The Shift

by Marky

The Princess

As Kamal shut the maple office door behind him, he locked eyes with Ambièlè. The vice dean reminded Kamal of proper West African public official: as corrupt as a badly-saved computer file. If he was asking for a bribe, though, Kamal had resolved to resist.

"Sit down," Ambièlè said. Kamal obliged.

"As much as I am concerned about the financial stability and advancement of this university, I am equally concerned about its moral integrity. I recently uncovered that Dr. Sow is a transgender woman. I also know you two have been extremely close, and in addition to that... Your conduct just hours ago could be described as effeminate. You were looking at a program aimed towards young girls."

Kamal had known of Aminata's transition as soon as it had begun. He'd settled on a don't ask, don't tell policy, keeping word of it from his tongue and assuming nobody else would develop suspicion.

"This country isn't a victim of Western imperialism. I cannot condone either of these traits in either you or Dr. Sow, so I'm asking you to step down as a postdoctoral researcher and seek a position elsewhere."

"Mr. Gueye---"

"Dr. Bhikha, I don't feel like trying to negotiate with you. I can give you and Dr. Sow a month's worth of severance pay." Ambièlè leaned into the flexible backrest of his rolling chair, which creaked under his bulk. "We are all called upon by God to care deeply for our morality. It was your and your colleague's choice to stray from that path."

Kamal glanced at the contemptible little bobblehead figure on Ambièlè's desk, then back to the administrator himself.

"That's fine."

But how to remove the MHBS from the prying eyes of the military within an appropriate window of time? He'd developed it for therapeutic treatment and career readiness, not to exacerbate the death toll of the separatist conflict in the north.

"I need to take my neural technology with me," Kamal said. Each word fed into the lump in his throat.

"No," Ambièlè murmured, giving a slight smirk and a shake of his head.

A true West African official.

"Mr. Gueye, I'm sorry---"

"What did I just say? I don't feel like trying to negotiate with you!" Ambièlè waved his hand, his voice going gaspy. "I want you out of my office."

Kamal took a second to study Ambièlè's face. A privileged, pimply one. Unused to impact and injury.

Past the open window shades, the capital city of the Republic of Mali sprawled with dense disorder, a granola mix of trees, sand, and beige buildings of modest height. The sunset had set the city afire with an orange glow, searing the underbellies of clouds with coral tones and flooding magma into the open sky.

"I know you have family responsibilities," Ambièlè said more calmly. "You can come back tomorrow to pack up."

Kamal exited the building with a burning chest, his hands in his pockets. After a long drive home, he stepped out into an area that wasn't quite as green or developed as the heart of Bamako. A little more sandy. His postdoc salary easily covered the rent for his flat-roofed home, kilometers away from family.

That night, he never went to sleep. Just lay atop his bedsheets, staring at the texture of the ceiling. He checked his phone: 1:30 AM.

It felt suspicious, slipping into his old Honda in the middle of the night. He absently eyed the city lights dashing across the windows as he drove. Parking close to the Institute of Applied Sciences, he had only one thing in mind: the MHBS.

Fumbling with his keys, he let himself into the vacant hall and immediately delved into his crafty work, ferrying computers, cables, transformers, antennas, neural sensors, and other electronic units from the laboratory and to the backseat of his car. As he tucked a magnetic flux regulator into the back trunk, the cocking of a gun sounded behind him. He froze, his hands clammy against the regulator's cold metal.

"Don't move," a low voice ground out. "I know you have cash."

"It's in my car. Just let me get it."

"Okay. Go slow."

Carefully setting down the regulator, Kamal kept his hands where the mugger could see them, and moved slowly to the driver's seat. Hearing a soft gasp flutter from the criminal, he paused and looked.

The man's pistol was suspended in open air, a few feet in front of him. A rippling film of sunray-like light undulated around the gun, warming a radius of space that Kamal could feel. The pistol itself was directed at the mugger himself, who was backing slowly away.

The work of God!

This confirmed it. A second instance of the impossible meant that the first, in the form of a chrysalis, had probably been real. The chrysalis meant there was some elusive link between the day's supernatural occurrences and the My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic TV series. Life was probably going to get even stranger for the next few days, Kamal thought. Inshallah.

The crackly pang of breaking glass ripped through the night breeze. All the other components of the broadcast system---the radios, the ultrasonic transducers, the neuromagnetic inductors---moved through the ISA's broken windows as if attached to silent, invisible drones, each component blurred in a sparkling bubble of sunlight. Hearing the pistol clatter to the asphalt, Kamal turned around to see that the mugger was gone.

In the man's place was the Burāq, in her true and handsome form: Tall and milk-white, clad in a golden helmet crested with scarlet plumes. Her hooves fit snugly into gleaming gold sabatons, and a golden breastplate protected the mare's chest. On her thigh, a symbol of the sun flashed, blending seamlessly into the fur. She was as if the Greek Pegasus had become a unicorn as well, her horn burning with a sun-gold aura.

Kamal took a step back, watching the electronic instruments of the MHBS being stuffed into his car under the Burāq's supernatural control. Her mane must have been thick, because it flowed down from her helmet and writhed as if it itself were an organism. Perhaps the supernatural sunlight was being dispersed using trace amounts of water in the air, Kamal thought, because it was as if the Burāq's mane and tail were each made of a threaded, sparkling rainbow.

The next few seconds passed in silence, save for the gentle hum of the mare's golden energy as it conveyed the last of the electronic instruments to the Honda.

"What are you doing?" Kamal sputtered.

When the Burāq looked at him, her massive, liquid eyes made her seem sympathetic. Kamal had asked the question to himself, not really expecting a horse to speak, but the Burāq answered.

"You may call me Princess Celestia," she said, her equine maw pronouncing general American English perfectly. Her voice was like milk and honey. "I recognize the unique potential of your innovation, and I thought I would help you to remove it from this property."

Simultaneously stunned at her form and confused by her intervention, Kamal continued. "I don't understand. How are you here? What is it that you want?"

"I want peace for your world," the Burāq---or rather, Princess Celestia---replied. Kamal could've been content for hours just listening to her deep, womanly voice. "I cannot trust that the military of such a country as this will not abuse your neural technology. And the wrong hands, the system has the potential to throw your kind into chaos."

Kamal wondered if he'd been underestimating the ramifications of his research. Could it really have such an impact?

"Are you an agent of God?" Kamal asked.

Celestia shook her head.

"I rule a faraway land called Equestria. In my absence, my sister, Princess Luna, is temporarily covering my responsibilities. I can only remain here for so long before I must return to relieve her."

"Do you... Do you know that you're a cartoon here?"

"I'm well aware of that." Celestia walked closer to Kamal, her gold shoes clinking against the sandy asphalt. "It might seem bizarre, even dreamlike, but the universe is more complicated than your kind could ever grasp."

A pang of skepticism hit Kamal. He'd thought about the idea, too. There probably lay a plethora of cosmic concepts that existed beyond human comprehension. After all, just because an ape couldn't understand calculus didn't mean that there was no such thing as calculus, and humans were only so much smarter than their primitive evolutionary cousins. But it didn't look like Celestia's brain-to-body mass ratio was any higher than that of man.

But then again, she was also a talking unicorn channeling actual magic through her horn.

"I want to help you in any way I can," Celestia continued. "Primitive and violent as humankind may be, you're also a most beautiful civilization. The arts, sciences, technologies, and mathematics of humankind surpass those of most Equestrians."

If she was trying to flatter him, she was only feeding into his skepticism. But the thought died as Kamal conjured a fragmented memory, something he hadn't made much effort to remember in the first place. Something about Australia, that he'd dismissed as an error in the remote sensing software.

I want to help you in any way I can...

"There's one thing I'd need help with," Kamal replied. Celestia cocked her head. "And it might really change things about this situation. But it's something I need to figure out."

In that moment, he saw Aminata's dusty coupé pull into the vacant lot. He didn't feel the need to run or hide, but there were so many things to say if she approached, and he wasn't sure he knew how to say them all.

Aminata parked her car next to Kamal's. Celestia seemed curious too, lifting a front leg and twisting her graceful frame to look around.