The Conversion Bureau: The First Choice

by Westphalian_Musketeer

Chapter Thirteen

Miles and Willard were waiting at the train station in Ponyville. They were seated underneath a small shelter, a simple roof suspended by two poles embedded in the station platform. The station was for the most part empty except for the two newfoals.

“So what are we picking up again?” Miles asked, turning his head to Willard.

The earth pony kept his gaze straight as he answered, “Several gallons of ink to create copies for the archive. Along with some replacement parts for the printing press.”

“So, what are the diamond dogs like?” Miles questioned.

“Coordinated, really coordinated, if one of them notices a pebble falling towards another’s head, a little noise and the other grabs it before it hits them.” Willard looked up at the roof. “How’s work in the music section of the archives?”

“Good, good. I’m helping with restringing instruments. I’ve met with several others, getting along with them fairly well. There’s Octavia, you met her, then there’s also a Noteworthy, Sweetie Belle, and a Vinyl Scratch, after that it get’s confusing still.” The unicorn tapped his left hind hoof as he pursed his lips ponderously. “Think they have Rubik's Cubes in Equestria?”

Willard looked at his friend, then at his pants-covered flank, imagining the rook cutie mark underneath. “They somehow developed chess independent of us. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

The two newfoals' ears perked as they heard the train approaching. As the steam engine came to a halt, the two newfoals awaited the archive’s supply of ink and printer parts to be brought out. Instead, they heard the voice of a stallion who had spent many years in a position of privilege, while taking on none of the responsibility of said position.

“Servant! Take me outside, the air in this train is terribly stale!” A door on the side of a passenger car swung open, and a couch floated out, encased in a light blue aura. On top of the couch was a white unicorn stallion with a blonde mane. Adorning him was a collared suit that looked as though it had been custom made. Behind the couch was servant unicorn in attire that could best be described as a butler’s outfit.

“Gwah!” the white unicorn exclaimed as he lifted a hoof to shade his eyes. “Servant! Find us some shade!” The couch began floating over to the shelter where Willard and Miles were sitting.

“Save our ears?” Miles asked.

“Yes,” Willard answered. The two newfoals stepped out from the shelter, saving themselves from one insipid conversation, but exposing themselves to another. The stallion looked up as his couch floated to the platform underneath the shelter, and he saw the two newfoals. Looking at Miles, his face immediately creased with lines.

“You, plebe, why do you hide your cutie mark? Do you think yourself worthy of such luxury?” When Miles’ brows raised in mild irritation, the stallion immediately said, “Answer your superiors. I’m not above reporting those who would disobey a royal.”

“Beg pardon,” Miles said, “but I’ve never heard of a royal who was male, who are you?” From behind the couch, Willard could see the unicorn servant sliding a hoof over his throat in a universally understood declaration of ‘cut it off’.

“How dare you!” the stallion answered as he sat up indignantly on his couch. “I am Prince Blueblood, and I demand to know why you adorn yourself above your station!”

Miles looked at his covered flank and scowled as he turned back to face Blueblood. “Pants? Who do you think you are to say I can’t wear pants? I wore them when I was human, and I’m going to continue doing so.”

“Phah!” Blueblood spat, turning his head to the side and shutting his eyes. “Ignoring good Equestrian standards like a typical newfoal.” He waved a forehoof at the servant who immediately picked up the couch and Blueblood. “Why auntie insisted I return from my sabbatical to such vulgars is a mystery!” he announced as he floated back into the train.

When the door shut, Miles immediately stood up. “What a total asshat!” He turned to Willard. “I mean really! How far did he stick his head up where the sun doesn’t shine to just think like that?”

“Well if that’s his kind of attitude when he meets Celestia. I think he’ll smarten up.” Willard looked over to his friend fondly. His lips turned downward when he took in Miles’ countenance.

The grey unicorn managed to pale even further than usual as the full implications struck him. He opened his mouth soundlessly before sitting on the platform. “What if this comes back to bite me in the ass?” Miles scrambled to wrap himself in his forehooves. Willard walked to his friend.

“Miles, relax, all you did was ask who a guy thought he was, and told him that you’re going to wear pants. It’s not going to come back to hurt you.” Willard wrapped a hoof over his friend’s neck. “The trial still has you shook up doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. I just keep reminding myself not to screw this up.”

“And you won’t,” Willard assured, using his hoof to shut Miles’ hanging jaw. “Come on, cargo car is this way.” Willard led the way down the platform until they found an earth pony pulling a cart loaded with a crate from the train.

The brown stallion grunted as he slipped out of the harness. “Keep the cart. Now...” the pony reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a set of papers and a quill. “If I could get a signature to confirm you received the delivery?” Miles took the paper and quill with his magic as Willard slipped into the harness. “Thank you very much,” the stallion said before stepping back onto the train. “Good luck to you all!”

Willard and Miles began their way down the road back to the archive. The unicorn looked over to his friend and pursed his lips. “You know I really feel like I should be the one pulling, indentured servant and all.”

“You were military, ever go on a rucksack march?” Willard asked.

“Yeah.”

“This is easier, and I’d rather do this than risk getting the taste of ink in my mouth.” Willard looked out of the side of his eyes to see Miles nodding. “Besides, you get to put the coding stickers on for every single book that Written Script is going to print out to add to the general access archives.”

“Fair enough,” Miles chuckled as they reached the library. A quick twist of the handle with his magic and the unicorn had the door opened.

Lieutenant Karan was going through an after-action report on the raid of the Gavin Schummel headquarters in New York. As he walked through a door, the pneumatic hiss of the pump reminded the lieutenant of the potion bombs going off. He stood in the doorway briefly as he reflected—to his relief—that no riots had ensued in the aftermath. It wasn’t unheard of for people generally against ponification to boil over in the hours after a PER attack. It generally wasn’t good news for any newfoals caught up in it. It usually concluded with the tragic realization that they had lowered themselves to the level of those who had first converted their victims.

Shaking his head, Karan walked out the door and across the hall into another room. The room had an open window that gave a view of a staging area outside. They were all on standby, ready to deploy within the hour when intelligence figured out exactly what the PER were doing. In the middle of the room was a table, where Karphal, Vickers, Jameson, and Crystal were waiting. Karphal in particular was digging into a strip of synth-meat to tide over his metabolism. Crystal was looking in the other direction.

Jameson turned to Karan on his chair and asked, “They find anything out yet?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “The techs and Chuck are going through all the data we pulled from the hardware. Something big is going down, but we need more information to figure out how to stop it before it’s too late.”

As Karan sat at the table beside Crystal and opposite of Jameson, his DaTab beeped with a new message. Karan opened up the file before the others leaned in.

“That what I think it is?” Crystal Clear asked.

Without answering, Karan simply read the message out loud.

“Dear Lieutenant Karan, thank you for your request to join the gryphonization program. After assessing your record, we have found that it would be acceptable for you to go through the gryphonization program, without the initial general coverage course. However, due to your ongoing active duty, the present number of applicants awaiting conversion, and security reasons, you will only enter the program in eight months.”

Karan lowered the DATab and looked at his fellow soldiers. “Well, it looks like I’ll be this way for a bit longer.”

“Hey, I’m sure once you get into the program, you’ll pass,” Karphal said. The Gryphon Kingdoms had put several requirements, including an exam that had to be passed, in order for anyone to be accepted into the program.

“You mean that?” Karan asked.

Karphal frowned briefly. “I think we both know gryphons aren’t ones for false praise.”

“Right, right. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t tear Vickers a new one when he said he’d make a better sniper than you if he had your eyes.”

Vickers responded by tilting his head and emphatically mouthing, ‘Why remind him?’

Karphal patted Vickers’ back heavily with one claw, while popping the last bit of meat into his beak with the other. The well-meaning blow made the human exhale quickly. “I never said he wasn’t an excellent shot, for a human.”

“Yeah well,” Vickers began, “I cover your back, you don’t eviscerate mine.”

Karphal chuckled to himself. “You didn’t even have to ask for such a deal.”

Willard had just returned to where the diamond dogs were excavating the cave wall. With surprising speed, their claws tore through the stone. They would occasionally find a gem, and with a few tosses amongst them, they would assess it, placing it into a barrel filled with other jewels.

Off to the side, a vulpine by the looks of it, was bouncing a little pup on her knee. Another pup stood on her shoulders, tugging at her ears as though to guide the motions as she tended what was most likely his sibling.

Willard stepped out of the cart’s harness and sat off to the side while three diamond dogs set about filling the cart with loose stone. He looked at the barren stone wall that was being carved out. Willard shivered slightly at the thought of how immense the place would have to be to hold every written record, even just the ones deemed of remote significance.

Willard rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck when his ears picked up a feminine voice.

“Cyrus? Excuse me?”

The diamond dog pack leader immediately ceased his digging and walked past the cart. The large lupine reached over and massaged where his neck joined his shoulders, giving a satisfied chuckle.

He stopped in front of a purple unicorn mare. She had a darker purple mane and tail, with a pink highlight in each. She wore a thick, brown, woolen cloak that had what looked to be burn marks on it.

Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose and gave an irritated huff. “And what precisely makes you come here, Sparkle?”

“I was just wondering if I could borrow one of your pack for a moment, a lupine would be preferred, their strength would be invaluable in—”

“Diamond dogs are not borrowed,” Cyrus interrupted. “I made it clear over a decade ago, and thousands of times since, we do not bend to your herd. We dig, raise our pups, find gems, and hunt. When we clear out a large enough section, the ponies get to use the cave as we move on.”

“I understand that,” Sparkle began. “But I could really use some assistance, just for twenty minutes.”

Cyrus stuck out a paw in a motion to stop the mare’s speech before turning his head. Seeing Willard, he beckoned him to come over. Willard obliged and walked over.

“This is Willard, use him before you ever ask something of the pack.”

Without another word, the diamond dog returned to his pack and resumed digging with them, occasionally plunging his fist into a weakened section of the wall and pulling out a gem.

Willard was left with the mare. He tapped his back left hoof to the grey stone before he said, “So, Sparkle, I would assume that means you’re Dr. Twilight Sparkle, director of this branch of the Human Archives Project?”

The mare nodded. “Yes.” She stuck out a hoof towards Willard. He bumped his hoof into hers before she continued. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr...”

“Willard Radrim, Monica Radrim’s uncle.”

“Oh wonderful! It’s always good to see when families come to Equestria together.” Twilight turned on the spot and led the way through the archives. “So where are her parents? Is it your brother or sister who’s the relation?” Twilight’s ears twitched. “Oh, that is if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Monica is related to me through my late brother,” Willard answered flatly.

“Late brother? Oh dear!” Twilight turned back to look at Willard as they continued walking. “Are you okay talking about it?”

“Indeed. It was nearly twelve years ago, back when the conversion bureaus were just starting.” Willard looked down an aisle that was still completely empty, both of ponies and of books. “My brother and his wife were both working on some fixes of the San Diego Bureau when the HLF conducted a raid. By the time EarthGov gained control of the situation, all that was left to do was send letters to the relatives, including me.”

“What about Monica’s grandparents? Your parents?”

Willard looked back in the distance where he could make out the loose outlines of the cart and diamond dogs. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Twilight.

“Dr. Sparkle, is this line of questioning due to a curiousness about newfoals, or does my role here in the archives as a manual laborer set you at unease about my abilities as a guardian to Monica?”

Twilight pulled her head back as though she had been struck before coming to a stop. “I didn’t mean to insult you! Sorry if I did.” Twilight’s ears wilted.

“You didn’t, I just want to make it perfectly clear that your line of questioning was beginning to take on implications I would rather head off.” Willard walked past Twilight before he looked back. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry if you thought I was giving you hell.”

Twilight’s brow furrowed as she muttered the word ‘hell’ underneath her breath. “Oh!” she said. “Tartarus. Right, there are a few words that don’t have the same cultural equivalent in Equestria.”

Willard shrugged while he was standing, causing his head to dip lower in some awkward nod. The two continued down the archive. “As for my parents, they had my brother and I rather late in life. Natural causes, before Equestria even showed up.” Willard breathed through his nose before continuing. “Now what was it you needed assistance with?”

The two ponies reached the staircase leading to Twilight’s study. While they walked up, Twilight gave her response. “I just needed somepony to help set up some equipment for an experiment.” Reaching the study door, Twilight pushed it open with a hoof and let Willard walk in first.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

Willard looked around the room. Like before, it was big, rectangular, had high ceilings, and magelights were everywhere. There was also a desk nestled against the far wall. On top of the desk were some quills, ink pots, and parchment. The one difference was that the curtain opposite the door was moved over to the side, revealing a metal cylinder attached to four paddles.

Willard contemplated the sight as he sat down and looked at it with squinted eyes. “Is that?”

“A turbine-based electrical generator, yes,” Twilight confirmed. She stepped up to the device and laid a hoof on the grey steel sides. “Took a bit of digging through the archives to find the best method. Equestria doesn’t have fissionable materials so a nuclear based option was impossible. Solar panels couldn’t be tested in principle back on earth before being brought here.” Twilight drew her hoof back before facing Willard. “But with the possibility of wind turbines, hydroelectric dams, or even gas burning, we’ll be able to produce electricity.”

“So you’re trying to create a workable generator,” Willard said, sitting on his haunches.

“I’ve already managed that,” Twilight answered. “I managed to perfect a spell that refines lodestones to a point where they are capable of producing an electromagnetic field that is strong enough.”

“You’ve made magnets that can work in a generator, then what’s the problem?” Willard asked.

“Generating the electricity isn’t the problem. The problem is keeping Equestria’s magic—” Twilight waved a forehoof at the air around her. “—from reacting violently with the electricity.”

Willard nodded his head. “I heard about that, different quantum states between our universes. Running electricity in Equestria is like trying to run a current through a bare wire in water.” When Twilight simply nodded, Willard looked back to the generator. “So... what did you need me to do?”

Twilight indicated a stone pedestal with her hoof. The rectangular rock had a hole embedded in the side. A small glass globe with a thin metal filament running through it lay on top of the stone. “Push that towards the generator, then plug in the generator. I can take it from there, and then you can help with the clean up if my hypothesis was incorrect.”

Willard went over to the block and shoved it into place with ease. He walked around it and found the wire Twilight had mentioned. Before grabbing it in his mouth, Willard asked, “This generator doesn’t have any remaining charge does it?”

“No!” Twilight yelled. When Willard looked back he noticed she was standing behind a shining purple bubble.

“Is this thing going to blow up when I plug it in?”

“If it does, it won’t harm you as badly as it would me. Earth pony durability, you could survive a train hitting you provided you got medical treatment to prevent complications.”

The earth pony had an uncomfortable flashback of his first train ride, and flight courtesy a PER pegasi, in Equestria. Sighing, Willard picked up the wire and inserted it into the hole in the block. He trotted away from the assembly until he stood by Twilight. The mare’s horn began to spark as she cast a second spell, rotating the turbine to produce electricity.

The generator groaned for a moment before shaking violently. The light bulb shot away from the pedestal and shattered on the ceiling before all the fragments burst into multiple flashes of light that arced back down to the ground. Willard made to move before a purple hoof shot out in front of him.

“Give it a minute...” Twilight said.

“Dr. Sparkle, the light bulb was disintegrated. I think that—”

The stone pedestal shot away from the generator, sailing across the room at a speed some pegasi would envy, before burying itself in a wall.

“Attempted insulator batch six-hundred-forty-eight has failed,” Twilight noted, floating out a quill and paper. “Use of Zebrican fortified rubber compounds has resulted in the pedestal remaining intact, and not fragmenting. Now,” she said as she turned to Willard. “Thank you for being here in case of an emergency.” Twilight nodded to the pedestal, stuck firmly in the wall. Her horn glowed briefly as a purple aura surrounded it. The stone pedestal managed to pull out. “I needed to save my energy for the shield, detection spells, and powering the generator, in case something went wrong.”

Twilight smiled at Willard, whose mouth was still striving valiantly to sweep the floor with its jaw. The navy earth pony shut his mouth and shook his head before turning to face the unicorn. “Dr. Sparkle, I was just wondering. I was told by Princess Celestia that you would be reporting on my friend, Edward Miles, to see how he’s behaving.”

Twilight’s eyes widened in realization. “You’re Miles’ suretor?” She trotted to the desk and pulled out some papers. “It’s good that you mentioned that, I’ve been rather busy, and it’ll be good to know where he is as soon as I’m ready for our first session. Celestia told me in the letter that she expected the first report...” Twilight floated out a piece of parchment. “One month after his arrival.” Twilight let the paper fall out of her magical grip and back onto the desk. She reached a hoof to her chest, then extended it outwards with a breath. “Thank you for reminding me, Willard.” Twilight looked over the paper before looking at Willard. “So he was part of that anti-pony group? The Human Liberation Front?” she asked, brow furrowing.

“Yes, do you need to ask me a few questions?” Willard shifted on his hooves.

“If you don’t mind,” Twilight answered. “Now, have there been any incidents of Miles displaying aggression towards ponies since his conversion?”

“One attempt on his own life when I first met him,” Willard answered, prompting Twilight to look up, her mouth open slightly. “And one fight with a member of the PER, who was the instigator.” Twilight scribbled down a few notes.

“Has his cutie mark appeared yet?” When Willard nodded, Twilight wrote down a few more lines while muttering, “Presence of cutie mark indicates acceptance of body...” Twilight glanced up quickly before asking, “Do you know him prior to his conversion?”

“Yes, we served in the same platoon two years ago.”

“Okay, so you both served in the military?” Willard nodded in answer to Twilight. The mare set down the paper and quill. “Okay, I think it would be best if the remainder of the questions waited until Miles is actually here.”

“Good,” Willard said taking a few steps towards the door. “You’ll likely find him helping out in the music section of the archives when you’re ready to see him.”

Miles closed his eyes in frustration as he breathed through his nose. In his hooves lay a violin with the last string snapped in twain.

Using a combination of hooves and magic, he unspooled another length of string to make another attempt at fixing the blasted instrument before him. When he reached what he thought was an appropriate length, he cut the string with a hard pull of his magic, separating the molecules of the allow, and wound it around a peg and laying the string across the bridge.

He lifted up a bow and slid it across the string to check the pitch; it was still slightly off, but Miles decided against risking another broken string and lay the instrument to the side.

The unicorn stood up, stretched his neck, and surveyed the room he had been relegated to for the task of restringing the instruments. Miles looked up at a small clock that showed he had managed to accomplish his task within three hours. Walking to the door, Miles’ attention shifted to the sounds coming from the other side. With the distraction of his task, he had ignored the voices that had occasionally muttered in the main recording room.

Twisting the handle with his magic, opening the door, Miles found himself witness to an intriguing scene. Octavia and Vinyl Scratch were giving looks to each other that by Ponyville standards might be deemed baleful. For Miles however, they looked merely as though they were thoroughly disappointed in one another.

“I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again Vinyl; I reserved the recording room for today with the express purpose of practicing and recording Handel and Stravinsky. I know you want to try and recreate the works of this...” Octavia gestured to some sheet music by Vinyl’s side. “Elvis, and...” Octavia shuddered. “Deadmau5, but we owe it to the princess, newfoals, and Equestria in general to devote our time to bring the music that is actually good to everypony.”

“Good? What are you implying? Have you looked at what humans did with just guitars, bass, drums, and singing? It puts everything you’ve ever done in an orchestra to shame!” Vinyl threw her hooves up in the air to emphasize her point. “And for human synthesized music? It’s something that we can barely accomplish with magic. It’s totally unique!”

Octavia’s mouth hung agape as she pressed a forehoof to her chest. “Vinyl! While I appreciate your avid desire to pursue mankind’s more original works, the archives project hopes to disseminate human culture for all to enjoy.”

Miles shifted towards the room’s exit, taking care not to make too much noise when his hooves struck the hard rock floor.

“But that said,” Octavia continued, “some ponies are highly skeptical of some of their works. We’re lucky the princess and others have been so generous in providing the funding. I still wish to show everypony that humans can produce more than that chaotic... noise.

Miles reached the door just in time to have it opened by Willard on the other side. “Miles, good to see you. I have some good—”

“Noise? It’s better than that stuff... What are they called? Bagpipes? You want noise, that’s it right there.” Vinyl huffed and lifted up several music sheets while Octavia gawked. Soon the grey mare broke into a tirade about how human practices on orchestra could revolutionize Equestrian music.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to calm things down?” Willard asked Miles.

“Me? You’re the one who has all the little tidbits of culture stowed away to bring out at a moments notice.” Miles turned back to look at the two mares. “Besides, I’m trying to not rock the boat.”

Willard shook his head. “I'm more of a literature and philosophy guy. You like music don’t you? Maybe you can find something in the middle ground—”

“Classical music is not slow! It’s paced!” yelled Octavia.

Willard stared at the arguers in befuddlement for a few moments, reminded of some of the political debates between the Humanist and Transcendentalist parties of EarthGov. Transcendentalists were the oddballs of the six largest parties, focused on improving humanity by any method, conversion included. The Humanist Party by contrast fiercely believed that man could make due in the world just as he was, sans cybernetic augmentation or potion.

“Fifteen minutes to get to three minutes of something that isn’t a total snore fest is pacing?” Vinyl questioned Octavia.

Willard snapped out of his tangent, shaking his head. “Come on Miles, it’d be good for you to get a feel for socializing with others. Find something they can both work on.” Willard waved his hoof towards the two mares.

Blowing a lock of his mane away from his eye, Miles turned back and walked towards the confrontation. Okay, the middle ground between rock and classical music... The grand-daddy. “Octavia? Ms. Scratch?”

“Yes?” the two mares asked quickly, but with almost no aggression to Miles.

“I was thinking that there might be some orchestral music in the archives,” Miles said, gesturing towards Octavia. “That is a little heavier than usual.” Miles nodded to Vinyl.

Vinyl pressed her forehooves together as though making a temple, or praying. “Go on,” she said.

Miles guided the mares out of the room and Willard following in the rear. They reached the classical music section marked “BE” when Miles started scanning the section.

“Come on,” he muttered. “It’s gotta be one of the first things they sent over. B-E-E-T-YES!” Miles pulled out a folder that was marked ‘Beethoven’. He handed the sheet music to Octavia, who balanced it on her hoof. “See if symphony number five doesn’t catch both of your interests.”

Opening it with her nose, Octavia inspected the music sheet as Vinyl peered over her shoulder. Vinyl looked up from the music, her lips turned downward as fascination lit up her eyes, and she nodded towards Miles. “Not bad. Tavi?”

“It has a quite a few instruments, but I think this would be wonderful for us to record.” Octavia looked up at Miles and smiled appreciatively. “Thank you for the suggestion Miles.”

“Glad I could help.” Miles looked behind the two mares to see Willard stretch out a hoof, only for the earth pony to realize the futility of the attempted ‘thumbs up’.