Eleven: The Last Wish
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T H E C O N V E R S I O N B U R E A U
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RECOMBINANT 63
By Chatoyance
Chapter Eleven: The Last Wish
The chemical cocktail was a heady mix of glucocorticoids, alpha-adrenergic agonists, 2,6 diaminopurine and advanced forms of propranolol and cortisol. The mixture waited for the transformation to be complete - it was the nightcap after a terrible wakefulness. The purpose was to prevent the formation of memory and thus to eliminate post-traumatic stress disorder.
The gurgling screams and punctuating shrieks of agonized horror indicated the awful necessity of the after-conversion cocktail. The subject was undergoing complete ponification sans anesthesia.
The thing that had once been Ralph Vitoni writhed and shook and squirmed and gurgled incomprehensible syllables. The sound of snapping bones and tearing muscles spoke of Vitoni's efforts to fight or flee the waking nightmare he was trapped within. As soon as one tendon snapped, it would be regenerated, as each muscle tore from the former man's violent reaction, it sealed shut again, instantly growing together. The little nanomachines and their etherial ghosts had their work cut out for them, and there was a frightening chance they might fail altogether.
"Introduce a degree of paralysis into the mix - he's a fighter!" The technician wore a white, clean-room bunny suit with a transparent window in the head to peer out of. He worked quickly, jabbing steel-tipped tubes and sensors into the doughy mass that only minutes ago had been a middle-aged man of Italian descent.
"Keep that goddamn wire in his brain!" There were four tableside technicians, all in cleansuits, standing around the squirming, screaming mass on the metal table. They were overseen by a fifth bunny-suited techie ensconced in a room at the back of the trailer. Already the former human's arms had become rounded bulbs, the skin white as snow, pulsing and rippling like an ocean of milk. "I need to make sure he doesn't enter REM. The bastard enters REM, and we have to burn him! Keep the wire in!"
"I'm trying! He keeps rejecting it!" The swarm of nanomachines worked tirelessly, powered by arcane energies from another universe. They pushed anything foreign or artificial out of the forming pony body. In a container to the side sat the implants and permatech that Ralph Vitoni had acquired after a lifetime within his age - the holographic chronometer that had once been bonded to the ulna of his left arm, the skull port that had allowed him to directly access the hypernet and skulk through virtual reality, the deluxe NewLiver unit that had saved his life and been a gift of a wealthy corporate lord who had made use of his unique talents. One of the technicians had noted the inscription on the artificial organ and laughed. "Drink one for me, Ralphy V!"
A fifth technician sat in the back of the trailer and watched monitors both holographic and antique. He was checking to see if at any point the subject on the table entered, even for a second, any kind of dreamlike state. Such a state would signal communion with Celestia, the eldritch abomination from beyond time and space. Should that happen, Ralph Vitoni's life would become instantly forfeit, for he could never be trusted to work for the good of his former race alone.
"More calories, we need more fat and protein, too!" While the wires jabbed into Ralph's shifting brains monitored that he remained conscious, the tubes provided the overworked nanomachines with extra raw materials to make up for the former human's agonized contortions. "And more potion, too!"
Converting a human agent in this manner took far more than three ounces of the purple nanofluid. It was an expensive effort to create a fully functional sleeper agent whose loyalties had not switched. Initially, Ralph's brain had been infused with an artificial RNA transcriptase complex bound to a nanomachine agent. The initial treatment had prepared his neurons by closing off receptor sites that 'potion' would use to gain entry in order to alter specific regions of his brain, such as the amygdala and thalamus. This would prevent Ralph from being cured of his useful psychopathy and vicious temper. He would not lose his ability to kill, or torture or harm, and he would not gain either conscience or compassion. Ralph would remain the man he had always been, inside of the body of an Equestrian.
By eliminating communion with Celestia, the error of the Worldgovernment in trying to do the very same thing would be prevented. Ralph would have no conversion dream, he would not be fed the treacle lies of that alien monster, he would not sell his human allegiance in exchange for the ridiculous paradise the equinoid creature offered. He would remain a dog loyal to racially pure human masters, as he should be.
Hooves, brown and shiny, burst through the bulbs at the end of the shrieking pony's forming limbs. The most critical phase was beginning now, as the eyes were dissolved and absorbed, so that new, better eyes could replace them. Inside the waxy, rippling mass, temporary vasculature and biomechanical scaffolding held tissues away from the rapidly forming eyes. Soon, the grapefruit-sized orbs would float to the top of the living sea of flesh, and take their place as skull formed around them, and muscles and connective tissue anchored them. It was during this time that Ralph Vitoni would be most likely to lose consciousness and enter a forced REM sleep, despite the unimaginable pain he was suffering.
"Stimulant!" More chemicals slid down the tubes into the increasingly pony-shaped body on the table. The technicians gloved hands worked frantically to keep the tubes and wires from being pushed out. The eyeless body jerked and spasmed as the powerful excitotoxin forced it to neverending consciousness and a state of constant panic. The amount would have killed normal neurons, but Ralph's neurons were being repaired even as they were being overstimulated, thanks to the army of tiny, submicroscopic machines working ceaselessly.
Finally, Ralph's new eyes found their proper place, and the shape of his new, pony skull began to solidify. "We're good, no REM! Copy? No REM! We have a keeper, so far!" The technician monitoring the transformation was excited, he had lost three in a row the past week, and was on notice. He needed this one to work.
"We have awn hairs... looks like he's going to be brown, brown, brown. Um... maybe cut back the calories, we've got some precompletion fat forming... he's gonna be a chubby little pony right from the start." The technician at the table prodded the shaking, panting abdomen with a blue-gloved finger. "You're a little fatty, ain't ya! Hey, little fatty, fatty, fatty!"
"You're in trouble if this bastard remembers that. He's a vicious one, according to Reich." Another of the white-suited techs jammed a wire deeper into the brown pony's head.
"He won't. Worst experience of his life, and he won't remember a moment of it. That's what that's for." The prod-happy technician jabbed a digit at the 'cocktail cylinder' and grinned beneath his suit's transparent window.
The bunny suit in the monitor room checked a parameter and pressed a square on the active surface in front of him. "OK! Looks good, looks good, he's basically cooked, so pull the plugs and dose him. We're done here." He crossed his fingers for luck, the blue neoplastic squeaking as he did so.
The four technicians at the table inside the trailer began pulling the wires and tubes out of the brown pony. The pony was almost complete - mane and tail were rapidly spooling out from the body, while a mature coat sprouted between the initial awn hairs. The bunny-suits removed every tube but one - and down that now flowed the chemical cocktail that would prevent permanent memories from forming for the next few hours. Ralph Vitoni had suffered more pain than any human being in the history of mankind, but he would not be permanently crippled psychologically by a bit of it. The experience would be washed clean, along with whatever thoughts and curses he may have screamed during his torment.
By tomorrow, after a long sleep, Ralph would be completely unaware of what he had gone through, and he would be still capable of human violence, and in a triumph of the HLF over even the Worldgovernment, he would be utterly untouched by even the faintest whisper of the eternal grace, forgiveness, and compassion of princess Celestia of Equestria.
Inkwell had spent the morning bothering Ace Bandage, the medical unicorn, to the point of distraction. She had showed up at his apartment, and grilled him about how to get her hooves on potion for Paige. Inkwell had reasoned that the unicorn intern would be the most likely pony she knew to have connections, contacts, or maybe a working security key card to the hospital.
"I'm quit, Inkwell, they won't likely even let me through the doors at this point. If it weren't for the automatic change of citizenship conversion brings they'd have the Blackmesh after me. I stole that potion, just up and took it, and I feel so guilty you can't... I mean, I'm glad I did it, I'd do it again in an instant, you're alive, right? But... I just feel guilty because I did steal it. I've sent six hypermails trying to apologize as it is!"
Inkwell understood. Conscience was an loud taskmaster as a pony, far more so than as a human. The drive to be fair and do what was right, to be honest and true was very strong. "Thank you Ace. Thank you for doing that, I know it cost you, but I am very grateful for my life. Please try to let it go - that emergency potion was for emergencies, right? It was an emergency!"
Ace shuffled his hooves. "Yeah, I know. It was, you were... bad off. It had to be done. It's just that, the very first week, they really hammered home the rule that hospital materials were for paying customers and staff only. Only, only, ONLY. They really were a pretty selfish bunch, and I kind of feel bad for going along with it all too. I feel guilty for stealing from them, and bad for having worked there for so long. Gah!"
Inkwell tried any other angle she could think of - did Ace know of any other sources of potion? Was there some connection a medical unicorn might have with the Bureaus themselves that could help? Did he know of a way to contact the PER and beg them for potion? Was there any other connection he might have with the Worldgovernment that...
Oh. Inkwell herself had a sort of special connection all on her own. She had been part of the LAASTT project as a human. The Literature And Arts Survival Triage Team was a project of the Propaganda and Infotainment Ministry, and that was definitely up there in the government. Plus... she had also secretly been a member of the Underground Bookmobile. That was sponsored by princess Luna herself! Surely one or either of those connections should lead to acquiring potion to help Paige!
The problem was... Inkwell was still effectively hiding out. The HLF couldn't find her, that was clear, because they hadn't. Her sudden and under-the-radar change of life had effectively rendered her utterly invisible to them. But that could last only as long as she made no contact with her previous life. The second anything connected her to her life as Gwen, the baddies would be on her tail, possibly literally, now that she had one.
Her single best lead on potion would have to be the one thing that could get her caught. And being caught by the HLF was not an option - not just because that notebook held dangerous things that might help them, but also because it would hurt Paige and Pet to lose her. Plus they might get hurt too, themselves.
It was so annoying! If only she could get word to Luna, she could... oh. Oh sweet chocolate it was right there, wasn't it? In the little lock-box, the self-mailing magic scrolls. Sign on the line, and green fire sent them straight to Luna herself. Nopony she knew had ever used one, but they were there - all the Underground Bookmobile groups had a few. To provide information on hidden book caches. To warn of immanent discovery of the project. For emergencies. It was so, so tempting.
But they'd be watching, wouldn't they? The HLF would never take their little spy eyes off that building, now that they knew what it was. They would be waiting for 'Gwen' to return there, because that is where she had escaped from. They'd be silly not to watch that warehouse from now until the end of the world, which was just four years away.
Of all the places on all the earth, that was the one place Inkwell realized she must never go. A thousand novels and stories drifted through the little unicorn's mind. In each and every one, the protagonist always ends up going to the one place they absolutely must not go, sure that they could get away with things, and always caught and menaced by whatever was after them, because that was the way with drama. Unless ponies did foolish, foolish things, where could all the frightening captures and terrifying escapes come from? Sensible just wasn't good storytelling, now was it?
Inkwell laughed, as she continued the thought, on the way downstairs to the street. This was clearly the place in her own personal saga where it was expected that she should make a terrible decision, driven by the need to help her new friends and lovers, to help her family - oh what a fine motivation that was, always a favorite in stories - and thus end up putting herself and everypony in exciting and terrifying peril! This was the point in the story where she would surely be captured and her friends would have to risk their lives - and prove their love - attempting to rescue her and what a load of horseapples and drama to be double chocolate cursed because Inkwell Quillfeather the unicorn would have not a bit of any of that.
Inkwell stomped her hoof on the dirt road outside the apartment. 'No! I'll have none of that! Those mystic scrolls can sit right there till doomsday, because that warehouse is the last hoofing place you will ever find the likes of me!' She grinned at that. Being a librarian and a lover of stories gave her an advantage, she reckoned, because in knowing what was the dramatic thing to do, she had an edge in knowing what to avoid. In real life, drama was nothing but pain and sorrow. Drama was always to be avoided in real life. Leave it for the silly stories.
So, she pondered as she passed the Parking Lot Farm - it used to be the apartment's main lot, until the earthponies got to it - what would be the least dramatic way to get potion for Paige? Hmmm... she thought... well, where is there potion to be had?
There was the Bureaus, obviously. There was always talk of increases in potion availability, but the fact was that unless you lived near a Bureau in a high-priority zone, you were lucky to get in. It had been obvious since the beginning that not every last human on the earth could be saved. The scale of the matter was just too large. It was terrible and sad. That said, Bureaus did have potion in them.
The PER, the Ponification for the Earth's Rebirth, they had potion, sometimes more than the Bureaus. Nopony knew where they got it, but there were rumors of secret factions within the Elite supporting them, and a huge secret base somewhere in the NorthAmerizone. There were even rumors that they had a means to make potion themselves, somehow. There were always rumors about everything.
Hospitals had potion, that was how she herself had been saved. But they clearly were not just giving the stuff out freely. At least not here.
The Taikonauts, up in the Friendship Station, they had potion, but not even a pegasus could fly in vacuum. There was no hope there to ask for a nice cup of the purple from near earth orbit.
The Blackmesh. They probably had emergency potion kits, just like the hospitals did. Blackmesh troops faced dangers, they could be mortally wounded, conversion was a swift universal cure for all wounds. The thought crossed Inkwell's mind what it would take to beg the Blackmesh to spare a dose. It wouldn't hurt to try, she supposed. The worst they could do was boot her out and tell her no.
The elite had potion, no doubt, but they were further removed than the Taikonauts up in orbit. Who else? Anypony else?
Gwen had potion. Inkwell startled at the thought. Her old self had a guaranteed ticket to Equestria. All the government workers got that, even Green-Level. Guaranteed. Any Bureau had to honor it. Paige could walk in and claim to be her former self, and get converted. And the Bureaus were protected by the Blackmesh!
No, that wouldn't work. The doors scanned everypony that entered. It would never work. The A.I.'s could not be fooled. Every metric of a person was their living identification. Pretending to be someone else was a trick for a long lost age before Universal Security Awareness.
"What's the matter?" It was an earthpony stallion, one of the Parking Lot Farm group. He must have noticed Inkwell standing at the corner, staring off into space, or more precisely, at the dirt, looking dejected. "Can I help at all?"
Inkwell felt a brief warmth in her heart. That was the way with ponies. Just like that, 'can I help?' - and they meant it too. "I have a..." Inkwell smiled "... a spouse... that needs to get converted. She's tried and tried, and it's just never worked out. I want to help her so much and... I don't know how."
"Ah! You're the one I've seen out and about with Paige and Pet for the last two months, aren't you? So you've become family now - good on ya! Congratulations!" The gray and blue stallion grinned through the dust and dirt on his muzzle. He'd been working hard to grow an entire field of strawberries by the end of the day.
"Thank you. Yes... it's Paige. She wants to go pony so badly, but there's a shortage of potion. She's tried everything - she's on the waiting list to get on the waiting list for the Bureau, and she's even tried to contact the PER! It's terrible how hard it is to get your hooves on three little ounces when you really need it." Inkwell sighed.
"I don't know where to get potion, I wish I did. I was part of the first wave of potion when the Bureau first opened. They had a lot, initially, which is where most of the ponies around here got their hooves. But it's become scarce lately. It's the HLF, doncha know - they blew up the storage facility down south and now they can't distribute it fast enough, that's the real problem. Oh, there's potion, just not here, not in quantity. We're not exactly a big deal Zone, you know." The earthpony stallion flicked his tail. "Tell you what though - I can't get you purple, but I can get you some red - red strawberries. I should have these fruits mature by sundown - I'll set aside a box for you and yours, it's the least I can do. I'll have it sent up, later, right? It's not the answer to your needs, but strawberries are always happy, right?"
Inkwell couldn't help but smile. "You are nothing but kindness... um... I don't even know your name. I'm Inkwell, by the way."
"Fourleaf. Fourleaf Clover - and before you go 'oh, that's a twee name' I'll have you know that I didn't pick it out of desperation or lack of imagination. When I was really young, I actually found one. A living clover, and it had four leaves."
Inkwell stared. The earth was nearly dead now. Grasses and clovers were believed extinct, along with most life other than the odd dandelion, cockroaches and mutated rats. And whatever plants the elite had squirreled away in Antarctica or in guarded malls. "Really, a real clover?" The fact of seeing a clover at all outweighed the fact of it having four leaves.
"Yes, a proper clover." The stallion looked briefly sad "And, much to my shame, I picked it. I was young, and I only knew what my grandmother had told me - that four-leaf clovers bring luck, and you can make a wish if you pick them. I've often wondered if I picked the very last clover on earth. It's troubled me my whole life. "
"What did you wish?" Inkwell couldn't help but be curious.
"You'd never believe it if I told you."
"Yes, I would. I promise." Inkwell meant it. Whatever the wish, she would believe it. There was no reason to doubt such a nice pony!
"I'd been reading old cowboy books. My grandmother had some in a trunk, in the attic, see." The stallion pawed at the dirt with a hoof and grinned to himself. "I wished for a pony."
Inkwell laughed and Fourleaf laughed and it did seem like the sort of a wish a human foal would make. "I guess I got my wish. Looking around... " the stallion gestured with a foreleg "...there's pretty much nothing but ponies now. If it was the last clover on earth, it must have had all the power of every clover that ever was or could be within it, because Equestria appeared and, well, how do you do, miss pony?"
"Now that's a thought, isn't it?" Inkwell had a moment of wonder and wildness "What if the emergence of Equestria, the Bureaus, all of this right now, all of it happened because of a wish on the very last truly lucky clover? What a notion! Someone should write a story about that!" This made Fourleaf laugh again and then look concerned.
"If I did somehow do it, if that wish called all of this into being... well, that's a bit of a burden on me, isn't it? Was it the right wish, do you think?"
Inkwell flicked her tail and felt the slap against her hocks. It felt wonderful, so she did it again. She stomped her right hoof down, and felt how solid she felt on her four strong legs. She thought of her new family, and how grateful she was of them. She thought of magic and how incredible and wonderful it was to simply use it at all! And she thought of the newly greened earth, saved from the ravages of pollution and population and exploitation. An earth gradually being renewed, if only for a few years.
"If that wish did create all of this, then Fourleaf - " Inkwell regarded him with gratitude " - I think you are the true savior of the world and every living thing left upon it. You didn't waste the last wish on earth one bit. Thank you, good mister Clover, for making exactly the right wish!"
This made Fourleaf look briefly misty, before he regained himself. "You'll have strawberries tonight, miss Inkwell. Everypony knows where Paige and Pet live - and now you. 'Better be getting back to work then. I hope you find your potion!"
As the stallion ambled back to his fields, Inkwell thought to herself 'I hope so too. I dearly hope so too.'
Around the corner, across the street, deep in the shadows, a pony watched. He leaned against the wall of the building, a pair of saddlebags slung across his pudgy brown body. He tried to walk, but stumbled and slammed against the wall with a thud and a grimace. He tried once more, and managed to keep his hooves, though he swayed a bit. "Stupid goddamn 'tards, always check the goddamn hospitals. Always. It's not fucking rocket surgery. Counting beans and protein and whatever shit - just check the goddamn hospitals if you want to find out if anything fucked-up has happened. Jesus, what a bunch of cazzaros."
The pudgy brown earthpony watched where the ivory and black mare went, and then staggered back into the alleyway, into the shadows. "Fuck these goddamn clumsy hooves, too. Fare una figura di merda..."
Later, that evening, snuggled between her two wives, Inkwell used her horn to neatly turn through the pages of the notebook. Reading the 'Forbidden Notebook' had become a family ritual for the three, and Petrichor would not be satisfied without even a short reading from the thing.
"Wait! Go back!" Paige pointed at the notebook, as it rested between Inkwell's forelegs.
"What? Where?" Inkwell's hornfield held a page upright in mid turn.
"Back a page, or two!"
Inkwell used her magic to flip back first one page, and then another. "Stop! That's it! Look!"
Petrichor crawled forward, so that her head was even with Inkwell's. She stole a quick kiss. "It's a map. Cool. I like maps. They give a sense of place, you know?"
"That's... hmmm... that has to be Canterlot Castle - I don't know of any other big castle in Equestria." Inkwell studied the hand-drawn map. "That has to be the plinth or whatever where Celestia raises the sun. And look - that dotted line - that's the path that Mule Two must have taken. Redhead the Author must have tried to make a map of the locations from the video tour. Probably to try to understand things better!"
Page was leaning over now, her head also close. She too stole a kiss. "That... that looks like a maze. You think the princess has a garden maze, like they used to have in the old days?"
"Why not? Equestria has all sorts of plants and life, why not a maze garden? Oh, look!" Inkwell pointed with her hoof "Those must be statues - see? They all have little bases on them. Pony statues! Only makes sense, for a garden, I guess. Maybe they are statues of famous ponies from history."
"Except for that one. What the swirl is that? A snake statue?" Petrichor couldn't make out what the drawing represented.
"Maybe it's a dragon? Equestria has other species than ponies. I'll bet it's a dragon. Our Redhead just did the best she could. Dragons are complicated, that's all." Inkwell tried to be diplomatic about it.
"Hey... check it out - everything is to scale. She really is a scientist! The whole thing is gridded, and at the edges she has scale and direction values. She really tried to be precise about this. I'm impressed." Petrichor sniffed at the map. "ooh... she was eating chocolate when she drew this. Chocolate would be nice to go with these." Pet bent her neck back and brought the basket of strawberries forward, and placed them beyond the book, so everypony could have some.
Inkwell levitated a pair of berries out of the basket, and carefully directed one near Paige's mouth, and one right into Petrichor's.
"You are really getting good at that, you know?" Paige opened her palms and Inkwell let the strawberry drop. It was not an issue to use her hornfield on, around, or even inside Petrichor's body, but the same was not true for Paige. Inkwell did not want to burn her with thaumatic energy by accident, especially in her mouth. Paige gobbled the berry, smiling around the delicious fruit.
"OK, the map is cool and all, but I want to hear another entry!" Petrichor was petulant.
"Yes, yes, princess Petrichor must have her story. Read on, Page Inkwell!"
"No, you're Paige. I'm Inkwell!" The ivory unicorn grinned.
"Silly filly. You know what I meant." Paige scritched behind Inkwell's right ear.
"Oh. Ohhhhh..... um... storytime can wait... just a bit... oh my sweet Celestia." Inkwell's eyes were shut in pleasure. "Oh, right there, yes, yes...."
Petrichor sighed. "Well, if there's free ear-scratching going on, then I'm next in line!"
"Help! Help!" Paige looked griefstricken "I'm being held captive, a slave to the carnal pleasures of itchy-eared ponies!"
Inkwell and Pet giggled. Inkwell used a commanding voice. "Yes. Yes you are. Scratch harder, Mistress!"
Pet looked perturbed. "Inkwell... you... what is it with you and 'topping from the bottom'?"
Inkwell sighed. "I can't be expected.... to... to... get my terms... correct... with this level of ear scritchies... going on."
Pet grinned. "Scratch her well, my human slave! Then you can do me!"
"We'll see about that attitude later, PET." Paige stressed the last word carefully.
"Promise?" Said Petrichor.
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It's an odd experience, reading the HLF's description of what's going on, and then the decidedly non-HLF POV of what the Dreaming entails. Or is that how they'd describe it too? Because that sounds like "we're evil and we know it", and it gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Also, if they can use those anti-memory drugs for the transformation, why not just dope the subjects ahead of time, let them Dream, and forget all about it? Does Dreaming somehow cause changes other than due to the experience? Or is it to prevent Celestia from remembering?
1956326
But given a world where our particular skills are not needed, why would you be proud of hanging on to them? Humans are quite capable of infanticide by exposure when they don't have birth control or adequate food to raise the child. That's an important adaptation to an often hostile world, but it's hardly something I'd be proud of us hanging on to when it's no longer necessary. On the contrary, what we call "civilization" considers it barbaric and has made it quite illegal. Why should this be any different?
1956360
The communion with Celestia, the Conversion Dream, is a profound event, which I have strived to never completely nail down as being either truly spiritual or an artifact of the conversion process adjusting neurons.
But I will say this much about it.
The anti-PTSD cocktail has no effect against how the conversion dream changes Newfoal's hearts. They remember their dreams regardless, even if they remember nothing else. The dreams profoundly affect how a Newfoal relates to things, in much the same way that a near-death-experience, or NDE, affects humans - it changes their lives forever.
We know that part of the conversion process wires the subject with a thaumatic geist - a duplicate entity made of magical force that interpenetrates their new body, and carries their identity and personality. For all intents, it is a soul.
Though we cannot know for sure, it seems likely that the conversion dream may change loyalties and attitudes because it is truly a meeting with a higher power in some eternal plane. After all, if magic is real, as it seems to be in Equestria, then the thaumatic geist is likely a soul, and gaining one, and then meeting its creator, probably expands the subject's outlook and viewpoint enormously. It would probably be like waking from a terrible dream into bright sunshine.
At least, that is my thought on the matter.
Le sigh, arguments between humans being bastards and humans being awesome.
Humanity is about 50% bastard and 50% awesome.
Also technology is cool, even that made to kill.
A tank is as good as a tractor in a pinch.
Also kinda hoping for more journal less pony.
1956636
Ah, so (if I'm understanding this right) while the appropriate re-wiring of the brain to change instincts etc. is a product of the Potion itself, the ensoulment is somehow connected to the Dream. And of course gaining a soul causes all sorts of changes in agency and free will and such. (I'm silly, I forgot all about that when posting.) So even if the HLF can protect the brain, they can't do anything about the soul except to prevent the newfoal from getting one.
Maybe that's why I was getting all creeped out about interfering with the Conversion Dream. My conscious mind wasn't making the connection, but part of me was. Just when you're about to actually get one, the HLF literally steals your soul. Bleh! I didn't think it was possible for me to like them less than I already did.
1956707
Pretty creepy, huh? Yes, you have it in one.
Ah, well. At least he won't corrupt the Great Herd when he gets killed.
I see Ralph is as much an asshole as a human as he is a pony. At least he'll be getting his just deserts eventually, though unfortunately, that means he'll live through this story. Unless you've some crazy time-warping plot twists coming up, of course.
And like Zontargs, I too found Ralph's "conversion" most disturbing. And since you've said the HLF's version basically only changes the body and nothing else, including no soul...
Seriously, the HLF seem much less preserving humanity and much more cold, brutal vengeance to a goddess that ultimately just wants to help. If I were making the calls, I'd have weaponized the serum and, once locating their bases, drop a mini-serum-nuke on them. That way, the HLF are stopped, and no lives are lost.
BTW, did something happen here? Seeing a lot of deleted comments...
"I'm quit, Inkwell, they won't likely even let me through the doors at this point. ...
*I believe he would say, "I've quit, ... "
Conscience was an loud taskmaster as a pony, far more so than as a human.
*Conscience is a loud taskmaster. (That is as it ought to be for both in my opinion.)
How strange is the situation that the HLF has access to Potion and honest people have nary a drop?
So, Ralph's a medical psychopath, huh? I hadn't thought that he was. And he isn't the highest functioning, either, as his 'temper' sounds to me like indications of psychotic behaviour. That's likely what put him in the "dog pound" to begin with. I would think that would be the wrong call for their intended goal: if he acts psychotic in a pony body, triply so where he would the behaviour would be recorded, it could quite possibly blow the HLF's cover. Or at least their capabilities would be revealed, and that would be very bad for them. Also, I wonder what they would have to keep his loyalty once he escapes their grasp. In his eyes, wouldn't he understand the situation as he was wronged by the HLF? I also wonder why he stuck around with the HLF after Earth is gone.
1956696 Mmmm, interesting, but my life experience has led me to believe that we're about 7.5% "bastard" and about 7.5% "awesome". You may ask, "well, what's the rest?" The rest, my dear, is the rest. It's the rest of the stuff, the rest of what we are.
You know what's in that journal? Ponies. Inescapable.
1958005 "If I were making the calls, I'd have weaponized the serum and, once locating their bases, drop a mini-serum-nuke on them. That way, the HLF are stopped, and no lives are lost."
Phew, yikes!
Now you're thinking with PERtals.
Also, I'm dominating the comments. Sorry everyone. No, wait, I take it back! LOOK AT ME! AH HA HA HA *bus*
1958114
Many humans feel that the actions of their graybacks, their leaders, are justified, or forgivable, or expressions of strength, even if they themselves are brutalized by them. I feel certain that you must have seen the old movie trope of a lesser (male) character being beaten -sometimes horrifically- by a (male or female) protagonist and coming away admiring them for it. It is such a common trope, it is even used in comedies without any special justification - consider Mel Brooks 'Blazing Saddles' for an example - Mongo likes Sheriff Bart, because Sheriff Bart only man who ever beat Mongo.
There is also the issue of blind loyalty to a tribe, cause, group, nation and so forth. We see some of that in the comments here, in fact, with the sudden arrival of a new commenter posting some tripe about how 'even if Mankind is horribly evil, I still support Man whether his actions are constructive or destructive - Fuck Yeah Humanity!' Consider that attitude - it is basically 'my (whatever) right or wrong!' - it is group affiliation above and before any morality or ethical concern.
Ralph Vitoni is a human. His group affiliation (the HLF), his respect for grayback (Leonard Reich), and his beliefs (Fuck Yeah, Humanity!) are far greater than any morality or ethics he may have, and definitely greater than his own self respect. This is not unusual. This is common in primate species, this is very common in humans, especially hierarchically driven male humans.
Understanding this, both of your questions are answered. Ralph will go down with the ship, rather than admit for a moment that he was in error, or that the ship was faulty to begin with. His pride is in his group and beliefs, and not in himself.
1958130
Yes there is a good amount of grey area, but that was in the 50% of each.
Heh. Shub-Niggurath has nothing on Celestia. The White Pony of the Castle with Several Billion Young.
In any case, great scene showing the subversion of Conversion and the ambivalence therein. It makes one wonder what Luna would do if she stumbled upon a dreaming mind that seemed to have appeared ex nihilo.
Also, I love genre savvy Inkwell. Pinkie would no doubt approve. I wonder what a metareference cutie mark would look like. A picture of a pony's hindquarters?
Looking forward to the next installment of the journal, and how barely-a-pony Vitoni makes the other horseshoe drop.
1958005
It looks like the trash was taken out. You won't be missing much.
1956636
I'm glad we spoke about hlf ponies way back when. It went down exactly as terrifyingly as I hoped / expected. I just wish that thoroughly despicable lump has recurring nightmares for the rest of his short, hateful life...
1959426
I am totally happy that you seem to approve. I did not want to disappoint you on this one. I did my best.
1959575
I do. Ever since it was shown to me as a narrative twist, it seemed the only way to make such a thing happen. Essentially, it's causing the neo-Equestrian physical and well as... not so much mental, but spiritual brain-damage. They'd have to stick out like a sore thumb though in certain situations - those Equestrians (and members of other species) that have any sort of gift are going to have their hackle-equivalents raised near one of these things, and I don't doubt they could easily be fixed by the princess (or maybe they can't, maybe they're doomed to a sort of golem-like pseudo-existence - how horrific).
1957170
Not to start another chain of comments, as interesting as it may be, but I can't help theory/worldcrafting having read that.
These ponies are essentially the Equestrian version of vampires - intellect and drive, but no soul. One wonders what sort of extra-physical creatures float about Equestria, and what should happen would one of them find one of these fleshy golems. My guess is that even post-conversion, things could go horribly, horribly wrong. And probably do.
You've just given me a wonderful idea for a TCB-based horror story...
1958317 I've never met or read about a sociopath with that kind of complex. I'm not saying that it's not believable, it just means that Ralph is exceptional. Exceptionally interesting, too. When I see high-functioning psychopaths acting in a hierarchy, usually they look at it as playing a sort of long con, and usually confess a bit of resentment about how dumb their superiors are -- or how smart they are, if they work in business or finance, but that's a whole other can of worms right there.
What I'm getting at is that people who don't have natural empathy, or who have severely diminished natural empathy, usually base their self esteem on their ability to pull one over on other people--unless they're in the psychotic range. They act a bit differently. Ralph might be borderline...? He certainly doesn't show any signs of it in Promise. He seems extremely deliberate and self-aware there. Creepy thought: maybe going pony ultimately does him some good after all.
1958502 There's grey in the rest. There's also not-grey: splashes of colour, light and darkness in the rest of the stuff. I believe we're still figuring it all out, there at the white-hot nexus of philosophy, biology, psychology, sociology and so on. Was it Carl Sagan who observed that life is like the universe thinking about itself?
1959881
Fuck. That's a lot of fixing.
EDIT: FIXED! thank you, Defoloce.
I can't help but feel sorry for Ralph. He didn't sign up for this, he was forced into it and Reich stole his chance on happiness (slim as it may have been). And being the vindictive bastard he is, I might even guess what his "fixed point" will become.
And "Gratz Chatoyance!" you were going for gruesome and you succeeded.
I wonder if the notebook might hold a key for Paige's conversion.
Well... Ralph's Conversion was completely horrifying. And I was having such a good day, too...
... then again, the section with Paige, Pet and Inkwell did make up for it. It's so deliciously naughty and fun and silly with those three that I can't stay mad at you, no matter how dark it gets.
Well, I'm caught up.
While Ralph and the HLF aren't meant to be sympathetic, his transformation as a prototypical process for the "Foam" to come wasn't something I would wish on the worst of us. Chatolestia might be rather neurotic in her respect of free will, but certainly efforts of others to stymie free will would be equally intolerable, right? Even Ralph, unlikeable as he's meant to be, didn't really choose to participate in this. He was just used. The HLF and PER alike should be special cases, waived of the normal way business is conducted.
There's plenty of good in humans, and while many of us wouldn't be lined up at the Bureaus on day one, we could still be good representatives of our race, living in quiet dignity and support of newfoals so that we are more fondly remembered. I guess that's the biggest problem I have with the HLF: they make the rest of humanity look bad. Being comfortable being human is not a character flaw, nor is wanting to stay human. Killing those who want to go willingly is not the default setting for us, but thanks to them, I have to endure countless passages with pejoratives like "hairless apes" because we are so consistently set up to be either card-carrying HLF or self-hating wish-I-were-a-pony-already Equestria-worshippers. Where's the middle ground, the moderates? That sentiment is what made me think of the Railroad. You can be fine with ponies without giving yourself over completely to them and their ideals. Show them what good humans can be, how humanity has its advantages. Do the things the ponies can't do, or won't, even to their benefit. This story has, like, that one grocer. Mr. Ferguson. I liked him. I could see myself doing that in a TCB scenario. I'd write a story to that end, but I'm not confident enough in my abilities to avoid getting self-inserty, and don't nobody like reading that.
I know other readers are finding them just delightful, but for me, the constant scenes of Inkwell, Paige, and Petrichor being all lovey-dovey is getting rather cloying. It's a matter of taste and opinion, sure, but I have a low threshold for such things. It just makes the characters come off as self-indulgent and otherwise inwardly-concerned to me. Yeah, yeah, sunglasses down, Deal With It, I know. Writers want comments, though, so I'ma comment.
1961405
It might be helpful to understand where I am coming from with my angles here.
Yes, I do tend to concentrate on the extremes - those that want to go pony, those that oppose the whole thing, because that is where the drama is. The Mr. Ferguson's of the world make fine background characters but what is their real story? They futz around selling hay to the ponies, and the odd replidinner to the odd remaining human, and then, one day, if they want to live, they eventually shrug, put their hands in their pockets, and toddle off the the Bureau.
That said, I don't think there would be a lot of moderates, and the reason is... the Amazon.
Over the past thirty years, I have followed the way indigenous peoples of the Amazon have run out of isolation, and been exposed, increasingly, to our technological civilization. I am not talking about the peoples destroyed by the dam building projects, or forced into assimilation at gunpoint, I mean the ones that just happen to live a mile beyond the new mall. Nobody knows they are there, and one day they walk in.
Without a single exception, they are wearing Nikes and tee-shirts and yearning for digital watches and radios and flashlights and candybars the very same day they make contact. Their treasured lifestyle, mysterious spirits, and traditions cannot compare to real magic. For them, watches and even pump-action Nike shoes are real, actual magic. They have no idea how these things even can work. They are alien artifacts, and they are awesome, and doing dances around trees just can't compare to a wide screen television glowing with mystic pictures. They willingly give up their culture and identity overnight, because - everything is just better. Houses are air conditioned. Shoes protect the feet. Shirts are comfortable. CD's are awesome. Cell phones are magic.
I also recognize the Cargo Cults of WW2, where a lost airplane and a pilot were synonymous with god from on high.
During the Eisenhower administration, a group of scientists were tasked with coming up with the issues that might surround possible alien contact with humanity. One of their single greatest listed fears was that the human race, as a whole, would immediately give up its culture in favor of more advanced alien civilizations. Because: better, cooler, more amazing - MAGIC.
I believe I understand humanity, because I pay attention to how it actually acts in the real world. Most First World people, I am firmly convinced, if offered a magical land of longer, better life, of beauty, wonder, kindness and peace, would give up their culture and beliefs and flags and way of life in an instant to go join the fairies or the ponies or whatever. Why do I believe this?
Because I do not think the indigenous peoples of the Amazon (or the islanders off New Zealand during WW2) are in any way inferior to white, European First World people. I know we are equal, that we are the same. We are all the same humanity, and we already know what humanity will do if something better comes along.
And that is why I write the way I do, and why most of my characters - the overwhelming majority - are fine with, and even eager, to Go Pony.
Because, that is what we humans really, actually do, in the real world, when faced with a technology so advanced that it appears to be magic.
Now, if real, honest to Celestia magic suddenly appeared... what is the rational, reasonable response of most people? The answer is obvious. It's already happened to humans, multiple times in multiple places.
The Mr. Fergusons of the world? Rare oddballs that most people can't understand. Like the grumpy tribal elders of the Amazonian tribes who complain that everyone else is leaving for the mall.
I hear you, but... I'm dealing with some dark, dark stuff here. A spoonful of sugar helps the poison go down, right?
1961935
That in itself is enough to make them unique! Like Mr. Ferguson: what's his deal? Why won't he go pony (barring logistical shortcomings like "there isn't enough Potion")? It's obvious he's fine interacting with them and being around him, and it's no secret that the Age of Hands is ending, so what's keeping him human? I explored questions like those in Railroad Seven-Three, so I'm probably more interested in such a character type than most, but there are hooks everywhere.
I would argue that nothing dark has really happened to them yet. Ralph's gone through way worse than any of them so far. Discussing it further would require me to speculate on plot elements you haven't revealed yet, however, so I'll button up.
1962058 Unique doesn't mean interesting. Consider the one television that rolled off the production line bricked, non-functional. It just doesn't turn on. You can't earnestly tell me a functioning television is less interesting than a broken one.
As for the weird sexy stuff, and the domestic romance content: I would be shocked if there was none to be seen. Recombinant 63 (r63, internet rule 63) is the prop that signifies to the TCB community fun, goofy stories that are laden with sexuality and frequently right-there-on-the-cloud-bed sex. I'm fairly certain that you're aware of that, but not everybody reading it is, so I guess this is a PSA.
1963105
I'm sure you didn't intend it, but your analogy suggests that Mr. Ferguson is broken, which I'd disagree with. Chat has confirmed that he's certainly a statistical outlier, and in a setting which seems to so overwhelmingly polarize people on the issue of going pony, that in itself is enough to make me want to learn more. Chat's handwaved his ilk a bit, saying "oh, they're just folk," and I get it—this ain't his story. The reason Mr. Ferguson isn't interesting is because the author has assured us he isn't. Fair enough, but potential is there, though, and as I said before, hooks are everywhere.
Yeah, I'm wise to the cherry potion stuff, but I personally steer clear of stories consisting mostly of fluff and treacle. It's like seeing PDA, only the DA isn't necessarily P and I'm just some weirdo peeking in.
1963105
1964013
I have to agree with Defoloce here. Now, Mr. Ferguson quite interests me, because he is indeed an outlier, and that is where all the most interesting stories come from. The average person is mostly boring. Interesting stories usually revolve around interesting people, and Mr. Ferguson, a human grocer who serves ponies - indeed, what IS his deal? I want to know. I am seriously considering taking up Defoloce's challenge - to explore the man. I just need to think about how to do that in a way that would mesh with the story.
I am already juggling three balls - Can Inkwell get Paige potion? Will the HLF get the notebook, and what part will Ralph play in that? What ultimately happens to the mysterious (yeah, right!) author of the notebook? I don't think I need to add 'What is Gypsy Traveller, and how can it destroy Equestria' because my long-term readers - and readers of Midnight Shadow and Dafaddah - will already know that answer very well.
Is Ferguson a fourth ball to juggle? Or can I make him useful enough to warrant exploring him?
Also, should I deviate from my intuitive method of writing enough to take control of the story to do such a thing?
But Mr. Ferguson has a story behind him, I can feel it. He interests me. Even if he were the most boring person before the ponies, now among them he is special simply by existing. Oh, there is a story there. Definitely a story there.
1964013 1964318 Perhaps my analogy was ineffective -- what I mean is that in fiction, protagonists and other dynamic characters do things, and they change. Or at least they are supposed to; a lot of television shows and comic books have characters that don't change, so I guess if you wanted to do something like that, you could, and it might be interesting.
Perhaps there is something here, though, maybe a character portrait, like Knut Hamsun's Hunger. (A book I found to be excruciating to read, so this might be a matter of taste.)
1964318
If your original outline of the story didn't include it, I wouldn't shoehorn it in at this point. Exploring this character type would easily be a standalone one-shot, though, at the very least.
And it doesn't have to be Mr. Ferguson specifically! Rare as they are, I'm sure the Chatoverse still would have plenty of Mr. Fergusons in it. That's one thing I explored myself: reluctance to convert due to the feeling of nobody waiting for them on the other side. The lonely, the people without families, the people who built lives and skillsets and identities on conflict—they could easily see Equestria as a hollow paradise, even as they understand why others would love it. Mr. Ferguson, for example, seemed to be an older fellow, so perhaps he's a widower. A kind fellow, just with the feeling that Equestria doesn't have much to offer.
...er, well, and so on and so forth. You all know how to find plot.
1964622
1964318
Taking advice from readers can lead to crazy, amazing things happening to stories. They can also lead you off on a merry caucus race to nowhere, so think very carefully.
As Defoloce says, in a world of the extraordinary, then the ordinary becomes strange. I'm not going to deny it, the must vs the must not does contain most of the drama, but there's a lot to be said for the "not quite yet's". I'm also 100% behind you with the talk of the cargo cults. It has happened time and time again that a stronger and more versatile culture - not necessarily better - has completely swallowed other, lesser cultures. It is, indeed, the number one concern of post-first-contact, seeing to maintaining our own civil order and cultural mores in the face of something so much grander, larger, different and exciting.
I think to not accept this happens is ludicrous - it has happened in every single case, but life is change. When such a great possibility of social upheaval arrives, it's just entropy that it will.
1964550
Goddess, but I adore Look Around You. So... great. That theme still bubbles up in my brain.
1964318
Reminds me of the proof that it's impossible for a "least interesting" element to exist, because if such an element were to exist, this fact about it would itself be interesting. Originally it was about numbers, but I think it applies to any set of objects.
1965769
Everything is interesting, in it's own way.
Like the grocer Ferguson, or Inkwell finally finding love.
Oh, sing it you foals!
Everypony's beautiful in their own way.
Under Luna's heaven, the world's gonna end some day.
- Ray Stallions
1969875
*cough* (whistling...)
I leave off for a few days, and I'm already five chapters behind! Beautiful.
The paragraphs introducing the fifth technician seem to be in an odd order. It's as though he was introduced twice.
And the following seems a little odd.
Jesus nonexistent Christ on a pogo stick. HLF conversion is horrifying.
I mean, the narration does tell us a bit about the perspective that considers this necessary, and I have to admit protecting a fellow human mind from being converted to something else by contacting the mind of an eldritch abomination from beyond our universe seems like one of those goals in pursuit of which a lot of otherwise extreme measures could be considered justified, but... when you're shooting a guy full of drugs to prevent him from developing compassion, I think you ought to realize that something has gone exceedingly wrong with your life.
Inkwell Quillfeather, you are a bloody genius.
Just read through the comments and I have to say... Mr. Ferguson for best pony. I hope his story gets told somewhere.
At least Paige is only on the waiting list for the waiting list. Most people are lucky to be on the waiting list for the waiting list for the waiting list.
And back for more!
The title is not especially comforting…
Oh, Conversion Dreams involve actual detectable REM sleep? Ah well; so much for the "Celestia's making double agents" hypothesis.
And despite being about a terrorist's alcoholism, the inscription on the liver still made me laugh.
"He would remain a dog loyal to racially pure human masters, as he should be."
…Um. Yeah, see, here's the thing. Remember this bit from last chapter?
""I wan you guyse to nooo..." Ralph was unable to use his lips correctly, because they were numb. "...Iyam naw th' fogivin' type...""
You seem to be assuming that Ralph only has two choices: "side with Celestia" and "side with the HLF". For a volunteer, sure. For a fervent supporter of humanity as a concept, someone who hated ponies on principle so much that any victory over them was worth it, sure. But remember the previous paragraph, where you spoke of his "psychopathy and vicious temper"? When you do this to a man like that (and even if he doesn't remember the agony, he'll remember at least that you forced him into it… and if he even learns that he was subjected to such pain, I doubt that he'll be pleased), does he really say "Well, I really don't like you, but I'll work with you to take down the ponies", or does he say "You know what, I kind of hate everyone right now, and fuck you in particular"? Oh, on reflection, I think it makes sense that you think this way; you're a fanatic, so very, very wrapped up in the idea of the binary "Humanity with a capital H vs. Celestia" conflict that it simply doesn't occur to you anymore that someone could be against the ponies and not be with you, or be against you and not be secretly with the ponies. But I think that there's a pretty good chance that your eyes will be rather unpleasantly opened before too long.
And wow, there's some mood whiplash. That conversion scene to sending six letters trying to apologize for one act of theft to save someone's life.
This genre savviness is unexpected and awesome. Because, of course, the things she says are what would be expect, which she then decides not to do, are pretty much exactly what I was expecting to happen at this point. :)
And the explanation of the title is much nicer than I was afraid of. :)
…Oh dear.
And the chapter ending. This story keeps interspersing nice heartwarming bits with terrible and/or ominous events!