of Hab support pole to its cabinet back at the Hab, and it lay only a few paces away. She trotted over, picked it up in her teeth, and then walked slowly towards Dragonfly. The others, guessing what was coming, scattered.

“Spitfire,” Cherry Berry asked in a warning tone, “what are you doing?”

“That’s what I’d like to-“

Dragonfly’s comment was interrupted by the swoosh and thwack of plastic against chitin.

“OW!”

“Stop feeling sorry for self,” Spitfire grunted out around the stick. English was hard enough; English with your teeth clamped down on something was just annoying.

“I wasn’t feeling-“

Thwack.

“OW!!”

“Stop talking about be monster. Not let monster in space.”

“Would you like to tell that to my qu-“

Thwack.

“CUT IT OUT!”

“Stop bragging about be evil. Not thing to be proud about.”

“I wasn’t rooting for the-“

Thwack.

“That’s really annoying!”

“Next time you asked what you think about book, say, ‘I hope Frodo wins.’”

Dragonfly didn’t say anything.

Thwack anyway.

“What was THAT for??”

“Am I understand?”

“Yes, I got it!”

“Yes, what?

“Spitfire,” Cherry Berry said, her tone making it clear that the farce was now over, “give me that stick. After you say yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ears drooping, Spitfire let the commander take the plastic pole away. For a moment she’d felt back at home… and forgot where she was.

“Thank you,” Dragonfly said, only to get another thwack to the noggin.

“Don’t try to out-Chrysalis Chrysalis,” Cherry said. “I put up with it from her because she almost never tries to do the stuff she talks about. I don’t have to put up with it from you. Understood?”

Dragonfly stood to rigid attention. “Ma’am yes ma’am!” she replied crisply.

“Thank you.” Cherry extended the pole to Mark, who grasped it in one hand. “Please put that away somewhere.”

“Um… sure.” Mark set the pole beside him, then added, “What the hell was all that just now?”

“Percussive medicine,” Spitfire replied in Equestrian. She wasn’t even going to try to render that into English, and to her relief, Mark didn’t press the point.

“Maybe we could read a mystery book when this is done,” Dragonfly said, rubbing her head. “Fantasy is hard on the head.”

“I said, no feel sorry for self.”

Dragonfly, for a changeling, could do a very good disgusted pony snort.

Author's Note:

Let's talk about evil for a minute. Evil is, of course, in the news and discussions of late, but I am not going to bring in any current events into this. (I have very strong opinions about said events, but this is a refuge from the rage, not a platform for it.)

One of the common phrases used in the wake of World War II was "the banality of evil." This is a useless phrase to most Americans, because for most Americans "banal" is not a word. Nobody uses it in ordinary conversation. It means: "something so ordinary as to be obvious or boring; unimaginative."

Evil is not always banal, although it tends to repeat itself- greed, hate, fear, self-love can only be expressed so many ways. But evil is very, very ordinary.

Consider frontier Americans, especially pre-Civil War, when settlers were still clearing out land east of the Mississippi. A typical letter from a militia soldier home would go something like this:

"Camped under the stars, saw some beautiful fireflies. Night before last some boys with instruments played music and sang songs, it was so beautiful. I miss everyone at home. How's the baby? Are you taking care of my dog? I can't wait until I tell you where my land claim is so you can come join me. By the way, I saved you a couple of baby Indian scalps from today's battle as a memento of our glorious victory. Yours sincerely, etc."

It was just that simple. Here were men, most of whom you'd all think were quite nice people if you met them on the street, friendly, courteous, charming... if you were white. If you were black, you better not make eye contact. And if you were a native American, you were in deadly peril of your life- even if you were a woman or child. (To be blunt, especially if you were a woman or child.)

Because at that time the consensus was, Indians didn't really count as people, so it was okay to kill them. In fact, it was better than okay; it was a duty to kill them or drive them out, to fulfill Manifest Destiny. And almost nobody questioned this, much less recognized it as evil.

I could go on in detail, but my point is this: a person can be nine-tenths good and decent and one-tenth horrible, and often that person will not recognize it in themselves. Usually they can't, because nobody wants to think of themselves as a monster, so we humans will justify away any monstrous conduct by finding some kind of excuse.

Evil is ordinary. We all have it. We all have the potential for it. And most of the time we don't know we're doing evil at the time.

Hence Dragonfly, who allowed herself the changeling (and other cartoon baddies) flaw of blabbermouth. She has a definition of monster in her head, and under certain conditions she recognizes she qualifies. But, at the same time, she refuses to admit that the really sketchy things she did on Chrysalis's orders back Before Space were wrong, because she also thinks of herself as a good and dutiful drone and subject. She is highly unusual- not just among changelings, but among people- in that she's actually tried to look at herself and see the evil. It's a work in progress at best.

That's why Spitfire violates several items in the Code of Conduct to apply corporal punishment percussive medicine on Dragonfly. For all that it's not the right way to do it, it has the advantage of closing the issue and making everyone else see that it is closed. They can (mostly) pretend Dragonfly didn't admit these things, move on, and continue to work together.

So the next time you're talking to someone, and they let slip that they've done some horrible thing and don't particularly regret it- or even recognize there's anything to regret- don't ask how they could do that. They do it because they're people. People are like that.

But don't hit them over the head with anything, because Cherry Berry isn't going to back you up, and your target might not be as forgiving as Dragonfly.

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