8. A Key To Unknown Chambers
I.D. INJECTOR DOE
That Indestructible Something
By Chatoyance
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8. A Key To Unknown Chambers
“Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.”
- Franz Kafka
Guillaume clicked once with his one-button mouse and left his iMac to plow through Markov chains, rainbow tables and just plain brute force on the hash list. He'd automated the process with a quick program, more than a mere script, which should handle things on its own, leaving him some time to relax. Guillaume reached for his Ipod, then decided that a spot of brew might go well with his music. Mr. Crown was astonishingly lax with regard to such matters - as long as the work got done, Guillaume was welcome to sip a beer at his desk or even take a nap while his Mac compiled or sorted or crunched data.
Guillaume stretched and yawned. He'd been at this for... oh hell, since ten, and it was four in the afternoon now. The hash list was a major find, one of his buddies owed him a favor for some... business... a few years ago, and his position in the US military was not trivial. Somewhere in those passwords was access to whatever had been deemed so terribly secret about Private First Class Richard Deckard.
Deckard was in every respect an entirely forgettable soldier, as most soldiers were. He was just another speck of cannon fodder tossed at Afghanistan by the US war machine, another turd thrown into the fan. He had died as so many did, anonymously, randomly, by a buried explosive device that ripped the truck he was riding in to shreds. Guillaume shook his head - Afghanistan, the place where empires went to die. He'd seen it happen before to the former Soviet Union, now the Americans were sticking their dicks in the grinder.
But there was something special about Deckard. As far as he could tell, the entire incident hadn't just been hushed up, it had been secured. Contained. Majestic-12'ed like it was the very Ark of the Covenant from Indiana Jones. Maybe the poor kid hadn't been blown up by some buried bomb - this level of security was more like Rendlesham Forest or something. Maybe Mister Crown was into flying saucers? The job was interesting, if nothing else.
Guillaume startled, Crown was there, in his chair by the gigantic screen. Like a proper Captain Kirk at the bridge of his ship, Guillaume thought.
"Tell me, what do you see? Here - " Crown had rotated his chair and waved his arm at an image displayed before him. The beer would have to wait, apparently, Mr. Crown was in a rare talkative mood.
"Ah... well, I guess it's an old drawing. Medieval Europe would be my guess. That old thing about the sky being a big crystal dome, right?" Guillaume had seen the picture somewhere before, he couldn't remember where but it was familiar. It depicted a landscape with trees and buildings. In the distance was a stylized rising sun with long flaming arms and a center filled with a face. The sky around the sun quickly became night, with finely drawn six-pointed stars filling an increasingly dark realm dominated by a crescent moon. The moon had been illustrated to have a face, just like the sun, only in profile.
In the foreground, near a short tree, a man in robes crawled to the edge of the world. There, his head and arm were thrust through a jagged break in the dome of the sky, upon which the sun and moon and stars had apparently been painted or attached. The robed man gaped in wonder and horror at what lay beyond the sky - wheels within wheels and strange concentric disks floating amidst curving arcs of light and fire, cloud and emptiness. The robed man had broken through the fragile sky to witness that his world was just a small little disk, covered with a dome like some serving dish on a dinner cart.
Mr. Malus Crown shook his head. "No, what I mean is, what precisely, actually, do you see? This is the Flammarion engraving, fairly famous, it's from a French manuscript about meteorology. It's not actually that old, it dates to the eighteen-hundreds - though to be fair, it was probably based on a similar drawing done in the fourteenth century." Mr. Crown was being positively loquacious today. Guillaume began to see his beer time dwindling rapidly.
"No, no, excuse me. Fifteenth century, actually. Yes. Fifteenth." Truth be told, Guillaume couldn't care less about this point, but he nodded. Crown was the boss, after all. Malus tapped his chin with his closed hand, thought a moment and continued. "Tell me about the sun, there in the middle, my good Guillaume. Describe the sun to me. Tell me what you see."
One of these things again, then. Crown did this sort of thing occasionally, asking his staff what they saw, asking them to describe things to him. He must be having his 'visions' again, as Nadzieja called them. Guillaume knew that playing along would get him to his beer faster. "I see a face, one of those old-fashioned styles of faces, like on old manuscripts and such. The face is inside the circle of the sun, and... there are... ah... flames coming out. All around. Curvy flames, done with thin lines." Guillaume hoped this was good enough to move things along.
"The face. The face of a man, a person, then?"
It was definitely one of those things. "Yes sir, Mr. Crown. Two eyes, nose and mouth. He looks fat, because the sun is round." Guillaume shifted in his seat. Half the hashes were already cracked. There was still hope, though, the usual methods always cut through most passwords rapidly but there were always a smaller group that took more time. Time enough to sit back and sip a Tsingtao. Guillaume wished the huge fridge in the lunchroom held a nice Saint Rieul Triple, or his very favorite Cuvée Des Jonquilles, but Mr. Crown was a man of rigid tastes. Every machine a Mac, every beer a Tsingtao, every meal vegetarian.
Not that Mr. Crown drank beer. He only ever drank fruit juice. Apple juice was his favorite, though sometimes he had smoothies of mixed fruit. He ate very little, sometimes no more than a single bite. The beer was for his employees alone.
"Ah. And the moon?"
Guillaume stared briefly at the image on the great screen. "Side view." He thought for a moment and added "Of a man. A man in the moon face."
"Now, tell me about our robed friend, the shepard in the foreground. Describe him for me, if you would?"
Eighty percent of the hashes were ashes now, despite coming from the most secret of military sources. The passwords were incredibly simplistic. Guillaume resisted snorting at seeing "password1" used not just once, but five times in the list. Jesus. "Baseball" was in there too. Twice. Double Jesus. Actually, "Jesus" was just below the second "Baseball". The military mind was a simple thing.
"Well... I thought he looked like a monk or something." Malus waited, listening. "He's on his knees, looking outside. Outside the world. He's got a... a stick with him. On the ground." Guillaume felt beer calling to him. "I'm not sure what you want of me here, Mr. Crown."
"Eighteen-eighty-eight. That's when the book that engraving came from was printed. I wonder what I would see if I found the original source the illustrator used. Probably used. I wonder which changed first. That might be a clue. Hmm." Malus Crown perked up. "Guillaume - see if you can get me a copy of... ah... just a moment..." Mr. Crown busily typed something on his own Mac, to the side of his chair. "Yes! Sebastian Münster's Cosmographia of 1544. The cost doesn't matter, as usual. Here, I've sent you an email with the details. Do your best - it's a bit obscure."
"I'll get right on it, Mr. Crown. Right after the passwords finish. I think we may have the story on your jarhead by supper. Ah - " The call of beer had finally grown to such a loud pitch that Guillaume's shiftier reasoning had come into play. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I really need to go to the head now." Guillaume was already halfway across the 'command room', such as it was, and well towards the hall that led to the cafeteria and the fridge. And the bathrooms, of course.
Guillaume stopped. On a whim, perhaps because he felt cranky at being kept from his treat, he decided to press Mr. Crown for a change. "Ah - so tell me... what is it, precisely, that you see in the sun, the moon and that man on the ground, Mr. Crown?" The minute he said the words he regretted it. This was a great paying gig with few problems, and aside from being insane, Crown was probably the best employer he'd ever had.
"Alright. I'll tell you." Guillaume suddenly felt a chill go down his back. Mr. Crown never told anyone exactly what he thought he saw. This offer felt like wandering into a room he had no business being in. "I see the head of a pony in the sun, Guillaume, a very certain pony, and in the moon as well, and the shepard on the ground, well, let's just say he has hooves. That is what I see, and what is more, it looks like it has always been that way."
Guillaume's mouth fell open. This was... this was a very awkward moment. "F-from the cartoon." It was a statement, not a question. Mr. Crown was always all about the cartoon.
"Yes, from the cartoon." Mister Malus Crown swiveled in his chair and tapped a few keys on his machine. "Of course you must think me unsound, it's only reasonable. I would certainly find me a bit eccentric if our positions were reversed." Crown looked up from his iMac and gave Guillaume a level look. "I can't keep being mysterious forever, I've recently come to realize that. Yes, I see the world increasingly reconstructed in terms similar to something from that cartoon, and yes, I am convinced that what I am seeing is not just an aberration of my own mind. Discovering what that means, and how it happened to the world is my goal, Guillaume. I have no doubt that this just confirms to you that I must be completely off my nut but - that said, it is my hope that working for a crazy man is not entirely undesirable to you."
The silence was very awkward until Guillaume finally broke it. "It's interesting, I have to say that." In the instant, beer was now the last thing on Guillaume's mind. "And you pay well. And you treat everybody well."
The moment Guillaume finished speaking his last words, he felt unsettled. "And you treat everybody well." Something wasn't right. That wasn't entirely correct... a memory began to surface inside Guillaume's mind. Thibault.
Thibault... he was trying to get the iMac to interface with the... big screen, with Mr. Crown's huge monitor and... he got it wrong somehow. It wasn't working, Mr. Crown couldn't watch his cartoon and... screaming. Screaming and yelling, Mr. Crown... it was Mr. Crown, his face red and shrieking about how incompetent and useless Thibault was. Loud and piercing, it went on and on for almost an hour it seemed, and Thibault just took it because Crown was rich, beyond rich, but he sure as hell wasn't going to take it much longer and...
Guillaume turned suddenly to Malus. "Wait... wait a damn minute!" He could feel his eyes narrowing, a scowl creeping across his face. Malus Crown had rages, terrible rages! How had he... forgotten that? If Crown didn't get what he wanted, whatever it was, the bastard lost all respect for everyone! He would berate and condemn and screech at the top of his lungs... "Hey! Yeah! Wait one god damn minute now! I... remember last week, I remember... what the hell is going on he..."
Glowing green eyes filled Guillaume's vision. Two huge, insectoid green orbs, shining with an impossible light. He felt himself falling, tumbling through empty space as if from a great height, then suddenly there was utter silence.
The silence was very awkward until Guillaume finally broke it. "Sir?"
Mr. Crown cleared his throat. "I was saying that it is my hope that working for a crazy man is not entirely undesirable to you."
Guillaume shook his head. He felt slightly dizzy. "It's interesting, I have to say that." In the moment, beer was now the last thing on Guillaume's mind. Mr. Crown had just confided in him. He needed to reassure his employer. "And you pay well. And you treat everybody well."
Mr. Crown really did treat everyone well. He never got angry, he was only ever patient and kind. An employer like that was almost worth more than gold. Almost. Fortunately, he had a great deal of gold as well. Guillaume suddenly felt as if his reaction to Mr. Crown's revelation of what he saw sounded inadequate. Thinking quickly, he added "Besides... ah... who am I to judge, right?"
This made Crown give off a short laugh. He paused, lost in thought. "Oh, another thing, Guillaume."
"Yes sir?"
"Find out what everyone prefers for drinks. Beers and wines and such. Cost is no object, the usual. Make a list and order up some cases. Maybe even get some... oh, how about some Cuvée Des Jonquilles? I hear that's a good one. Gotta keep the troops happy, right?"
Guillaume nodded, and found himself grinning. Crown might be a raving looney but he was a generous looney, plus he apparently had incredible taste in beer (even if he didn't drink it himself!), and every bit of that was a treasure to a smart person. Guillaume considered himself a smart person. "Thank you, Mr. Crown."
──── ∆ ────
Gregoria lifted her head, the comforter sliding down her long neck to her back. Rachel's couch had become her bed, and it seemed to be better than her own bed back home. It was small enough that Gregoria didn't feel lost in it, and making it consisted only of folding up the single comforter she used as a blanket. Now that she had a soft, full coat of yellow hair all over, she really didn't need much to stay warm even in the middle of the night. With the pillow Rachel had given her, the couch was far more convenient and pleasant to Gregoria as a pony than it could ever have been to her when she had been human.
The noise came again. It was a moan from Rachel's room. No, not a moan, mumbling. Rachel was talking in her sleep again. She claimed she never talked in her sleep, that Rick would have told her if she had done something like that. There was no question - there it was again - she was definitely talking in her sleep now. Gregoria rotated her tall ears and focused them without even trying. It was second nature now to use her ears like little radar dishes, she didn't even have to think about it anymore.
"...oh... no... no, I... don't... mind..." Gregoria slowly lowered her head, although her ears had decided to remain sharply locked onto the voice from the bedroom. It was nothing. Rachel was probably dreaming about Rick. It must be really hard to just lose someone like that. Probably, she had gotten something in the mail from the army or whatever. 'Hello. The person you love most in the world is dead. Thank you. Your Government.' Gregoria realized that she hadn't even asked Rachel about what had happened, or what it had been like for her.
Then again, Rachel hadn't brought the subject up. If anything, dealing with a pony in her life seemed to be cheering her up. Maybe she didn't want to dwell on what had happened to Rick anymore. Gregoria softly snorted - she had no idea what to say, or what to do with regard to her friend's tragedy, and her new pony brain wanted desperately to comfort her friend, to make up for how her human self had dropped Rachel like a sack of swirl. Oh - Rachel was mumbling again.
Even with her vastly better new ears, it was hard to make out. Gregoria caught a few words, another 'yes', something that sounded like she was talking about Gregoria - the words 'mane' and 'tail' were in there between incoherencies, and possibly a mention of Rick. She was probably dreaming she was telling Rick about her friend turning into a pony and coming to live with her.
After Rachel was silent for a while, Gregoria felt her ears relax. When she had first changed, her pony body was so strange, so bizarre. Now her ears were just part of her. They moved and focused on sounds automatically, in the same way she used her eyes to look at things, her ears 'looked' at sound. She no longer had to think about how to use her legs - all four of them. When she got onto the couch, she just did it. Laying down was still a little odd, but that too was becoming automatic the more she practiced.
Gregoria bent her sinuous neck and grabbed the edge of the comforter in her teeth. She tugged it over her withers, so that she could snuggle into it, with the fabric close to her muzzle. She hadn't thought about coordinating any of those movements, she had just done them. Naturally. 'Hmmph. If being human is adapting, I'm becoming more human every day.' the thought made her softly snort again.
Rachel had ceased mumbling. Gregoria pulled her foreknees up to her muzzle and shifted slightly on the sofa, one rear leg close to her body, the other stretched out. She curled her tail across the inside of her stretched out shank and up over her hock. There was a little indent where her muscles met there, and for some reason it felt nice to lay her tail across that spot.
As she drowsed, Gregoria mused about the trip they had taken to the bridge. The Williamsburg Bridge where she had taken Rick and Rachel's picture months ago. Gregoria had wanted to visit it, to confirm that the structure had indeed altered into an Equestria-styled version of itself, and then if the bridge truly had changed, to see if somehow it could provide any clue as to what had caused Gregoria's own transformation.
The Williamsburg, which connected the Lower East Side to Brooklyn, was a huge suspension bridge, gray and imposing, built of open, radio-tower trusses. For non-vehicular traffic, the inside of the beams and handrails were painted bright red, with lanes for both bicycle and hoof - 'foot', Gregoria sleepily corrected herself - traffic. At least, that was what it had once been. The Williamsburg Bridge was no longer like that at all.
Gregoria stared open-muzzeled at the grand work of fantasy before her. The bridge was anything but gray, now, and it was not made of interlocking beams designed to save metal. The bridge before her was completely the creation of a world that knew no scarcity of any resource, a world where magic, rather than labor, was a valid option. Golden rails capped sweeping curves of impossible marble curlicue and filigree. The entire structure appeared as if almost of one piece, and needed no suspension, but instead just arched gracefully across the wide East River defying gravity and spitting upon the laws of physics themselves. Pale pink and purple swirls of exotic gemstone were inlaid into the curve of it, and every few dozens of feet a gargantuan, golden-set gemstone glimmered and sparkled in the sunlight. Had it been made of earthly matter, the unimaginable tonnage would crumble under its own impossible bulk to sink beneath the waves in an instant.
"Greggy? What do you see? You must not be seeing the same thing I am, not with that expression on your face!" Rachel moved to stand beside her little pony friend, and unconsciously began stroking her flowing black mane.
"I... Rachel... I have no..." Gregoria blinked and closed her eyes, then opened them to see if the vision would disappear. The fairy bridge remained enchanted. It was real, it was truly there. "Marble... and jewels, big as cars, big as buses, and gold rails... and... it looks like Equestria, like the cartoon. It isn't the same bridge, it's impossible. I don't know what keeps it from collapsing, what keeps it up. It's so huge, Rachel, it's bigger than any bridge in the cartoon, it's big as Canterlot, big as... only it's in that style. It's just... it's just mind mangling..."
"I just see the bridge. Same as ever." Rachel sounded distinctly disappointed.
"I need to... to touch it. To make sure it's solid. Can we go closer?" Gregoria felt a strange blend of emotions - part of her felt fear, the human part she felt sure, it somehow understood that the change in the bridge was a threat to it, or at least an aberration that had no business existing. The pony side of her frightened her - it felt eager to go to the bridge, not because it was incredulous, but because it found in the transformed bridge something comforting and familiar. In any case, Gregoria had to know, she had to know for sure if such a thing could be real.
The closer they got to the bridge, the stronger Gregoria felt as if the impossible structure was somehow more real, or at least more proper, than the ordinary, human-designed buildings and streets around it. In the end, she had begged Rachel to turn back, before the climb up to the hoof-traffic level.
"But why, Greggy? I thought you wanted to touch it, I thought that was the whole point of..."
"I can't. I just can't." Gregoria began forcing herself to back up, nearly stumbling over her own hind legs. "It's real, oh it's real all right. I've got no doubts now, no doubt at all. I want to go back to the apartment now. Can we do that? Please? Please let's go back now, alright? Rachel?"
Rachel had stood and stared at her, clearly frustrated and conflicted. "Dammit, Greg! Maybe if we went up there, maybe if we stood on it, then I could see it too! I want to see marble and jewels and gold! I want to see a piece of Equestria instead of a bunch of gray steel! Dammit... can't you... just..."
Gregoria's pony mind was practically thrashing inside her to take over, to prance up those stairs and take her bestest ever friend on a happy tour of the Whinneysburg Bridge, the bridge that connected Manehattan with Hooflyn, just to please her. They could go and have a proper New Horse haydog smothered with onions and dandelion relish and have a day on the town! Gregoria stood with her back to the accursed bridge, the tattered remains of her human will making taught cables of her muscles and rigid suspension struts within her tall pony neck. "Please." Gregoria's gritted teeth chattered slightly. "Please can we go back?"
On the ride back, Rachel craned her neck until the bridge could be seen no longer, presumably hoping to the last glimpse for the gray beams to shimmer and shift into polished stone and gold.
In the apartment, Rachel had needed some time alone after that, and spent an hour locked in her room. Gregoria sat still on the couch, not knowing what else to say or do with herself. She watched clouds drift past the fire escape out the window, and tried to avoid noticing the photograph on the shelf. After a while she became thirsty and went to the fridge. It was still troublesome, but easier now, to rear up to the cupboards to get a glass and bring it down in her forehooves. Pouring the carrot juice almost ended in disaster, but she forced herself to slow down and move more carefully.
For a moment, she became distracted worrying about Rachel, and then found she had not only put the bottle of juice back in the fridge with the cap properly on, but had also somehow obtained some ice and smoothly dropped it into her glass. She wasn't sure, because she hadn't been paying attention to herself, but she felt like she had used a single hoof to do it, after washing the hoof first. Gregoria checked the sink, it was wet. She checked the little towel, it had been used.
Apparently, if she didn't try too hard, her pony body could just do things. She had begun suspecting this, but now it seemed even more likely. It felt like yet another assault on her humanity, despite Rachel's pep talk about adaptation. Just give in, and everything will become easy. Just be a pony, and even lacking hands won't be an inconvenience at all.
"PLEASE! I TRULY DO! PLEASE!"
Gregoria found her neck bolt upright, the comforter still sliding down her withers. She was on the couch. That was right, the couch... she must have been dreaming, she must have fallen back asleep. She was dreaming the day over again, dreaming about the trip to the bridge. It was still night, what did the clock say? Three. Three in the morning. Past midnight, still dark.
"WITH ALL MY HEART, I DO!"
It was Rachel, in the next room. She was shouting in her sleep. Not mumbling, but shouting clearly, almost as if she were awake. The meaning of the words suddenly struck fear into Gregoria's heart. She scrambled to her hooves on the couch and stood there, the comforter falling to the floor. Gregoria's ears were locked onto the door to Rachel's room. The door was open, and Gregoria could see the lump under the covers where Rachel lay. Standing there, on the couch cushions, Gregoria paused, her heart pounding in her narrow pony chest, as she waited for any more shouts. To see if she should...
"...I understand..." Rachel wasn't shouting anymore, she was speaking in a normal voice, slurred a bit, clearly asleep. Gregoria waited, heart beginning to slow down to normal. There was nothing glowing, there was nothing magic or weird that she could see inside Rachel's bedroom. If what had happened to her began to happen to Rachel, Gregoria reasoned, there would have to be some special effects. There was always special effects when transformation stuff happened in movies and on television. The lump under the covers just stayed there, immobile, devoid of sparkles or flashes of light. It was just Rachel, ordinary Rachel, not turning into a pony at all.
Gregoria began to relax, and considered laying down again. She was being silly. 'Please, please, with all my heart I do' - the truth of it was that Rachel was probably dreaming about today too, and the fuss was how badly she had wanted to go onto the bridge. She'd come out of her room in a better mood, and they'd had a pleasant dinner together and even watched a few episodes of the second season, but Gregoria had felt that her friend had still been miffed at possibly missing out on a miracle. She had really wanted to see that bridge the way Gregoria had, and she had gotten it deeply into her mind that maybe walking the thing would somehow make that happen. Maybe it would have, there was no way to know right now.
Gregoria folded her foreknees, and lowered her barrel to the couch, then followed suit with her hindlegs. She curved her neck down and took the comforter in her teeth. Without thinking, she neatly swirled the cover over her body. Huh. It was actually kind of cool. She'd never had this sort of dexterity with her hands and arms. She was lucky to make a toss into a wastebasket two times out of ten, before. Apparently pony bodies, at least earthpony bodies, came with superdexterity as a standard feature. If, of course, she could get out of her own way and let it work for her.
"...Princess..."
The comforter flew up into the air and fluttered down into the space where Gregoria had but a second ago occupied on the couch. Her hooves pounded the floor of the apartment as she dashed for Rachel's room. Gregoria slammed into the edge of the doorway, nearly falling down, her wind knocked out of her by the impact. Gagging and coughing from the blow, Gregoria stumbled and began to scramble up onto Rachel's bed. She felt her hooves slipping on lumpen parts of Rachel's sleeping body, under the covers.
Gregoria fell sideways in her rush, and bounced on the mattress. She was too close to the edge, and the bounce tipped her over onto her back and then right off the bed entirely. She landed with a painful thump on the floor, between bed and wall, her legs straight up like a bug on its back. It began to dawn on her that this was a difficult position to be in as a pony, on her back inside a canyon made of bedframe and wall.
At first, she couldn't get out. She was frantic to get to Rachel and she wasn't thinking straight. 'Princess' - how had she been so stupid? Strange dreams, that was how it started, or at least that was their mutual best guess, and yet she had ignored it because she was afraid of making Rachel angry by waking her up in the middle of the night. Maybe mysterious transformations just happen, maybe there aren't any flashing lights or weird glowing or swirling sparkles. For all she knew, Rachel could be a pony right now, and it was already too late!
Finally, Gregoria took a deep breath - struggling randomly wasn't helping. She sized up the situation. Shaking, her heart pounding, she folded her hind legs close to her frame and worked to ratchet her body onto its side, and then belly, using careful efforts with her forelegs. After a few moments of scrabbling against smooth floor and wall with hard hoof, she finally found herself upright again. Now it was just a matter of pushing her barrel up with her forelegs, and following with her hindquarters.
Standing now, Gregoria reared up and plopped her forehooves onto the top of the mattress. She curved her neck down so she could see - rearing like that had sent her gaze to the ceiling for a moment.
Gregoria found herself nose to nose with Rachel, who was very much awake now, doubtless thanks to being stepped on, fallen on, and then surprised by a loud thump followed by desperate scrabbling and thrashing.
"Oh my sweet Celestia... Rachel!"
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Thank you for writing this to the finish. And to enjoy another fun chapter.
How did I miss that Richard Deckard is Rachel's deceased boyfriend? Unless you're just being mean. I hope not.
And oh dear. Is it contagious?
I love this cliff here, what with the beautiful view and the ahhhhh oh no! Crud! Ahhh! Ahh. Hm. I guess I'll just hang here, then.
I just sent some finished work off to a client and then what do I see?
Another awesome chapter... I'm predicting pegasus for Rachel.
I was glad to see some sinister aspects added to Mr. Crown, even if they've been cloaked so far like one of GOB's Forget-Me-Nows (yes, I have been watching the new Arrested Development season).
Very interesting to see the further changes to Gregoria's mind, and how she's warring with herself. Sort of a battle between history and instrumentality: Does she want to arbitrarily privilege the aspects of herself that would supposedly give her some kind of unified, "uncuttable" essence in the Cartesian tradition, or does she want to go straight for being a Gautama-inspired egoless package of characteristics, where her low-level physical behaviors only ever existed to help her achieve goals, fundamentally making her, as a person, no different from inanimate natural phenomena?
Incidentally, have always loved the Flammarion engraving. It's how I try to live, and also how I'd describe a good salvia trip.
2674489
Private First Class Richard Deckard is indeed Rachel Priss's boyfriend, the very same.
And yes, I went there. Come on, it's my favorite movie in all of the entire world!
2674587
I always feel dumb when I don't understand/spot a reference. But this was so much fun to read that it doesn't matter
Also, I felt a fair bit of existential dread for Gregoria with that bridge scene there. You surely do know your craft.
2674612
I'm sorry. I will explain.
The names are plays on character names from the movie 'Blade Runner', which is considered by a very great number of people to possibly be the best true science fiction movie ever made. I certainly consider it to be the best science fiction movie ever made, and without question the deepest. It stars a lot of famous people, and it is lush and visually amazing, but ultimately it deals with identity, life, existential meaning, and death. In short - it is brilliant. I recommend it, specifically the 'Director's Cut' above any other version.
I have the strangest feeling that crossing the "new" bridge as a neo-Equestrian would have Done Something, but that could just be the countless "magical bridge" stories I've heard rattling around in my head.
I love that you're a morning poster (in my time zone), Chatoyance. I get to start my day off on the right note.
2674587
Actually, that was just me finally realising that 'Rick' is a perfectly valid nickname for a Richard. Traditionally, it's 'Dick'.
Haven't seen Blade Runner...
Bam, calling it now. Rachel transformed into something other than a pony.
*crosses fingers for diamond dog. Or a gryphon.*
So, Mr Crown really is a changeling himself after all. I had my suspicions since the thing at Kafka's grave, but this chapter finally nailed it. I don't get the whole Mac-thing, but I never understood why anyone would want to use a mac at all.
2675237
As cool as that would be, I doubt that Princess (Celestia, I presume) offers a "choose your own race"-wheel of fortune. I wouldn't be too surprised if Rachel was still human. You know, the old "You can't have what you desire most"-shtick.
Another update so quickly? Praise Luna!
I wonder what kind of creature Rachel is now? She didn't get interrupted halfway through the transformation so she's some kind of human pony hybrid, did she? That would be pretty crazy.
So Mr. Crown is a changeling who likes to abuse his mind powers so his workers love him and overlook his shortcomings. Tries to keep them happy through more mundane means, too, so I'm not sure what to make of him. It also explains why he surrounds himself with dogs, creatures renowned for their unconditional and limitless affection for a kind master.
That, or the dogs are little changelings themselves.
Also, I've been strongly suspecting for a number of chapters that Mr. Crown is actually Steve Jobs.
2674645
In this chapter, Gregoria even wonders if ponies dream of thaumatic sheep.
Great cliffhanger. This could go any number of ways, and I look forward to seeing which. Oh, and very nice Flammaroan.
New Chapter of I.D.! My day just went from swirl to muffin' super! Thanks for being awesome, Chat!
Rachel's a pony now. gg
And hey, nice dream sequence. Had me confused as fuck. Which is a good thing. Because dreams are confusing.
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I love that line. Brilliant.
Another amazing chapter. And Bladerunner is my favorite movie of all time.
I was horribly afraid that Gregoria, unthinking in her panic, would somehow succeed in stopping the transformation that Rachel wanted so badly, making Rachel horribly upset at her. One wonders after putting this into words, if that is what was meant to happen.
HOW DID I MISS THAT HIS NAME WAS DECKARD
AHHHHHHHHH
The old man is a Changeling? Okay, this could be very, very bad. Apocalyptically bad, in fact.
This might be autocorrect at work, but "Ipod" should be "iPod".
What is a "sack of swirl"?
Where did you find the picture of the painting? Or did you draw it?
I think I've seen this picture, or one like it.
Sigh. I'm not even in computer science, and those passwords are painful.
"The cost doesn't matter, as usual. Here, I've sent you an email with the details. Do your best - it's a bit obscure."
That seems to sort of sum up the entire affair with Mr. Crown from his employees' perspectives.
"This was a great paying gig with few problems, and aside from being insane, Crown was probably the best employer he'd ever had."
And that. :D
Ah, yes, and that's the image I thought I saw. Well, minus the ponies. :)
…Hm. And apparently Mr. Crown has some mood swing issues.
Aaaand has apparently figured out mind magic even if he doesn't have transformation perfected yet. :)
Hm. This is rather ominous, of course, but I'm still thinking that it's probably not a concern. Based on his normal behavior towards his employees, I'd hypothesize that his rages are in large part a result of his biology and that he's merely using the mind magic to clean up after them. And possibly to bolster his wealth, but there's not much data on the sources at the moment. Anyway, he does seem to treat them well when not in the grip of emotion.
…Gregoria, you already realized that Rachel's been going through what you did shortly before your transformation, yes? And you don't think that, in light of that, the content of her nightly talk doesn't strike you as potentially significant?
"the truth of it was that Rachel was probably dreaming about today too, and the fuss was how badly she had wanted to go onto the bridge"
You're determined to delude yourself, aren't you? Why exactly are you so against Rachel becoming a pony? You're living proof that it can be made to work, and she clearly doesn't have your reluctance. Quite the opposite. So what's the problem?
"who was very much awake now, doubtless thanks to being stepped on, fallen on, and then surprised by a loud thump followed by desperate scrabbling and thrashing."
Nah, can't be. I think it must be traffic noise or something. :D
""Oh my sweet Celestia... Rachel!""
Which probably means that she is indeed a pony, though I note that you're making it a cliffhanger anyway. :)
I wonder what type she is…
Oh, and Gregoria, you're swearing to the Princesses again. :)
Anyway, another two good chapters, and I did indeed have just enough time! Sadly, I finished with only about three minutes to spare, so the next chapter will have to wait.
Private First Class Richard Decker. . .
I really can't believe how long it took me to figure that out.
And the plot thickens, strange dreams? Sounds awfully familiar . . .
4373692 Probably a sack of s**t.
This chapter has passwords stored as hashes. A rainbow-file could crack them. Here is an interesting video about how not to store passwords:
I'm questioning now whether Mr. Crown pays his employees at all if he can assert this sort of manipulation on their minds.
I'm predicting that Rachel is unchanged.
Onto the next chapter...
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It is an original but slightly modified XV century illusration, but I don't remember name
I couldn't help but allow this fragment of poem come to my mind reading the chapter.
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Thank you for sharing the poem. And thank you for reading my story!
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Thank you for the link.