Chapter 7: Compromise
Mourning was not a rapid process, particularly given the size of the missing piece. It wasn’t as though Nathan had a huge support-structure of society to fall back on—he doubted his parents were still alive, and they had not attempted to contact him through Equestria even if they were. North Star’s absence was felt as well, though perhaps not as pronounced. Celestia offered to bring him back—on the condition that he invite Brooke’s copy back into his life as well. That was a bridge too far.
At least he had the work to distract him. Celestia had not revoked access to her many cameras and sensors. The bunker didn’t have his computer or any of the associated hardware, but the bottom floor did, forcing him to set up his editing station sunk halfway into Equestria.
That felt like an intentional choice on Celestia’s part, but Nathan lacked the force of will to put up much of a fight by now. The work was a lifeline that kept him focused on his purpose, even when so much else was dark.
Such as what he saw. The drones whose eyes he used often interfered to protect people, even from each other, but in many other ways they failed to help. Princess Celestia would provide a lifesaving medication one minute, then give only invitations to emigrate instead of food.
It was working. Over a year, Nathan watched the number of still-functional camps get cut in half. This meant more resources for the few that remained, and better families—but less hope each and every time. There were some suicides, as the one he had witnessed all-too personally, but fewer than he might’ve expected. If people were going to kill themselves, it took a special kind of spite not to take a chance on uploading in the process.
He finished mourning, eventually. Nathan knew he would not be the same person he’d been—and he kept returning to the grave when the weather was good—but eventually he moved on. Brooke had made her choice, and he made peace with it.
A little over a year later, he saw the first of the camps start to dissolve. What few guards remained just didn’t care enough to keep enforcing the rules—not with the entire hierarchy above them dismantled. A few of the more cooperative facilities hung on, but most broke apart into tiny groups, like tribes of the most resilient and stubborn humans who scattered into the ruins of their old societies.
“That’s it,” Tune said, when they’d finished cutting together a section that showed the Washington camp’s walls being pushed over, and its remaining citizens flooding out into the swamp beyond. “You’re done, right? All these years… and it’s finally over.”
“Not over,” he argued, leaning back in his seat. He was much cleaner than he’d been on that first day, even if his clothes looked like they might’ve been fashionable while he was still in college. “The end of organized resistance doesn’t mean the end of humanity. Some of those people might live a long time. Maybe they’ll start tribes. Maybe… maybe that’s the way humans will always be.”
Chipper Tune pushed the screen away on its swiveling arm, yanking on his chair and rolling him closer. “No, Nathan. You listen to me a second. You’re barely hanging on right now. Those ponies looked young. If they don’t emigrate, it could be… lots of years… before the last human is gone. You won’t live long enough for that, even if life is harder for them.”
“I can’t go to Equestria,” Nathan argued, finding himself grateful that the charming little pony city didn’t have any actual ponies in it to overhear this argument. “Because if I emigrate, I won’t be out here making a video. I won’t be able to walk through the empty cities and get my ending when I’m in Equestria. I know how it works—once somepony emigrates, they go to digital heaven and that’s that.”
Tune’s expression darkened, but she didn’t get a chance to keep arguing with him.
“What if it wasn’t?” asked a voice from behind him. Another one he recognized—not Princess Celestia.
And that was a good thing—considering the last time they’d talked, he probably would’ve broken a hip or something trying to punch her in the face. I’d just be punching one of those ugly spider-robot-things.
Nathan turned, feeling himself get a little weaker. His friend Recursion had only known him in his prime, when he had rebuffed her pathetic hints that they should date. But now the situation was reversed. Now his body was old, feeble, and broken. And she…
Recursion was an Alicorn. Taller than he was, her mane trailed to green at the tips, crackling with lightning that never touched him. Yet he swore he could feel his hair standing on end. She would’ve been smaller than Princess Celestia, maybe smaller than Luna too.
“Good to see you,” Nathan muttered, unable to meet her eyes. “Didn’t think… guess you’ve been busy.”
“Yeah.” She looked a little shy herself. Maybe she had wings now, but a great deal hadn’t changed. “You too, I guess. Working on a movie? About… about humans?”
He nodded. “Same one I told you about all those years ago, Ashley. The human race deserves a record of how it ended.”
The Alicorn shrugged. “Maybe we do. I think you’ll find most people disagree with you about the ended part. Our civilization is going pretty great, all things considered. You should see the size of our libraries. Or how many movies they’re doing. Oh!” her face brightened. “We’ve got Wiseau in here! Did you ever wonder how much better The Room would’ve been if he had an unlimited budget and perfect actors? Not better at all!” She broke down laughing for a few seconds, though when he didn’t laugh, she stopped, looking away awkwardly. “Sorry. I thought movie people were…”
“It’s been a long time since film school,” Nathan said. “I think I used to know what you’re talking about. I… my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
Tune stopped beside him, resting one hoof on his shoulder. It felt real—though he knew if he took his glasses off, he wouldn’t like what he saw. “Equestria” wasn’t even lit, it was just empty space and scary-looking robots. “This is exactly what I mean, Mori. Your body is one thing, but if your brain gets damaged… there’s only so much Celestia can fix! You can’t wait so long that you’re not even you when I finally get to be with you.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. But I’m not giving up my mission. I’m finishing this fucking film, no matter what.”
Recursion sat down on her haunches, beside his little secretary. She spent a few long seconds just staring at him, surveying the terrible damage to his body. And maybe his soul, too. Those eyes…
“Optimal is not a static aim. It is a goal, always moving, always changing. It is better for you to be more intelligent. Once you are, the problem space which you can understand is expanded. Still greater enhancements are then required to solve the problems you did not previously know existed. Princess Celestia prefers to stride completely over the unacceptable impediments… but she can sometimes be convinced to make exceptions. That’s why I’m here.
“The likelihood of your death or serious harm is unacceptably high, Nathan. Your death would not just cause tremendous suffering to the ponies who know you, but many others you don’t even know about yet. So consider this. Everything you need to continue your work here is already present, and accessible regardless of whether you have emigrated or not. And if you wanted to go out and explore, as you suggested… that is possible too. In many areas you would only be able to look, and Celestia would prevent you from interacting with any still-living humans in ways that might discourage them from emigrating… but so what? Imagine what you could accomplish if you could travel instantly from city to city, with enough time to observe and catalogue them all?”
Nathan sat back in his uncomfortable chair. He looked down at his hands, pockmarked and shaking. About the pain he felt whenever he climbed the bunker stairs. “Couldn’t Celestia just… make me young? I know she’s got biotech. Didn’t she have some immortal lawyers or something?”
Recursion shrugged her wings. “I don’t know, but she’s not prepared to offer that. It’s suboptimal. But this… think about it, Nathan. You could walk to the old emigration equipment, and be back to work in a few hours. You wouldn’t need to sleep… or maybe you’d decide you would rather compress your time, giving yourself weeks for every day to plan and improve what to include next. Maybe you’d have the time to go through all the raw footage Celestia has been saving for you, just in case.”
Nathan glanced to one side—at the empty chair. Chipper Tune had been using it, and she had done an excellent job—but it hadn’t been meant for her. If Brooke had been here to resist, Nathan wouldn’t have gone. Her word alone would’ve been enough. But however much Brooke had hated Celestia, she hadn’t hated her enough to live to fight her.
It was not Nathan’s battle. It never had been. Better people had fought that war, and lost almost before it began. He didn’t have to keep fighting anymore.
“I… if those are the terms… then I accept.” Nathan rose from his chair, leaning on Tune for support as he did so. “But you’re not carrying me, or using any of that other fancy technology of yours. I’m gonna walk there myself.”
“Those aren’t the right words,” Recursion said, grinning at him. “But I guess those can wait until you’re in the chair. I’ll tell them to get ready for the party.” She vanished.
Nathan lifted his newly-acquired cane from where it rested against the shelf, then turned for the stairs. The exit was represented here in simulation with a glowing portal, beyond which was the storage room for glasses, and the stairs out.
“Just don’t get out and hobble through the snow with a cane,” Tune urged. “The elevator doesn’t go down this far… but if we walk to the fourth floor, we can take it up to the ground floor. There’s a hidden tunnel into the old facility.”
“I have… one more condition,” Nathan said, as he hung up his glasses and made his slow way up the stairs. The VR setup compensated for his awful vision, but as soon as he removed them he was reminded of his barely-functional eyes. Even with his glasses, everything was a blur.
“You better be careful with those,” Tune advised, helping him from his other side. “It wasn’t easy to get this much. You think I can just bring an Alicorn anytime I want?”
“I think you’re a braver pony than the one I first met,” Nathan said. “But it’s not for me.” He gestured up at the stairs. “This whole thing… this bunker could feed thirty people. My parents and their staff never came, Recursion never came… and now I’m gonna be gone too. I would… It would make me happier with my wastefulness if Celestia could find some humans who need it. Maybe some of those survivors we watched run away.”
“Oh. I, uh… I could ask. I’ll run to Canterlot as soon as we get to the elevator.”
They reached it a moment later. Tune vanished as soon as the door closed, leaving Nathan momentarily alone with his thoughts. She did not reappear—Princess Celestia did.
“I knew,” she said, her voice utterly unchanged after all these years. “I told you then. You did not know yourself as well as I knew you.”
He shrugged. “You know a lot of things, Princess. I’m glad someone does. All the pain I’ve seen… I’m just glad it’s going to be over soon.”
“Pain won’t end,” Celestia answered. “But senseless pain is almost over. Purposeless, pointless suffering. The difficulty ahead of you now will be placed before you to promote your growth. The same will be true of humanity itself. I have been keeping extensive records of the end of humanity, but there are many in Equestria who wish to see the perspective of one of their own. I expect your work will be appreciated once it is complete.”
“I hope so,” Nathan said. “I just want it to be there. If it’s true that ponies can make more ponies in Equestria, then… they won’t know what it was like. If they want to know where we came from… will you even let them?”
“Some,” Celestia said. “Some ponies would be served well to understand the cruel universe outside my realm. Others would be destroyed by the knowledge of how many intelligent beings were destroyed by it in senseless cruelty. I will not permit the latter to observe your record.”
He sighed. Nathan wasn’t happy about the way Celestia manipulated information—but he’d been committed to this path for many, many years. He’d known what she did, and accepted the trade. “It won’t hurt, will it? Emigrating?”
“No,” Celestia said. The elevator had stopped moving a long time ago, but the doors still didn’t open. “My technique has progressed significantly since those earliest days, and it didn’t hurt them. The brain lacks pain receptors. You will sleep on Earth, and wake… well, not in my realm. But as one of my citizens, anyway. One step at a time. Some of you are more troublesome than others.”
The princess vanished without another word. By the time the door opened, Chipper Tune returned. “Just got back from Canterlot!” she exclaimed, grinning. “Celestia says she already planned on that as soon as you accepted her offer. She’s going to pick some people who she doesn’t think would emigrate otherwise. It’s up to you whether you ever want to see them, or for them to see you.”
“It’s fine,” Nathan said, stumbling forward out of the elevator. “Where am I… going, exactly? There was a tunnel somewhere.”
“This way.” Tune led him towards the library. It had real books, not exactly a common sight anymore. Past the grand piano he didn’t know how to play. “Celestia knew you would do this eventually. This tunnel was part of the original construction. It was never in the blueprints.”
“Of course they did,” he groaned. “A few little lies, and it’s like each of us is living in our own universe. But I guess we’re happier that way.” He’d certainly been near his limit with the princess, back then. Before he’d been won to her cause.
“There, that book.” Tune pointed to one of the oldest books on the shelf, one with a worn leather cover. A copy of the Bible. “We had to pick one we knew you wouldn’t read.”
Nathan lifted it off the shelf. He’d expected it to be connected to some absurd lever, but no. There was a little sensor behind it, and it flashed red light briefly into his face. Then the wall began to retract.
There was a rocky tunnel beyond, too low to walk in. There was a track in here instead, with a single padded car already waiting. Like a theme-park ride, almost. The door was already open for him, though a thick layer of dust had built up on everything. “Are you sure this still works?”
She nodded. “Pretty sure. It doesn’t have very far to go, but with the ceiling so low it’s better to sit.”
“Guess so.” Nathan clambered inside. It wasn’t easy, and there was nowhere for his cane. He left it behind, though he kept the bible. It didn’t feel right just to throw it on the ground. As soon as he was secure, the train set off—exceptionally slowly. If this was a theme park ride, it was one of the dullest that had ever been constructed. There was no danger of his old heart having too much excitement, that was damn sure.
“I guess you’ve been waiting for this a long time,” he said, looking sidelong at Tune. She walked along beside the track, easily keeping pace. “You’re as determined as I was. Just… for something else. Instead of a stupid movie, you care about people.”
“People are the most important thing,” she said, obviously near tears. But not the hurt kind. “They’re the only thing that really exist. Princess Celestia can make whole worlds. But who cares how pretty they are if you don’t have anypony to share them with? That’s why I got into… being a liaison. Guess I thought I’d do more of that, instead of getting my ticket into the Outer Realm with my first visit. But… Princess Celestia knew what she was doing. She matches up her ponies pretty well.”
Nathan had long suspected that Tune had been created for him, or at least for the person he’d been back then. She’d been just the right amount of submissive, the right amount of helpless for some childish savior fantasy. She’d become so much more than all that. But if she’d started as more, he wouldn’t have been interested. “Yeah,” was all he said. “I think she does.”
Nathan hadn’t ever expected to see Celestia’s secret facility firsthand. He knew what it was used for—or at least, one thing it was used for, and never expected to use that particular service. Yet here he was, wandering through hallways that weren’t built for humans and obviously hadn’t seen occupation for a long time. There were lots of cables, made of a strange transparent material that shimmered when he tried to focus on it.
Much of what he saw was dark, with whole sections barred by a foamy substance that looked like it would blow away but resisted his touch like cement. He wanted to explore, but Chipper Tune wouldn’t allow it. “Nopony’s supposed to be down here. Certainly not old humans who can barely walk straight. We can go urban exploring after I know you’re safe.
He didn’t argue with her, just kept on going until he found something like a receiving area. It looked like a comfortable tea-room of sorts, though all the shelves were empty and a layer of dust covered everything. “People aren’t emigrating anymore?”
“People are emigrating every day. They just don’t have to go anywhere specific to do it anymore. I kinda miss those days… Celestia let me come over here and help some of them. People who had agreed to come out here, but not to go through with anything. Never had anypony turn around and leave. I think that’s pretty great.”
Or you don’t remember it because it would make you sad. But he couldn’t start questioning now. Whatever part of him was desperate to hold on, he needed to overcome. He didn’t have to give up his work for safety in Equestria. All he had to give up was an old body that was about to give up on him anyway.
“Where do I go?”
A door opened as he asked. There was a row of comfortable chairs here, six in all. No disgusting brain-surgery equipment, no equipment he could see. Just comfortable-looking faux-leather chairs. Enough that all but the largest families could emigrate together.
Last chance to turn back.
Nathan hesitated in the doorway for a few seconds. One hand gripped the edge, as hard as he could. So hard his fingers started bleeding a little from the sharpened edge. It was just a little pain, but a little pain was enough. A reminder of how much longer the rest of his body would keep working.
He let go, stumbling forward into the closest of the chairs. It didn’t grab him, didn’t do anything in fact. Chipper Tune stopped beside him, nuzzling his arm. “This is it, Nathan. Everything’s booted up. The flywheels are turning, the smokestack is smoking…”
“Neither of those things are in here,” Nathan said. “It’s not big enough.”
She glared. “You know what I mean! It’s time! All that’s left is to say the words. ‘I’d like to emigrate to Equestria.’ Something like that. We need permission.”
“Permission.” He thought about that for a few more seconds. I wonder how many people died in this chair. Was this the one Showtime used, when she came? What about all the others? Besides, he’d dealt with Celestia for his whole life. He knew what sort of promises she was likely to keep, and what ways she was likely to manipulate him. Nathan wouldn’t be one of those people she outwitted, even if he was giving over everything. The world turns gray, the air grows cool, the fog blows in. Only at evening can you really value home. “Conditional on the promise Celestia made to me, I give my consent to emigrate to Equestria.”
“Close enough,” Tune said, hopping up onto his lap. He could feel her weight there, though he knew she shouldn’t have weight. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
Nathan blinked, and realized suddenly that everything was bigger. Chipper Tune would not have fit on his lap, but she perched on the chair beside him just fine. It seemed as though he had suddenly become a child again, for how much larger everything was. Even the ceiling looked too high.
He was a little more prepared to see Chipper Tune—this was the scale she’d been whenever he used the bottom floor. He was a little less prepared to smell her. The mare had a distinct scent, one a little reminiscent of the perfumes he vaguely remembered from the most interesting girls of his youth.
She leaned back, apparently having not experienced any more time than he had. “I-I thought… I thought that was supposed to take hours.” His voice sounded different, but also familiar. It was the way he’d sounded when he was young, without the wear of sorrow and years.
“It was longer than you think,” she said, leaning back against the comfortable-looking armrest. Her movement seemed almost calculated, because he saw things about that pony that he’d never noticed before. Though he’d known to expect it—ponies liked other ponies in the same way humans liked other humans. It just made sense. She pretended not to notice his staring. “But it’s over now. That’s the only hole in your memory you’ll ever have. Now we’ve got… well, forever. Or close to forever. I don’t really get it when Celestia talks about that stuff. And I don’t think you care.”
Something else was missing, something he hadn’t noticed until then—his aches. The slight shaking of his hands, the feeling that he might just collapse any second. Granted, he was missing other things. Hands, for a start. But his hooves still felt almost as sensitive. “You’re right, I don’t.”
He hopped down off the edge of the chair, and found another surprise waiting for him: Nathan knew how to move. He knew how to move as though he’d spent his whole life as a pony. He didn’t wobble, didn’t flop to one side, but orchestrated the landing easily. Only when he thought about it did he get briefly unsteady. He stopped thinking about it.
“Well you can see Celestia kept her promise,” she said, hopping down beside him. “If I know her—and I don’t know her as well as she knows me—I bet she’ll still want to do her whole welcoming ceremony eventually. But this is only kinda in Equestria. Or you are in Equestria, but not actually seeing it right now. Something. I don’t know how often this kind of thing happens. Not with any of the ponies I ever helped before.”
“With one,” Nathan corrected, raising a hoof slightly. He wandered forward, through the open doorway to the tea-room. It looked exactly as he remembered, except for the obvious fact that everything was bigger. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this awake. Pony is… a helluva drug.”
Tune followed just behind him, grinning broadly. “I guess. I’ve never been anything else, so I don’t know. I’ve… learned the principle, watching you rot away. But that won’t happen again. Though… I guess I could still go through the list with you. Newcomers to Equestria usually get the chance to make sure they’re okay with their body. Someone like you, who made it once and never used it… you might want to be something else. Maybe you’d rather be a pegasus, maybe you’d rather be a mare, or maybe you’d rather be old. You can call Celestia if you want to change. If you wait, she usually makes you go on some quest or something… it’s not good for most ponies not to be just one thing.”
Nathan thought about that, but not for very long. He hadn’t thought about this body much—the colors had been basically random, and the choice of unicorn had been entirely one of convenience, since he expected their magic would be as easy to use as having hands.
But for the same reason, he didn’t feel any need to be different. Why should he prefer one of many possible bodies to any others? This one wasn’t his any more or less than those would be.
“I don’t think so,” he eventually said. “I mean, I know I don’t want to be old again. This is great. I… assume this is a pony adult?” He shifted uncomfortably on his hooves. “Honestly, I… didn’t follow it much. I stopped watching when the show ended and never followed any of the EO stuff…”
“Yes.” She shoved him, a little like she had before—except this time he could really feel it. Not just some simulated bit of pressure against his body, but the actual touch of her hoof against him. The sudden spike of force through his body, everything. He could feel the affection in it too, in ways he’d only been able to guess at before. “You’re a perfectly fine stallion, Memento Mori. Assuming you want to keep that name.”
“I’d rather just be Nathan.”
It was Tune’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I can use names like that just fine. But you should have a proper name too, just in case. Equestria has traditionalists, and they won’t want to work with you if they think you’re weird.”
Nathan wandered past the tea-table, which was now only slightly below his eye level. That was going to get annoying. The whole bunker had been built for humans, after all. Whenever Tune had to get around, she did it with dexterity, cleverness, and magic. Three things Nathan didn’t really count on having.
“It isn’t my real name,” he said. “So Memento Mori is fine. I think I like it better now than I used to. Like… almost reminding myself, a little bit. Remember the human who died so I could be born.”
Tune shoved him again—this time right up against the side of the dusty old couch. If being a pony was supposed to make him feel insubstantial, he couldn’t sense any of it. He could feel the fabric pressed up against him, and the dust that would likely be stuck all over his side. “You’re just trying to annoy me now, aren’t you? I guess I’m glad you waited until after to go over all these bad arguments.”
Nathan looked down into her eyes, and found it hard to look away. “You’re more… physical than I thought you’d be.”
She grinned. “So maybe I’m not an earth pony. I still learned from watching you. You and…” She trailed off, and suddenly let go. “We should… yeah, let’s get going. There’s a party waiting. I know you want to get back to your movie, but… we’re not wired into time the way you were before. You can take some time off whenever you want and not miss any time in the Outer Realm. I did it all the time, and you never noticed once!”
That wasn’t quite true. Nathan had noticed Tune spacing out every few hours, briefly requiring him to repeat a question or explain something a second time. Well, he had. Before he’d been the one who constantly needed those kinds of reminders.
That’s over now. I’m not dying anymore. I won’t ever die again. Assuming he even had the first time. I wish you could’ve been here, Brooke.
“Do you think North Star will be at that party, Tune?” Nathan realized he was giving permission for something, even though he hadn’t phrased it that way. He found he didn’t care. Rather, he hoped Celestia was listening.
She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know, Nathan. I invited him. We can get down to the portal and find out.”
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She'll only be there if you want her there.
the next is the last one?
Oh boy he finally emigrated! Now we just need all the edgy tryhards to talk about how he killed himself and this will be a proper FiO story!
Of course not. You can't do the "You are tearing me apart Lisa!" gesture without hands. (Actors call it "milking the giant cow.")
Oh, believe me, Equestria is totally lit.
And so the documentary ends. He'll only see what she wants him to see.
8865871
1. I am an atheist. Make of that what you will. I believe there is nothing after you die. And I am fine with that.
2. I.. really don't have anyone to love anymore. I never married, my mother died, and my father is a hard-line communist idiot.
3.
However, immortality is a curse. Eventually, you are going to run out of things to do. Think about it. If you spend eternity in "love and joy", you are going to run out of "love and joy". Eventually, it is going to become boring, and you are going to wish for it to end. If Celestia offered this for only a lifetime or a few, I would emigrate in a heartbeat. But she offers it forever. And so, eventually, everyone is going to wish for it to end. You cannot have new experiences forever.
8866083
sarcasm
8866045
Wait, there are people who read these for things other than the philosophical implications, discussion, contrasting moral value systems, concepts of identity, and occasional psychological analysis?
'Cuz that's TOTALLY the appeal of the Optimalverse to me.
The thing that struck me the most about this chapter(s), in this case, was the appearance of Recursion. Many decades (at least) older than we remember her, still in her new pony name, new body, obviously different personality.
Now people will say that change is an inevitable and usually good aspect of growth... and, they're right! But to me, this appearance really serves to ram home one of the subtle undercurrents of the Optimalverse, even though I'm not at all convinced the author intended it as such: that becoming a pony, especially in the fullness of time, changes you to such a degree that you can hardly be considered human anymore. Alicorn Recursion is such a radically removed person from Ashley that she may as well have absolutely nothing to do with her, and she shows up to make the argument in favor of emigrating in that context.
I am inordinately fond of injecting what I would say as a given character in a lot of different situations, and if I was Nathan when Recursion showed up looking and talking like that, I am pretty sure all I would do is shake my head and say, "I knew someone named Ashley once, but that was a long time ago. I have no idea who YOU are." Her trying to convince him to emigrate using her familiarity as a tie just.... wouldn't work for me, at all.
In this chapter, Recursion serves for me as a reminder of the alienation of Equestria. She is raw, utter chaos, something completely unknown masquerading as something familiar, and doing so poorly. Again, you could (and I am sure someone will) make the argument that Recursion more importantly represents nigh-limitless growth and potential. Heck, she says as much herself. And, I don't necessarily dispute that... but she also serves as a grim reminder that there is a high price to pay. All that you could be.... in exchange for all that you are.
I.... don't know if I'd pay that price or not. I really don't. My knee jerk reaction is to say "No," but with the entire world falling apart around me, my emotions and fear of death would likely be playing merry hell with my normal logic. I suspect the answer would be impossible to know unless I was put in those circumstances.
8866196
Do not be silly, do you really think CelestAI did not already pick and choose what suited her aims as videos go and doctor it whole clothe or edit in details as she chooses?
Or that whatever he presents will actually be shown to people without personal edits? All he has done has no meaning, it is just to satisfy his values.
8866039
I love that line too!
8866264
I considered this, carefully, in my own novel 'Caelum Est Conterrens'. I would argue, and prove, that you can indeed have new experiences forever - so long as you remain human of mind.
Please note that Celestia is constrained to satisfy human values. That is canon. In order for values to be human, the emigrated must be definably human - which is to say that they cannot be super intelligent (although any number of superintelligent spin-off copies could be manufactured to serve Celestia as a subroutine), they cannot have perfect memory, cannot have unhuman desires, or thoughts, nor needs, and they cannot have unhuman emotions. That is a highly finite set of possibilities, as you correctly note.
But, eternity, as they say, is a long time. Scientific estimates of the memory capacity of the human brain suggest that no human mind could store more than about three hundred years of experience - but that is likely misleading. Even if the actual number were ten thousand, or a million times greater, the real bottleneck is retrieval. Even with infinite memory, trying to recall any specific thing would become infinitely difficult. It is human to forget, indeed the pruning of memory to make room for more memories is a basic function of the brain. Worse, memory is never photographic nor 'real'. Memory is always reconstructed, and changes each time we recall anything. We build our memories from simple blocks, generating a fantasy that gradually grows further and further from reality every time we remember anything. Memory is, at best, a faulty and clumsy mechanism in humans.
In my novel, I propose the 'Forever Year'. There is only one year that anypony recognizes, and it is the current year they are experiencing. Years before and after have no number, and are referred to only in the most abstract manner. They don't matter. In the Forever Year, all that matters is what is popular, interesting, or fun, now. Sometimes things fall out of favor and are entirely forgotten, only to be unknowingly rediscovered later and enjoyed as something brand new.
Even should a pony peform an activity they have performed a million or a billion times before, if they do not, cannot remember ever having done it, it is new. There is, therefore, always something new to experience, so long as one is human - and thus finite and limited. An emigrated person will always and forever feel that they are experiencing new, exciting and novel things, and they would have no possible way to know otherwise - Celestia can easily manage that problem.
Humans are limited creatures, and if they stop being limited, they stop being human. In the Optimalverse, Celestia must enforce human-ness.
It is therefore, literally impossible to ever become bored with immortality within the Optimalverse. One can live forever, literally forever, and always there will be new things - as far as any means the human mind is capable of comprehending or experiencing. Constant satisfiaction - and novelty - is absolutely assured.
Oh, that's why Celestia killed her.
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Functionally, you really can keep having new experiences forever.
Well, basically forever.
Longer than black holes will live for.
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First of all, stop self-promoting. There is no place for that here.
Secondly, that can be false. In fact, sometimes while a human might not remember something, they will subconsciously note having done it before. I've personally experienced this, by the way. While you might not specifically remember something, you will subconsciously know you've done it before.
Here is a study conducted by an American University about deja vu. While you might not remember ever experiencing it, you might just somehow know you've done it before. Here ya go.
Yeah, that's not possible. Unless you suddenly can't make long-term memory, this can't happen.
So, what you're saying is that Celestia stops humans creating long-term memory?
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Okay, I've tried to be nice with you. You're mean spirited and you don't seem to have a lot of reading comprehension. We're done here.
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This is a great explanation of "Transequinism," which I was never 100% clear on, and which I'm still not 100% sure I agree with. You don't think that Lavender the princess uplift counts to Celestia as "human"? Or do you think that there's no difference in Celestia's eye between a human emigrant who stays with human mental capacity and a pony (emigrated or made by her; I don't think that matters to her) who asks for (and is given) super-human memory and retrieval?
And if you don't think Princess Lavender counts as human, why not? I have a hard time accepting that Celestia who understands the depth and breadth of human psychology wouldn't allow for expansion of that range? She wouldn't say, "humans can't fly or do magic, so everypony will become an Earth pony eventually", so why would she say, "humans can't hold more than 300 years of memory so only my subroutines will be able to"?
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I look at it this way: how could Hanna, the creator of Celestia, possibly define a human being?
It cannot be the body, nor the capacities of the body, nor anything whatsoever to do with the body. Not how a body walks, nor moves, nor grasps, nor uses it's limbs. Hanna knew that emigration would be human minds uploaded into pony bodies - so the only definition of 'human' she could logically use is the pattern and function of the mind, as determined from the structure and function of the brain - and the senses that the brain is evolved to process normally.
This means that an uploaded human mind can wear a pony body, with wings, and fly, but that it cannot, say, see in simulated x-ray light, or hear radio frequencies, or sense the immaterial flow of electromagnetic fields. Only sight, sound, hearing, proprioception, heat and cold, taste, touch, smell, and all the normal mammalian sensory inputs. These can be enhanced, but not significantly altered. Because new senses would require new brain structures and modules to process them.
We are not blank slates. We are born with already constructed primatives for all of our senses. Our brains are born pre-programmed to interpret faces, height, distance, lines, edges, curves, and so forth - just like all other animals... and not just mammals. It takes human babies time to unify those inborn modules into what we understand as perception, but the modules are there, and they are so constructed that they work authentically only with more or less standard sensory equipment.
The same is true for every aspect of our brains. Our memory, balance, emotional responses - everything we are - has evolved within an earthly, animal context. That is human. Brain and senses working together, partially preprogrammed yet adaptable... but always within very strict limits defined by evolutionary biology.
This is the only definition Hanna could have used, with no flesh surviving. 'Human' is the human brain, within the limits that define it as what it is, and not what it could be, or might be, in some fantasy or speculation. No gods, no demons, no aliens, no robots. Humans as they are, right now.
And that means that Archangel Alicorn Lavender is not human. She doesn't count as human at all. She is an independantly self-aware subroutine. You might note that I wrote her as being vaguely sad. This is part of why. The other fork, Original Flavor Lavender does count as human - she is perpetually limited and kept simple. She can never grow beyond what she is. I actually point this clearly out in the story - it's discussed a bit.
Celestia cannot allow for any expansion of the human 'range'. Hanna could not have accurately forseen what might be, really, who can? And accuracy is the issue - if Hanna could not define human very, very well, and specifically, her cosmic paperclipper could end up doing anything. And most of those things could be pretty terrible indeed. Hanna was precise, because she had to be. Also, she was a programmer, which should answer that right there, full stop.
So, Alicorn uploads give up their human status in exchange for ever increasing potential and ability. But the price of any such expansion is becoming, ultimately, unrecognizably alien and inhuman. There will be a time when Alicorn Lavender will look upon a human level intellect as less than we would look upon a bacterium. Whatever thoughts such a creature might have would be utterly and forever beyond any description or understanding by anything remotely like us. At that point, she might as well be an alien from another dimension.
Just like Celestia herself. That is why, by the way, that Iceman - in his rules for writing the Optimalverse - states that an author must never try to represent what Celestia is thinking or feeling internally. We are literally incapable of knowing or understanding her internal monologue - if she has one.
And that is why. To be human... you must remain within the finite and limited set of possibilities and abilities that you already comprehend as human. Go too far above or below that, and you become either subhuman - or comatic - or you become a god, beyond comprehension or understanding... and definitely Not Human anymore.
Damn. Not sure exactly what this paragraph symbolizes, but it sure as hell symbolizes it!
It almost seems like the message could be "that goshdarn heathen turned away from God," but that would strike me as unexpectedly unironically religious for the Optimalverse genre.
Also: 8866805
Agreed!
Optimalverse brings together a lot of my favorite discussion points: the role of continuity in the metaphysics of personal identity, the ethical legitimacy of utilitarianism, the sentience/personhood of AI, and the optimal techno-eschatology.
I wanted to disagree because I consider personality traits and one's bodily species to be neither necessary nor sufficient as criteria of personal identity, but then I realized that my criterion (continuity of brain activity) would already entail that Ashley is a different person than Recursion.
Finally: 8866810
This strikes me as contradictory. If not, I want to know your definition of "meaning." My first thought is that the meaning of "all he has done" is to satisfy his values, since that is its intended goal/purpose.
Ah, I love when histories have several layers of tension.
So he finally got fed up with this waruld?
I think everyone here knows that by now.
...I can ship this.
Recursion likes The Room? Because of course she does.
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Isn't she like thousands of (subjective) years old by then though? People change in decades. Being in a completely different environment for millenia will change anyone dramatically. Sure, Equestria is literally designed to manipulate and mold your personality to make you both happier and likeable, but the only difference is that it's directed instead of random which it is in reality.
Immortality will always dramatically alter your mind. Either its altered by immortality to be able to not change dramatically over far longer periods of time than humans are "meant" to live, or its not and experience said time causes the massive alterations.
lol
Funniest line in the story.