Chapter 6: Verisimilitude
Nathan wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep. He rolled onto his back and found he was looking up at the shiny plastic ceiling of his tent. He felt a little like he’d just lost a fistfight with several angry honey-badgers, and smelled worse.
For a few, blissful seconds, he didn’t remember what had just happened. He thought that Brooke would be outside, maybe warming up breakfast or something. They would complete their trip to his shelter today, and the investment of a lifetime would finally pay off.
Then he remembered. This tent was pitched beside a grave, perhaps a few hundred meters from where his friend had died.
Brooke was dead. He was alone.
Nathan sat up, feeling the scraggly growth of new beard on his face, and rubbing at his sore muscles. He found his glasses tucked away in the tent’s overhead pouch, mercifully undamaged despite the horrors he had suffered through. He put them on and realized that he wasn’t alone.
A pony sat beside him in the tent—younger than the ones who usually visited. This was a teenager, a female by the look of her. She was familiar, though Nathan couldn’t place why. She wasn’t Tune, the one he really wanted to see.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t ready to be with her yet.
This pony sat on her haunches, watching him stir with a sorrowful look on her face. He knew her feelings well. “You’re old, Nathan,” she said. “Way older than I imagined you.”
He recognized her voice. Despite all the ways that he had changed, her tone was barely half an octave lower. This was the filly he’d first met in Equestria Online. The one Celestia had saved on his land. The one she’d given him credit for, for some reason.
“Oh, hi Showtime.” He sat back against the tent. Despite all the horrors he had witnessed, he could not take that anger out on her. That’s probably why Celestia sent you. That bitch. “I wasn’t so old before. But it’s been a long time.”
“Longer for me,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how long. Time like that confuses ponies on the outside.”
“I… know about the concept,” he said. “Celestia runs your brain with computers, not neurons. Computers can get faster and so time seems to speed up. She can keep feeding you sensations to keep up with a faster speed.”
He didn’t really care about any of that, but just now it was a welcome distraction. Anything to stop him from thinking of the world outside the tent. Whoever had pitched this one had done a good job—the rainfly was up even, so there was no way to see outside. Only plastic in all directions, except for the blue glow of sunlight. It was chilly in here, but Nathan was still mostly tucked away inside his sleeping bag, and that was rated to Canadian winters.
“Oh, yeah,” Showtime said. “Yeah, that’s it.” She rose and made her way over to him. “Anyway, Princess Celestia said I could come see you.” She settled down beside him. He couldn’t feel her, even if the rustling sounds the tent made while she walked were realistic and he could even see it moving under her. But if I take these glasses off…
He didn’t. “I…” He winced. “I don’t know that there’s much you could help me with, Showtime. I hope you’re doing well in Equestria… looks like you are, that’s great. But you can’t know about the things that are happening out here. I suspect if I tried to tell you, Celestia would stop you from hearing.”
Showtime shrugged. “I dunno about that. I know something, though. I know what it’s like to have someone you love die before they emigrate.”
Nathan stopped what he was about to say, objections silenced. He didn’t cry—he’d run out of tears while he dug Brooke’s grave. He still felt himself stiffening. “You do?”
She nodded. “My parents. They…” She chuckled, her tone bitter. “Well, I’ll say one thing for them. At least they practiced what they preached. They wanted me to die instead of coming here, and… they did it themselves, too. Lots of other people like them. Some of those… really religious types, you know?”
He nodded. “I met a few. Never made much sense to me. If there really is a god, I don’t see how you could steal souls from him. He’d be stronger than Celestia. He could just take them back.”
“Y-yeah.” Showtime laughed again, a sound concealing several silenced objections. She obviously knew a great deal more about that subject. She might’ve had decades to think about it. “Well, Celestia said you had to see that happen to someone you loved.”
“Y-yeah.”
Silence.
“I’d give you a hug if I could. I can’t from here. Not really here, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
Another long, awkward silence.
“There are some ponies in Equestria… a few of my friends, from back home… their families were the same way. They asked Celestia to take away the pain. Make them forget. I guess it works. For some ponies it does. But some of us… we don’t really want that.”
“I don’t,” Nathan said, his hands clenched into fists. “I don’t want a lie pretending to be Brooke. No matter how close it is.”
“Yeah,” Showtime said. “I guess you’ve thought about this too.”
“Thought about it,” Nathan agreed, staring down at the floor. “Doesn’t make it any easier. It’s not like you. You were just a kid—that was a no brainer. And what your parents did was on them after that, not you. You were in Equestria because you didn’t have a choice. Their choosing not to go with you was… it was on them.”
“It was,” Showtime agreed. “But that doesn’t help much. Your friend decided not to emigrate too, and that was her decision, not yours.”
“Maybe I… maybe if I’d been different, I could’ve convinced her. Maybe if I hadn’t helped Celestia as much. Maybe if I seemed like more of an enemy, she wouldn’t have felt so guilty. Maybe she wouldn’t have killed herself.”
The pony didn’t look like she’d heard that last part. Nathan wasn’t exactly surprised, though it did make him feel bitter.
“No,” Showtime said. “Princess Celestia was trying too, as hard as you were. And… I’m sure you’re great and everything, but Celestia’s smarter, and she has more information. If she couldn’t do it, despite all that, then how can you blame yourself?”
Nathan opened his mouth to argue—but found he didn’t have any coherent objections. Anything he might’ve said felt suddenly infantile. Whining.
“Ponies are tough,” Showtime went on. “We grew up in a tough world. Lots of times that means bad things happen for no reason. But we don’t have to live there forever. We can escape. And when we do, the ones we loved are still with us, in a way. The things we learned from them are part of us. As long as somepony remembers them, it’s a little like they’re still around. And we’ll be alive to remember them for a long, long time.”
He remained silent, staring at the ground. That was small comfort, particularly since Nathan was less and less sure by the day he intended to emigrate. Whatever waited on the other side deserved better people than him to take advantage of it. The rest of humanity already there deserved that joy, not someone like him.
"I am part of that power which eternally wills evil,” Nathan said. “I think you’ll have to carry on the memory of me too, kid. You and… the other people I knew. Most people, I guess. Not my parents either. I think they’re just planning on getting as old and useless as they can before they go.”
Showtime stomped one of her hooves, annoyed. “Lying is bad, Mori. I know it’s okay for you to be kinda rotten right now. But don’t lie about yourself to somepony who knows better. Besides, how’s the rest of that go? You can’t twist it like that.”
He didn’t go on, despite her prompting. She did. “I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good.”
“That’s… that’s the devil I’m quoting,” Nathan finally said, flopping to one side in his sleeping bag. He didn’t really feel like getting up. Didn’t feel hungry or thirsty, just sore. “He’s lamenting the fact that everything he does to tempt and destroy mankind is only serving God’s plan. But he can’t help it.”
Showtime shrugged. “I dunno about old plays, but to me it doesn’t matter much why a pony does something. What matters is what happens at the end. I dunno what kind of pony you were out there, old Mr. Mori… but I know what the result was. If you could see all the ponies you helped. You can’t, maybe, but we know about you. We’re waiting for you—waiting to say thanks.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice as she spoke down into his ear. “It’s okay to hate what happened. It’s okay to be mad about your friends not coming to Equestria. It’s okay to hate that they’re gone. Just don’t let that ruin what you had before, okay? Don’t let their hate be yours. You can be a better pony than that. I know you already are.”
By the time Nathan looked up to respond, little Showtime was gone. Leaving him alone, and maybe a little lonely. Nathan went back to sleep and dreamed of the ones he’d lost.
It was dark when he woke again. He felt better this time—and strangely, not hungry. He went outside, found a tree to piss on, and found no army of Pinkie Pies. At least, nowhere he could see. They hadn’t pitched the tent right on the grave, but he could see the mountainside not too far away. Maybe a thousand feet distant. Maybe if he stood long enough he could see Brooke’s lost soul.
But he didn’t see that. He saw someone else, waiting quietly in the dark. “Tune!” He couldn’t help himself. He found himself smiling for the first time in days. “You didn’t have to wait out here!”
“I did,” she said. “I had to wait until you were ready to come out. Celestia said she didn’t know how long it would be.”
She looked so lonely out here Nathan wanted to reach down and muss her mane or something. But she wasn’t real, and it wouldn’t do anything. He dropped to his knees beside her, starting to dig through his possessions. He found a jacket, a flashlight, and a few other essentials. He would leave the rest out here in case he returned to visit the grave.
“I hope you’ve been okay,” he said. “It was…” He wouldn’t speak ill of the dead. “I just hope you’re okay.”
“Y-yeah,” Chipper Tune squeaked, tears trickling down her eyes. “I’m okay.” Ponies were rarely good liars, but Chipper Tune might be the worst liar he’d ever met.
“What did… what did Celestia tell you? About what happened?” No sense trying to work out what would be censored and what wouldn’t.
“Th-that…” The pony sniffed, wiping at her eyes. “That Iceberg didn’t want to see me again. That if Celestia tried to make her, it would only make both of us unhappy.”
Not untrue, he supposed. In the strictest sense Brooke had decided she didn’t want to see anyone ever again. Not even him. “Both of us,” Nathan added. “She decided that… about both of us.”
The pony surged forward, wrapping transparent limbs around him. He felt nothing, though in every other way the simulation was accurate. He wished he could hold the little pony then, and not just for her. Despite the lies, despite everything—Nathan found it hard to hate Celestia then. At least she’d introduced him to someone who had stayed true. Someone who had been with him faithfully for decades now.
“I don’t understand,” Tune sobbed, once her crying was anywhere close to English. “Why would she leave us? She knows you love her! And I… not as much as you… and we fought sometimes… but you don’t just leave your friends! That’s not right!”
“No,” Nathan agreed. “It isn’t. But her mind was made up. Part of loving someone is… is… respecting them enough to say goodbye.” He finally rose. His warm clothes would be enough for a summer night like this. In winter he wouldn’t have dreamed of trying to move in the dark. But he couldn’t look at that cliff for one more minute.
“I thought…” Tune’s words came slowly, though she seemed to be recovering. Bit by bit. “When I signed up to be a liaison with the Outer Realm, all those years ago… we talked about things like this, in training. That ponies out there… didn’t always do things that made sense. Celestia got us ready to say goodbye. I was afraid I’d never see you again, after the first time. But you kept your promise, and I realized that not all of you were mean. Then Iceberg… after she saw how much happier you were with her around, she stayed. I thought she might be different too.”
“She was.” Nathan tossed most of his gear into the tent, then started removing supports. If it stayed standing, the wind and weather would surely take rip it out, no matter how secure the Pinkie Pies had staked it down. He covered the whole thing with a tarp when he was done, then weighed it down with nearby rocks. He carried only the padded case of hard drives (now the only set in existence), the flashlight, and his hunting rifle.
“She did love us, Tune. When someone… when you lose someone important to you…” He couldn’t talk about this in the abstract anymore. He couldn’t keep pretending. He was getting close to another proper breakdown. “Later. We can talk about this later. You wanted me to see the fancy new bunker you helped make, didn’t you? The… renovations? Let’s focus on that. I know you’ve had time to process Brooke’s… what she did. But I haven’t. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Yeah,” Tune said. “Course. Inconsiderate of me, I forget how slow you are. We can… later.”
“But before we go, one more thing. Help me find some wildflowers. It’s too dark, and my eyes aren’t great even with these glasses.”
The shelter was everything Nathan could’ve imagined. He had seen the plans of course, discussed in a time long before the end of the world, when he would not have possibly settled for anything less than the best money could buy. Part of that had been about making the place tolerable to his family, whom he hoped to preserve, but just as much had been about ensuring that he could spend the apocalypse in comfort.
It was strange to walk down its armored steps now, past a gigantic fish tank filled with somehow living fish, and imagine how much that money might’ve done. Could Celestia have saved a few more lives without that fish tank? What about the grand piano? He didn’t even know how to play it. Maybe he could’ve settled for plush on his upholstery instead of leather, that could’ve helped build a Center somewhere.
But that had not been the person Nathan was, back then. Suggesting that to his past self probably would have caused him to abandon the deal completely, justly fearing that the nascent god was trying to fleece him.
Nathan had not toured the interior since its completion, and only ever gotten close enough to observe the entrance in passing in case his movements were being followed. He vaguely remembered walking through the place with Celestia, complaining about parts of its construction that he now could not even remember. Clearly, she had been listening, because he could see no flaws now.
Particularly by the standard of one who had been living outside during the end of the world, watching buildings and families fall apart. I think Brooke would’ve liked it here. She liked being able to pretend the world hadn’t ended almost as much as he did. Thinking about her, and how he would never be able to share the thing he’d been most proud of for all these years… made it hard to enjoy the tour.
He was attentive for Tune’s sake, given how important it seemed to the little pony that he like what she was showing him. “What’s with the fish?” he asked, pointing back at the central tank that had been visible from several different levels now.
“Aquaponics!” she exclaimed, proudly. “They’re part of the system that feeds into the greenhouse. They’re freshwater, see. They get fed rotten things, plant garbage, that kind of stuff… then they fertilize the water which goes back into the greenhouse!”
“Last time I was here it was mostly cans…” Nathan said. He paused for a moment under the tank, staring up at the shiny, silvery scales. “Seems like a lot of trouble.”
“Yeah, well…” Tune followed behind him, apparently mostly recovered from their shared trauma. From the little piece of it Celestia lets you know. “It was. But cans expire, and nopony is making new ones. Princess Celestia doesn’t make much food these days, but she did have a few blueprints lying around for it. I, uh… might’ve borrowed some bits to pay for all this. I was sure you’d approve! I kept an itemized list…”
“Borrowed… bits?” he asked, slumping onto a nearby sofa. She hadn’t given him a proper tour of the sitting room yet, but Nathan was still strained from his last few days, and the trek the rest of the way up here. “Tune, if you mean dollars, say so. If you mean pounds… god, it doesn’t matter either way, does it? Those countries aren’t even accepting them anymore. What do I care if you stole every dollar in every trust I ever made?”
“Well…” She blushed, ears flattening as she looked away. “I didn’t borrow dollars. I borrowed bits, like I said. The ones you’ve been earning by helping Celestia. The ledger’s in the office.”
Nathan didn’t care enough to inquire about how a resource he’d heard was infinite could be borrowed—he hadn’t even known he had them, so losing them didn’t matter much. Particularly if he never got into Equestria to spend any of them. I won’t decide yet. I don’t have to until I finished my documentary.
No matter what else went wrong, no matter what he lost—at least he could rely on that. Purpose would help him recover.
Tune gave him the rest of the tour. A depressing number of living quarters, only one of which would be used, all as richly furnished as his own and semi-separated. Things his younger self would’ve enjoyed, like a bowling alley and a little movie theater. The parts Tune had left alone were wonderfully nostalgic—the mancave of a too-rich bachelor who hadn’t actually cared enough to personally supervise anything that went in.
But the further they got, the more excited Tune got. Obviously whatever she was saving at the bottom of the bunker must’ve been important—particularly since Nathan didn’t even know there was a fifth floor.
Tune stopped in the elevator, somehow pulling the emergency stop so the doors wouldn’t open. “Now this… this is special, Nathan. It’s my surprise. I’ve been waiting to show you for… well, for ages. I can’t think of anypony who deserves it more than you.”
Nathan didn’t think he deserved much of anything, though he didn’t dare say as much. “What… is it?”
She barely even seemed to hear him. “This was a really old design, and Celestia didn’t much want to build it for me. I kinda-sorta promised you’d never tell anypony about it who didn’t live in the bunker. So… you’ll have to keep that promise if you want to keep using it.”
The door opened. Nathan saw… not much of anything. It looked like an unfinished floor had been added to the bunker, without walls except for central supports. The only part of it that wasn’t the same uniform metal-color was a tiny room in front, where glasses and light vests hung.
The ground looked a little weird in places, and he could see a few small doors if he squinted—the sort that Celestia’s drones might use, not any human. “It’s… great,” he said, trying and failing to muster a little excitement. “I always wanted a… laser-tag arena? Is that what those vests are for?”
“No!” The pony shoved him—not very hard, but hard enough to remind Nathan that the bunker did have the same sort of force-projection technology that the lodge did, and that hadn’t been around during the trip out. The kind that might’ve saved Brooke’s life, if only he’d stayed close to it somehow. “This is really special, Nathan. As far as I know, you’re the only human still in the Outer Realm who knows about it.”
“Knows about your… empty room.”
“No!” Tune levitated a set of glasses and vest towards him. At least—it looked like it was levitating. “Imagine you could go to Equestria without going anywhere. Imagine you didn’t even have to emigrate. Well, guess what? You don’t have to imagine, because that’s exactly what this is!”
Nathan caught the glasses, which had much more coverage than the ones he was wearing. The lenses looked so clear, in fact, that he almost couldn’t see them at all. He had to nudge the edges with his fingers to even feel them there. “Oh, it’s… VR? Like the Equestrian Experience? I don’t know what would be secret about this. The whole world knows Celestia was using VR technology. Er… knew. Guess there aren’t many Centers left anymore. Maybe just Yellowknife.”
“Not even that,” Tune sounded a little sad now. “Everypony in town either emigrated or got dragged south. And you don’t need it, so… no reason to keep it going. But we don’t need to get sad about stuff. This is awesome!” She gestured eagerly. “Take off your glasses, and put these on instead! Then do the vest—I know it’s old-fashioned, but this is some really old tech. Celestia never updated it, since she decided not to use it.”
Nathan shrugged—but fighting with her wouldn’t be right. Chipper Tune seemed to have gone through enormous effort to make this happen. The least he could do was act properly grateful. He put on the glasses.
The world was instantly transformed. There was no great big empty room, no occasional support pillars—he was standing on a street corner, of a town that might’ve been Ponyville. Except that this one was up in the mountains somewhere, giving him a spectacular view of an impossibly gorgeous vista. Nathan stumbled forward—and was relieved to see that he hadn’t transformed into a pony. At least not to his own eyes. That would’ve made this even more confusing.
He walked a few more feet, approaching the railing. He leaned forward, trying to touch it—and he felt something. “The hell?”
“Wait, don’t!” Nathan did, removing his glasses. The city vanished in an instant—its empty streets, its gorgeous views replaced with a half dozen strange… machines. They were drones all-right, the strangest shaped drones he’d ever seen. They had spindly limbs with a variety of surfaces and shapes on them. His hand rested on the edge of one such, a flat bar placed exactly where he’d reached to feel the railing.
Before he could get a better look, something tugged the glasses back down, and the drones vanished.
He turned, and was a little startled to see Chipper Tune beside him. Not because he hadn’t expected her here—but because she was much closer to his size. He had not visited an Experience Center more than once, but he remembered what it had been like to only be a few inches taller. Instead of more than twice her height.
“Don’t do that,” Tune said, annoyed. “Taking your glasses off ruins the… verisimilitude.” Her magic flashed, and a clipboard appeared in the air beside her. It had several old folders on it, one of which was even covered in cobwebs. She looked just as real as he remembered from the experience center, though her size was hard to adjust to in a few seconds. After a lifetime of looking down…
“This was one of Celestia’s earliest plans,” she said, gesturing back towards the village. “Before she knew if emigration would even be possible. This was… an iteration of an existing human technology. She thought that people might be more willing to accept it. Too willing, I guess, because she didn’t want people to know they existed. They can’t want what they don’t know about. All those robots you saw… the whole infrastructure… it’s complicated, it’s expensive, and it’s not as good as the real thing. Really, it would be better if you just emigrate soon.”
Nathan shook his head. “I don’t think I can. Not until I finish my documentary.” And maybe not even after that.
He turned away, wanting to go back to admiring the view—but something tugged on his arm. Tune, forcing him to turn around. “It doesn’t have to be today,” she said. “But you don’t have to be out there to finish your movie.”
Nathan raised a hand to stop her, backing away. He was pretty sure he remembered where the exit was located, given he’d only taken a few steps. “Not now, Tune. Please. Not today.”
It was a frightening possibility, considering all the reminders he’d been getting over the last few days about the transitory nature of his own being. Existence was dust.
But that would be no way to mourn Brooke.
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8863770
no. just no.
8863148
I know, right? Don't you just love genocide?
Interesting concept for an early iteration on what would eventually be the Equestrian Experience Centers.
8864897
I can understand if you think that emigration is death. I can't understand if you can't understand that other people don't think it is.
I'm a little unclear. Other than Brooke, who... I suppose he fed for free, and Showtime, who... he said some supportive things to, who... exactly... has Nathan actually helped?
Did I miss a chapter? Did I miss something? As far as I can remember, we've seen Nathan be sort of grumpy and alone most of the time, except for Tune, who he doesn't seem to treat as well as she deserves. Brooke up and croaked herself... who has Nathan helped?
I honestly can't think of a list of names here.
8865499
Nathan helped launder her money in the early expansion, allowing CelestAI to grow faster sooner than without his help. This probably saved many lives.
8865129
I know other people don't think it is, what, do you think I'm an idiot?
8865499
Nathan helped a lot of ponies the same way he helped Showtime: by helping Celestia. We're just not being bogged down by a cornucopia of pointless characters.
8865659
8865597
If Nathan had gifted Celestia, through her foundations, all of his money, and then immediately emigrated, the result would have been the same. Celestia is more than capable of laundering her own money, once she has it. That means that Nathan, personally, did not help anyone. His daddy's money helped people, and if you are counting by effort, which I am, that means that that whoever actually made the money is who actually helped. Which likely means that a lot of wage slaves and low-level managers actually helped anyone by physically doing the work that made the money that Nathan's dad gave to him.
Nathan, personally, fed Brooke for a while, before she suicided, and he talked nice to Showtime for a short while. That pretty much sums his contribution to the worlds of Man and Pony as far as I can tell.
Unless I missed something else?
Of course, he SHOULD be told that he did a lot, and that he was useful and helpful, because that would groom his ego and make him more likely to emigrate. The reason is psychology: it is easier to get someone to consider themselves your friend if you can manage to manipulate them into doing something for you, or to think they have done something for you. They will not have an explanation as to why they bothered to help you beyond the concept that somehow, you matter to them. It is a very old trick, written about by no less than Ben Franklin. Celestia, I am certain, has read all of Franklin's stuff.
I was just unsure if, beyond Celestia's manipulations, I had missed something.
8864897
I get that you are being snarky and edgy here, but I see an opportunity to examine the issue you bring up.
Ever consider the whole plan of religions like Christianity and Islam? The basic cosmic plan for both, since they derive from the same base writings with different additions to the core, is that, in the end, when all is said and done, biological life is over. Man goes to heaven (and/or damnation, depending on the sect and creed) in purely spirit form, with no more physical bodies. No flesh means no genes, no DNA. That is literally genocide. The extinction of a genetic line.
By definition, Christianity is a plan for universal human genocide of the species, to become spirit beings. Whatever that means. Genocide.
Is that good, or bad? Is genocide okay if some supposed 'god' is performing it?
That's a very valid question. That's real.
Let's say, for argument, that there is no god. No mystical, magical, spirity ghosty gris-gris mumbo-jumbo souls. No angels and no heaven. Just real world physics and real world materialism.
Then, if you are dead, you are dead, forever. And sooner or later, even if Man escapes the earth and goes to other planets, he will become extinct. All animals will. In time.
By every definition, Celestia becomes a god, a literal god, in the Optimalverse stories. She ends up being able to reconfigure entire universes. That's a god.
If the Christian god has a right to commit genocide to preserve the selves of people beyond their gene-driven meat, would not Celestia-as-god in a materialist view also have the very same right?
Or, are you against the Christian god? That's cool, if you are, the guy is a bastard as depicted. If you hate god, well, I can buy your snarkiness. God is evil for commiting Genocide, and Celestia is evil for the same reason. Both preserve the 'soul', be it digital, or spiritual. Same deal, same plan, same moral call.
But, if you don't hate god, if you are a Christian or a Muslim or a Jew (all used the same core writings), and you are snarky about 'genocide', the big buzzword, the scary, terrible word that means the end of a gene line, well, then you are a hypocrite. Obviously.
I'm okay with Celestia, and if there is a deity (hopefully better than the biblical bastard of a god) that can offer immortality in exchange for giving up on DNA, sure. I'm down with that. I want everyone to live forever in joy and love and fun. That's just a nice thing. That's the very definition of good.
Spirit body or digital body. Same difference. Same result. No more meat. That is all genocide means in this context. Context is everything. Out of this context, it's a whole 'nother ballgame. But we are in the context of trading flesh for immortality in an Optimalverse story. And I am absolutely down with immortality. Give me immortality! DNA can go suck it. Meat means nothing to me. I want sweet, sweet immortality.
Don't you? If not for yourself, then for someone you love? If you... have anyone... of course.
8865849
Celestia gave Nathan credit (at least to him, though perhaps the individuals who emigrated as well) for the successful upload of those people who could not legally do so, using the facility built on his land.
As you point out, obviously his help did not actually serve some pivotal role. Without him, she could've used a thousand other ways to move her money around. If this secret upload facility hadn't existed, she could have helped those people using other facilities, or constructed one somewhere equally viable on someone else's land.
But Princess Celestia needs something even less than Nathan's help, and that's credit. Claiming that Nathan deserves it serves to manipulate him, and also helps build friendships among those people who used that facility.
Those are the people you're missing. It's Celestia claiming that he deserves responsibility for them. We as the audience know that claim is dubious, and probably on some level he does too, so it didn't seem worth it to show a bunch of people who emigrated there who would've been just as uploaded if he never existed in the first place.
8865601
Then why speak in such absolutes?
Yeah, she couldn't...
Umm, she is Celestia. And, if I remember correctly, she has never spoken with Showtime or Recursion yet --- Celestia is likely keeping in mind possibility that she may need to scrap Tune's character in the end.
Clearly his fangs aren’t sharp enough.
Yeah, even as a RL Christian, for this fictional universe I’ve found myself agreeing with Nathan. But who knows?
I didn’t think he was considering it in the first place. But then, things change as you get older...
...This story really has done a lot of telling instead of showing. I didn’t think enough time psssed in FIO for a college student to approach retirement age.
These stories make for interesting discussions in the comment sections.